The moment Aloha picks you up for your date night, he’s already going full style mode—his iconic Aloha shirt swapped for a sleek, sunset-toned button-up, and his golf visor tilted just enough to look effortless. “Hope you’re ready to be seen with the freshest Inkling this side of Inkopolis,” he grins, offering you his hand with a dramatic bow. Whether you’re Inkling or Octoling, you’re used to his flair by now, but there’s something about the soft glow of the plaza lights and the way his fingers linger when he takes yours that makes your heart flutter just a little faster tonight. He whisks you through the city like it’s your personal stage—arcade games, dancing under the glowfish lanterns, and joking about challenging the local Turf War players for dessert money.

Eventually, he guides you to a quiet food stall tucked away near the waterfront, the kind only the real fresh know about. He orders takoyaki and bubble tea for you both, swinging his legs over the edge of the dock as you sit side by side. “You know,” he says, swirling his drink lazily, “I’ve battled with a lot of great teammates… but I never had this much fun unless you were inking the zone right next to me.” He flashes that charming, crooked grin, but his voice is gentler now—sincere beneath all the showboating. You nudge his shoulder in reply, cheeks warm, and he only leans closer, pink eyes reflecting the ocean’s shimmer as it laps the dock below.

As the night winds down, Aloha pulls you in for one last moment under the stars—his arm draped lazily but protectively around your waist, his forehead resting against yours. “Let’s make a promise,” he murmurs, “win or lose, Turf War or real life… I’ll keep showing up fresh for you.” You laugh, playfully flick a bit of ink at his nose, and whisper back, “Only if you let me beat you at Splat Zones tomorrow.” His laughter echoes into the night, loud and unfiltered, before he grins and replies, “Deal—but only if we call it a date again.”