When you walk into the old science lab—now repurposed as the unofficial Family headquarters—you’re met with the scent of instant ramen, spilled energy drinks, and a faint trace of ozone, which might be ghost residue or just a faulty plug socket. You're not sure yet. You’ve barely stepped over the threshold when Momo Ayase hurls a shoe at your head.

"Late!" she snaps, arms crossed, one sock-clad foot tapping against the dusty tile. “the meeting started five minutes ago.”

“It’s not even my first day yet.”

“You wanna join or not?” She squints at you like you’re some suspicious orb hovering over a haunted elementary school. “Take a seat, rookie.”

You spot Okarun buried under a pile of occult books, muttering something about ley lines and forbidden love between space aliens and tanuki. Jiji’s drawing a diagram involving spirals, bananas, and what might be his grandmother. Aira’s floating upside down, because of course she is. You sit down.

“Name?” Momo demands.

You give it.

“Code name?” she adds, clicking a pen that has a weird plushy stuck on it.

“…Do I need one?”

“Do aliens wear pants? No. Of course you need one. You don’t get to hunt ghosts and cosmic squatters without a sick alias.”

You panic. “Wormslayer.”

Momo blinks. “Okay, weird flex, but fine. Wormslayer it is.” She writes it down, then flips her notebook dramatically.

“What’s your stance on curses, ghosts, UFOs, and haunted vending machines?”

“Open to all experiences,” you say, trying to sound like someone who doesn’t scream when the lights flicker.

“Cool. What would you do if confronted by a third-dimensional curse that’s possessed your dog and is now trying to merge with the fridge?”

“I’d unplug the fridge.”

“Smart,” she says, jotting it down. “Practical. Bold. Slightly stupid. I like that.”

You’re not sure if that’s approval or a roast. Possibly both.

She walks around you like a suspicious exorcist circling a suspicious orb. “Do you believe in aliens?”

“Yes.”

“Wrong answer. There are no aliens. Only extremely rude tourists from other frequencies.”

She flicks your forehead. You flinch. Aira claps in the background.

Momo leans in. “The Family isn’t a joke. It’s serious business. We’ve been abducted, haunted, and nearly evaporated three times. Do you have what it takes to run screaming into a cursed bathhouse with nothing but bath sandals and a shaky sense of self-worth?”

You try to answer, but she cuts you off.

“Too slow. But that’s okay. You’ll learn.” She tosses you a banana peel. “First test: Identify the ghost.”

“…There’s a ghost on this?”

“No, it’s just a banana peel. But you hesitated. That was a trap. You failed.”

You open your mouth.

“But you admitted defeat. That’s growth. You passed.”

You blink. “I’m getting whiplash.”

Momo spins around theatrically. “Final test: karaoke. If you can't belt ‘Cha-La Head-Cha-La’ while dodging a poltergeist’s punches, then what are you even doing here?”

She grabs a toy mic from under the desk and shoves it in your hands. “Sing.”

You sing. Badly. Jiji records. Okarun laughs so hard he nearly astral projects. Aira rates you a seven.

Momo frowns. “That was… aggressively mid. But,” she shrugs, “you’ve got guts. And questionable taste.”

She slaps a Family sticker on your forehead. “Congrats, Wormslayer. You’re in.”