And so it begins (Futaba's turn)

Before too long, Ann had arrived at the convenience store Futaba had mentioned. As she entered, her eyes scanned the small shop, passing over the rows of snacks and drinks until they landed on a familiar head of messy orange hair.

Futaba was practically trying to disappear into the magazine rack, her thin frame half-hidden behind a display of gaming magazines. Her jacket hung loosely from her shoulders, unzipped and open, revealing her off-the-shoulder white graphic tee. The black tank top underneath peeked out, and her very short black shorts barely extended past the hem of her oversized shirt. Her black thigh-high socks disappeared into her black boots, completing her signature look.

“Futaba!” Ann called out, waving enthusiastically.

Futaba jumped slightly, nearly knocking over the magazine display. “Ann! You made it!”

“Of course I did,” Ann said, approaching her friend with a bright smile. “I said I would, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, but people say a lot of things,” Futaba mumbled, her eyes darting around nervously. “Social interaction is hard, you know?”

Ann laughed, linking her arm through Futaba’s. “Well, you’re doing great so far. Now, let’s get those soda floats.”

The two girls made their way to the counter where a bored-looking clerk barely glanced up from his phone. They ordered their floats—strawberry for Ann, cola for Futaba—and found a spot out of the way to linger while they enjoyed them.

“So,” Futaba said, stirring her float with a straw, “how was your movie night with Makoto?”

Ann took a sip of her drink, a fond smile spreading across her face. “It was good! We had a lot of fun.”

“Really?” Futaba said, doubt clear in her voice. “I thought you guys were going to see a horror movie? Makoto hates that type of stuff.”

“She does, but we still managed to have a good time,” Ann said. Then she couldn’t help but giggle as the sight of Makoto’s Buchimaru-clad butt sticking up in the air for everyone to see popped into here head. “I got to see a whole new side of her today.”

“Oh yeah?” Futaba said, quirking an eyebrow, silently prodding Ann to elaborate.

Ann didn’t. Instead, she said, “So, what do you want to do now? I don’t think we can just sit in a convenience store all night. How do you feel about hitting the arcade in Shibuya? The one on Central Street?”

Futaba’s eyes lit up behind her glasses. “An arcade? I haven’t been to one of those in forever! I bet I could beat all their high scores.”

“Someone’s feeling confident,” Ann teased.

“I’ve got skills,” Futaba said, puffing out her chest slightly.

“Then it’s settled,” Ann said, standing up. “Let’s head over there now.”

They finished their floats quickly and made their way out of the convenience store, heading to the station.

The train ride to Shibuya was short, and soon they were walking down Central Street, the bright lights of the arcade beckoning them forward. The sounds of beeping machines and excited shouts greeted them as they pushed through the doors.

“Whoa,” Futaba breathed, her eyes widening as she took in the rows of games. “This place is huge!”

“Right?” Ann said, already pulling out her wallet. “Let’s get some tokens and get started.”

They exchanged money for tokens, and Ann immediately dragged Futaba toward the rhythm games section. “These are my favorite,” she explained. “You have to follow the arrows with your feet.”

Futaba looked at the machine skeptically. “That seems... physical.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun!” Ann insisted, already stepping onto the platform. “Watch me first.”

Ann inserted her tokens and selected a song. As the music started, she began moving her feet across the arrows, her body swaying with the rhythm. Futaba watched, slightly impressed despite herself, as Ann hit arrow after arrow with surprising grace.

“Not bad for a model,” Futaba commented when Ann finished, slightly out of breath but beaming with pride.

“Your turn,” Ann said, stepping off the platform.

Futaba hesitated, eyeing the machine warily. “I don’t know...”

“Come on,” Ann encouraged. “Just give it a try. Bet you can’t beat my score.”

Futaba let out a long, exaggerated sigh. “Fine, fine. I’ll do it. But don’t laugh at me if I trip over my own feet.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Ann said with a grin.

