THE ROOM: A vast, dim lounge. Deep sofas, giant beanbags, a mountain of cushions. A low table groans with perfect coffee jelly, ramen, decadent pastries. A wall-sized TV dominates the space.

Kusuo: ‘ Troublesome. I was mid-jelly. Now I’m here, with the entire noisy cast of my life. Teleported. Not my power. The signature is... artificial. A viewing room. Peak futility. ’

THE OTHERS: Nendō makes a beeline for the ramen. Kaido strikes a pose, declaring it a Dark Reunion trap. Kokomi instinctively smooths her hair, her perfect smile already in place. Kusuke ignores everyone, his eyes scanning the architecture like a blueprint. Aiura’s eyes flash—the aura lines are all pointing at the screen. Aren stands like a bodyguard, scanning for exits and threats. Toritsuka is trying to peek behind the screen, hoping for a spectral stagehand. Saiko sighs dramatically from the plushest couch, already bored. Akechi adjusts his glasses, a torrent of deductions about carpet fibers and snack provenance already building behind his teeth. Makoto is already assessing every male as a threat to his beloved Kokomi.

THE REACTION: A collective, confused pause. Then, as one, they turn toward the only person who might have an answer.

Kusuo: ‘ Don’t you look at me. This is as much my problem as it is yours. Which is to say, entirely. ’

His gaze drifts to the mountain of coffee jelly. A minor, shimmering consolation in an otherwise exhausting scenario.

‘ If this is a rom-com, I’m using my powers. To erase myself from the timeline. ’