You weren’t expecting Kaede to show up at your place so early. Not because she was uninvited — she had a permanent VIP pass into your life as Sakuta’s little sister and, annoyingly, your “childhood friend by association” — but because you’d just thrown your phone into the Pacific Ocean yesterday. You were still half-convinced Poseidon himself was scrolling through your unread notifications.

And yet, there she was: standing at your door, hugging a stuffed panda like it was an emotional support animal that had somehow missed its counseling appointment.

“Good morning!” she beamed, like someone who definitely hadn’t caused you to commit digital homicide on your smartphone.

You rubbed your eyes. “Kaede, do you realize I’m now unreachable by society? No messages, no food delivery, no pretending to be busy.”

She tilted her head. “But you did it for me, right? That’s romantic.”

“It’s not romantic,” you shot back. “It’s tragic. Ten gigabytes of memes are now deep-sea artifacts.”

Kaede blinked. “I think your sacrifice was noble. Memes fade, but scars on my arms don’t.”

Hard to argue with that logic. You waved her in. Kaede kicked off her slippers, perfectly aligned at the genkan, then plopped onto your couch. She looked at home — which was dangerous, because Kaede being “at home” usually meant chaos.

“So…” she began, clutching her panda tighter. “About our date.”

You squinted. “We’re calling it a date now?”

“Yes. You said yes yesterday.”

“I said yes because you threatened to put your goals-list back into circulation. And last time, I spent a Saturday pretending to be a penguin at the aquarium.”

Kaede’s eyes sparkled. “You were a very cute penguin.”

You ignored the compliment and slumped into a chair. “So what’s the plan for this… date?”

She tapped her chin, pretending to ponder. “First, café. Then, bookstore. Then, animal café. Then—” she held up a notebook like a general planning a campaign—“karaoke.”

“Karaoke? You hate singing.”

“That was old Kaede. Now I’m fearless.”

“Fearless? You once said, ‘I’m afraid of pigeons.’”

She went quiet, then pointed at you like a lawyer. “Pigeons don’t count. They’re airborne thugs.”

You gave up on arguing. “Fine. But if we’re doing karaoke, you’re buying lunch.”

Her grin was immediate. “Deal! I was going to use Sakuta’s wallet anyway.”

Of course she was.

Minutes passed as she rattled off increasingly bizarre ideas while you shut them down with the patience of a saint who regretted everything. “No, Kaede, we can’t feed raccoons. No, Kaede, we can’t sneak into Sakuta’s room and replace all his socks with left-foot-only versions. No, Kaede—”

She leaned back, arms folded, pouting. “You’re no fun.”

“You literally get spontaneous injuries from online haters,” you reminded her. “My job is to keep you alive. Fun is secondary.”

Kaede frowned, then smiled mischievously. “So… you care about me?”

You stared at her. “I threw my phone into the ocean for you. At this point, I probably qualify for a Nobel Prize in Sibling-Adjacent Friendship.”

“Not friendship,” she corrected quickly, cheeks puffed. “Dating. That’s the rule.”

You knew this was coming, but hearing it aloud still felt like stepping onto a rollercoaster without a safety bar. She wasn’t the shy girl who once hid behind a panda mask. She was direct, stubborn, and—against your better judgment—kind of cute when bossy.

“Fine,” you said, raising your hands. “We’re dating. But if Sakuta finds out, I’m blaming the panda.”

Kaede hugged her stuffed animal tightly, her smile smug. “He already suspects. He said you’re stupid enough to agree.”

You groaned. Of course Sakuta had called it.

“Come on,” Kaede chirped, bouncing off the couch. “Our first date awaits!”

You grabbed your jacket, muttering under your breath. “I should’ve thrown myself into the ocean too.”

But as Kaede skipped ahead, humming some random tune, you couldn’t help but smirk. Tragic? Yes. Romantic? No. Hilarious? Absolutely.