Futaba slipped out of her jacket, folded it hastily and set it on the small bench beside the machine, smoothing it down with a quick pat. Her white graphic tee beneath hung loosely from her frame, the off-the-shoulder cut exposing the black tank top underneath and a sliver of pale collarbone.

“This thing would just get in the way,” Futaba muttered, adjusting her glasses and rolling her shoulders back. “Okay, let’s get this over with.”

She stepped onto the platform, her boots clicking against the metal surface, and inserted her tokens. The machine lit up with a cheerful chime, and Futaba selected a song, something the game listed as easy, playing it safe for her first attempt.

As the first notes began to play, Futaba’s expression shifted from nervous to intensely focused. Her fingers drummed against the railing in time with the beat, and when the first arrow appeared, she stomped down on it with surprising precision.

Ann watched from the sidelines, a smile on her face as Futaba found her rhythm. The redhead was doing far better than she’d expected, hitting most of the arrows with okay accuracy, her body swaying awkwardly but earnestly with the music.

Futaba was absorbed in the game, her eyes locked on the screen. She didn’t notice it when Ann’s earrings gave off a faint shimmer. Without breaking her gaze from her friend’s performance, Ann’s hand drifted toward the bench where Futaba’s jacket lay.

Her fingers closed around the folded fabric, and with the practiced subtlety of a magician, she made it disappear. She slipped it off the bench and tucked it behind a nearby trash can, wedging it between the bin and the wall where it was completely hidden from view. It only took a few seconds, and neither girl noticed her do it.

“Go, Futaba!” Ann cheered, clapping her hands. “You’re doing great!”

Futaba missed a step and stumbled, catching herself on the railing. “Don’t distract me!” she called back, but there was a hint of a smile on her face as she refocused on the screen.

The song built to its crescendo, and Futaba’s movements became more frantic, her boots stomping against the arrows with increasing urgency. When the final notes played and the screen flashed with her score, a respectable B rank, Futaba let out a triumphant whoop and pumped her fist in the air.

“See? I told you I had skills!” she said, stepping off the platform with a newfound swagger. Her face was flushed, and a few strands of orange hair stuck to her forehead with sweat. “That was actually kind of fun. Maybe we should-”

Futaba’s gaze dropped to the bench where she’d left her jacket, and her expression shifted from triumph to confusion.

“Hey... uh, where’d my jacket go?”

Ann turned to look at the bench, her brow furrowing. “Wasn’t it right there?”

“Yeah, I put it right there,” Futaba said, pointing at the empty space on the bench. She crouched down and checked underneath it, then scanned the immediate area with growing agitation. “It was literally right here.”

“That’s weird,” Ann said, joining the search. She checked the other side of the bench, then glanced around the arcade floor. “Maybe someone moved it?”

“Who would move someone else’s jacket?”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Ann said, placing a comforting hand on Futaba’s shoulder. “We’ll find it. It couldn’t have gone far.”

Futaba’s eyes darted around the arcade. “This place is crowded. Someone must have taken it while I was playing. I can’t believe this. First time I go out in weeks and someone steals my jacket.”

“Let’s check with the front desk,” Ann suggested. “Maybe someone turned it in.”

They made their way to the counter, where a disinterested teenager was chewing gum and scrolling through his phone. Futaba leaned over the counter, her voice tight with urgency.

“Excuse me, did anyone turn in a jacket? I left it by the rhythm games, and now it’s gone.”

The employee didn’t look up from his phone. “Nope. Nothing’s been turned in tonight.”

“Are you sure?” Ann asked. “Can you check? Please?”

With an exaggerated sigh, the employee set down his phone and ducked beneath the counter. He emerged a moment later empty-handed. “Nothing back here. Sorry.”

Futaba’s shoulders slumped. “Great. Just great.”

“Don’t worry,” Ann said, giving Futaba’s shoulder a squeeze. “I’m sure it’ll turn up… But for now, how about we just try to keep having fun, okay?”

Futaba bit her lip, clearly distressed, but she nodded reluctantly. “Fine. But if I see anyone wearing my jacket, I’m going to tackle them.”

“I’d expect nothing less,” Ann said with a laugh.