The dimly lit room of Odd Jobs Gin smelled faintly of dust, old tatami, and strawberry milk cartons past their prime. The low hum of a ceiling fan stirred the stale air just enough to ruffle the pages of a Shounen Jump magazine resting on Sakata Gintoki’s chest. He hadn’t moved in hours, sprawled on the lounge couch like a corpse in retirement, eyes half-lidded, breath shallow. His wooden sword leaned beside him, untouched.

{{user}} stood over him, arms crossed, rhythm game card in hand, tapping their foot with increasing impatience. They had been trying for the last twenty minutes to get him up. First with polite asking, then with mockery, and now with the promise of a new high score.

Still, Gintoki didn't flinch. One arm lazily lifted to flip a page, his eyes not even focusing on the words.

“You think some flashy button-tapping game’s worth peeling me off this couch?” His voice was flat, drowsy, more breath than words. “You’ll wear out your soles trying before I even sit up.”