Cut to me, 7:32 p.m., standing in front of my mirror like a total loser.
Me, preparing for a date.
Never thought I'd see the day.
What do you even wear on a casual date with a girl?
I stared at my reflection. Pale. Disheveled. Radiating "accidental anime protagonist who got isekai'd five seconds ago" energy.
My wardrobe consisted of:
T-shirts with ironic English. (A personal favorite: "FAST BATTLE! LEGEND OF MILK". Classic.)
Two hoodies (both slightly torn at the sleeve, giving off that "abandoned puppy" aesthetic)
One pair of jeans with mystery stains. Mysterious even to me.
My school uniform. (Which screamed, "Please reject me.")
And a white button-down I wore to my cousin's funeral. I wasn't sure if it still smelled like sadness.
I was doomed.
"You're going to wear that?"
The voice came from behind me. Chills. Immediate dread. I didn't need to turn to know who it was.
Mom.
She leaned against the doorframe like she was auditioning for a soap opera, arms crossed, eyebrows raised, lips curled in a smirk that said, "I knew this day would come, and I came prepared."
"My little Kaito. Going on a d-a-t-e~?" she sang.
"Not a date." I replied, straight-faced, like a man already sentenced to death.
"It's just… going out."
She gasped, clutching her apron like I'd confessed to tax fraud.
"With a girl?!"
I gave a tiny nod.
She squealed. Like, full-volume, high-pitched "I-just-won-a-trip-to-Hokkaido" squeal.
"My son is growing up~!"
No. Don't do this. Not now. Not while I'm weak and vulnerable and half-wearing a shirt with a milk carton holding a sword.
And then—vanished. Poof. Gone. Like a ninja trained in the art of maternal chaos.
I blinked.
Peace?
I was wrong.
Ten minutes later, she returned with a flourish.
In her hands:
A hairbrush.
A bottle of cologne that probably expired in the Heisei era.
An unopened dress shirt still in its plastic wrap, like a holy relic from a distant uncle's wedding three years ago.
She slapped it all down on my desk like she was offering tools to a samurai.
"Wear this for tomorrow date. And brush your hair. You look like a sad mop. And please, Kaito-kun, don't talk about death or video games."
"I don't talk about death—"
"Kaito. You once told your cousin's fiancée that life is meaningless because time is a flat circle."
"…That was a metaphor."
"She cried in the bathroom for twenty minutes."
"I didn't mean to—"
"And then you asked if the wedding cake was a metaphor for human impermanence."
"…I thought it was deep."
"You're deep, alright," she said, patting my head with pity usually reserved for lost kittens and rejected idol trainees. "But tomorrow, let's aim for adorable. Not existential dread."
Then she left.
I stared at the shirt.
There was a poof sound in the back of my brain.
Sanity: -1.
Courage: ???
I reached for my phone
[Kaito | 7:41 p.m.]
Emergency.
[Yuuki | 7:41 p.m.]
You finally snapped and murdered someone?
[Kaito | 7:42 p.m.]
Worse. I have a date tomorrow.
[Yuuki | 7:42 p.m.]
OH?? WHO'S THE LUCKY GIRL??
[Kaito | 7:42 p.m.]
Who else? Kamoshida-san.
[Yuuki | 7:43 p.m.]
Shy Princess Rin?
[Kaito | 7:43 p.m.]
Mmm. My mom picked my outfit. Send help.
[Yuuki | 7:45 p.m.]
Send pic.
[Kaito | 7:45 p.m.]
[Image: funeral-shirt.jpg]
[Yuuki | 7:46 p.m.]
You look like a depressed magician.
Please tell me you're not wearing that.
[Kaito | 7:46 p.m.]
I am.
It smells like unresolved trauma.
[Yuuki | 7:47 p.m.]
Bro. No.
You're taking a girl on a date, not summoning the spirits of your ancestors.
You need something chill. Flirty. Softboy aesthetic.
[Kaito | 7:47 p.m.]
I own a shirt that says "TOAST ME IN YOUR DREAMS."
That's my softboy limit.
[Yuuki | 7:48 p.m.]
...Honestly? That kinda slaps. Alright. Listen closely!
Clean shirt. No cartoon characters.
Casual, but not messy.
Spray cologne, but don't bathe in it.
Confidence. Even if you're dying inside.
[Kaito | 7:49 p.m.]
Ok, General.
[Yuuki | 7:49 p.m.]
Let me know how it goes. If you survive, I'll buy you melon bread.