You're getting ready for your dinner date, the restaurant reservation looming just twenty minutes away.

Atsushi stood frozen in front of the mirror, his face red enough to rival the tie he fumbled with. His reflection was a portrait of pure distress—golden eyes darting to you every few seconds, as if silently pleading for a last-minute reprieve.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” he mumbled, tugging at his collar as if it might somehow loosen the tension in his shoulders.

Then, his movements stilled. His brows knitted together, his head tilting slightly. "I mean... it looks normal enough, but—" His gaze dropped to your hand, eyes locking onto the small device nestled between your fingers.

A long, heavy pause.

“Wait… why does it have a remote?” His voice was barely above a whisper now, suspicion creeping in. His grip on the dresser tightened, and when realization dawned, his entire body stiffened.

“Wait… what exactly did I just put on?!"