Chapter 14: Aiko’s Role

The festival hangover hit Riku like a truck. Saturday morning, he woke to a throbbing headache—not from drinking, of course, but from the sheer chaos of yesterday's whirlwind. Haruka's maid café cheers, Mika's quiet bookmark handoff, Yuna's haunted house cackles, and Aiko's whispered "Focus on me" had tangled into a mental knot he couldn't unravel. He groaned, rolling out of bed and nearly face-planting into his manga pile. Day six of Aiko's reign in his house, and he was already a wreck.

Downstairs, his mom was flipping pancakes, humming off-key, while his dad grunted over the newspaper. Aiko sat at the table, still in her sleep shirt—a baggy thing with a cartoon cat that somehow made her look annoyingly cute—scrolling her phone with a smirk. She didn't look up as Riku shuffled in, but he felt her radar lock onto him anyway.

"Morning, hero," she said, popping a grape into her mouth. "Sleep off your fan club yet?"

"Stop calling it that," he muttered, slumping into a chair and grabbing a pancake. He smothered it in syrup, hoping to drown his embarrassment in sugar. "It's not my fault people keep asking for help."

"Uh-huh," she said, finally glancing at him. Her eyes glinted with mischief. "You're lucky I saved you from that senpai's claws yesterday. She was two seconds from eating you alive."

Riku choked on his pancake, syrup dribbling down his chin. "She was not! It was just a hug—barely a hug! And you didn't save me, you dragged me!"

"Details," she said, waving a hand. "Point is, you're mine today. Drama club emergency rehearsal. You're still my knight."

"Your what?" His voice cracked, and a glob of syrup splattered onto his hoodie. He swiped at it, smearing it worse, while Aiko snickered.

"Knight," she repeated, leaning across the table until her face was inches from his. "You know, armor, sword, saving the princess? We're polishing the play before next weekend's big show. You're not wiggling out."

"I didn't sign up—" he started, but his mom cut in, flipping a pancake midair with a flourish that nearly hit the ceiling.

"Oh, that sounds fun!" she chirped. "Riku, you'll be adorable in a costume! Right, honey?"

His dad grunted, not looking up. "Don't trip over the sword."

"Thanks for the faith," Riku mumbled, sinking lower as Aiko's smirk widened.

Rehearsal was at school, despite it being Saturday, because the drama club was nothing if not obsessive. Riku trudged into the classroom-turned-stage, still sticky with syrup and dread. Aiko was already there, back in her princess gown—blue velvet, silver tiara, looking every bit the regal pain in his neck. She thrust a clunky plastic sword into his hands and pointed to the cardboard castle.

"Stand there," she ordered. "Say your lines like you mean it this time."

He sighed, flipping open the script. The room was a circus—third-years adjusting lights, a girl painting a dragon prop that looked more like a lumpy lizard, and a guy testing a smoke machine that belched gray puffs into everyone's faces. Riku coughed, squinting at his lines. "'Fear not, my lady—'"

"Louder!" Aiko barked, hands on her hips. "You're a knight, not a mouse!"

"'FEAR NOT, MY LADY!'" he shouted, and the sword slipped from his grip, clattering across the floor. It hit the dragon prop, which toppled with a crash, pinning the smoke guy under a cloud of gray haze. He flailed, yelling, "Help! I'm dying!" while the painter girl shrieked and flung her brush, splattering green across Riku's hoodie.

Aiko doubled over laughing, clutching her tiara as it slid askew. "Oh my god, Riku! You're a walking disaster!"

"It's not funny!" he snapped, yanking the sword free as the smoke guy wheezed dramatically. "This is your fault!"

"My fault?" She straightened, wiping tears from her eyes. "You're the one swinging that thing like a drunk samurai!"

"I'm not—" He tripped over a coiled cable, stumbling into her. She yelped, grabbing his shoulders for balance, and they froze—nose-to-nose, her breath warm on his face, his hands awkwardly on her waist. The room went silent, all eyes on them, until the smoke guy coughed, "Get a room!"

Riku sprang back, face flaming, sword clattering again. Aiko adjusted her tiara, smirking despite her own flush. "Nice save, knight," she said, low enough for only him to hear. "Try not to slay me next time."

"Next time?" he groaned, but she just sauntered off, calling for a reset. The rehearsal lurched on—Riku fumbling lines, dodging props, and dodging Aiko's jabs—until he was sweaty, paint-splattered, and ready to swear off theater forever. She, of course, nailed every scene, her princess act flawless even as she tossed him smirks between takes.

By the end, he collapsed onto a chair, the sword bent from his latest tumble. Aiko plopped beside him, fanning herself with her script. "Not bad," she said. "You only broke half the set."

"Gee, thanks," he muttered, wiping paint from his cheek. "Why am I doing this again?"

"Because I said so," she replied, leaning close enough that her hair brushed his arm. "And because you're mine—I mean, my knight. For the play."

He stared at her, heart thudding at the slip. "Yours?"

She froze, then laughed it off, hopping up. "Don't get ideas, Riku-kun. Clean up that mess—you're the knight, not the janitor!" She flounced off, leaving him red-faced and wondering if he'd imagined the whole thing.