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ArabicAnime Crossover: Eating Evil in a Daily World — Chapter 25
Chapter 25: Encounter on the Rooftop
Listening to Rio Futaba’s breakdown, Yozora offered a noncommittal nod. “Mm. Keep going.”
Futaba had already slipped smoothly into full analysis mode. Plucking a ballpoint pen from the breast pocket of her pristine white lab coat, she tore a blank sheet from her notebook. She began to map out the variables, her voice dropping into a quiet, rapid-fire mutter.
“Hmm… the vector should point this way… but I have to factor in this secondary influence…”
A heavy silence settled over the room for several long minutes. Finally, Futaba lifted her head, pushing her wire-rimmed glasses up the bridge of her nose with a slender finger. She slid the paper across the desk.
“Take a look at this.”
Yozora glanced down at the complex web of ink and raised an eyebrow. “Whoa. You’re pretty professional, drawing up a whole mind map?”
“Of course.” Futaba’s expression remained perfectly flat, her tone cool and analytical. “Based on the parameters you provided, at this current stage, one of the ‘protagonists’possesses zero combat capability. that having two protagonists sweeping the Supply Points will yield exponentially faster results than a solo run., according to your claims, there are’Assistance Points’ scattered across the map that could grant buffs and increase their overall combat power. That brings us to the critical bottleneck.”
As expected of Rio Futaba, Yozora mused.
To process that massive data dump and arrive at the exact same tactical conclusion he had in mere minutes? Truly worthy of the genius science girl who casually browsed quantum mechanics textbooks in middle school.
Without missing a beat, Futaba pivoted to the core issue. “However, based on your lore, these so-called ‘Assistance Points’are not guaranteed safe zones. To obtain the help of the NPCs residing there, one must pay an equivalent price. Before initiating the encounter, the’protagonist’ has no way of knowing if they possess enough bargaining chips to meet the NPC’s demands. If they fail to pay up, it is highly probable that a battle will be triggered.”
Hearing this dense, overly technical breakdown, Yozora nodded in perfect understanding.
Honestly, if he just ran her analysis through a chuunibyou-to-English translator, it made perfect sense. The ‘protagonists’were him and Miko Yotsuya. The’Assistance Points’were the few shrines in Kyoto that Miko’s ghostly father had mentioned—territories where lesser evil spirits didn’t dare tread. The’NPCs’ were, naturally, the local deities.
It got him thinking. The deities of Japan were fundamentally different from the immortals of Kyushu he remembered from his past life. To get a Japanese god to lift a finger, a heavy toll was required. Just like in the original plot, where Miko had to sign away her entire existence just to borrow the power of those shrine twins.
When you really broke it down, wasn’t a god just an evil spirit that had figured out how to run a protection racket?
Given everything he had seen lately, Yozora didn’t think these local deities were anything remotely benevolent. If they were truly so kind and loved humanity, would he need to work himself to the bone every single day purging evil spirits and sealing ‘Gates’ across Kyoto? Ordinary people were just blissfully ignorant of the supernatural ecosystem. If they actually knew the truth, all those shrine offerings ought to be piled up right outside the door of Class A at Sobu High School, complete with a framed portrait of his handsome face.
Actually, no. That sounded like a memorial service.
“But looking at the board state now, this is the most direct method to break the deadlock,” Futaba continued, pulling him from his thoughts. “In game terms, this qualifies as an early-stage boss fight.” She paused, her gaze locking onto Yozora. “Well? Is the assistance I provided of any value to you?”
“Massive value,” Yozora replied, a faint smirk playing on his lips as he tossed her the spare key to the activity room. “I’ll be in your care from now on.”
“Mm. I’ll be going, then,” she replied flatly, turning on her heel and walking out the door.
As she handled the quiet hallway, Futaba turned the variables over in her mind. Her initial diagnosis—that Yozora was just suffering from a terminal case of eighth-grader syndrome—was beginning to crack. If this was just a fantasy setting cooked up by a bored teenager, the internal logic was far too airtight.
She had studied adolescent psychology to understand her own complexes, including the escapist nature of chuunibyou. It was supposed to be a comforting delusion, a shield to hide behind when reality became too difficult.
So that begged the question. If this was an escape from the harshness of reality, who on earth would construct a world like that?
It was suffocating. A world crawling with endless, grotesque enemies. ‘Supply points’spreading like a malignant weed, making the environment increasingly lethal. Even the’safe zones’ meant to help the protagonist were laced with extortion and unknown malice.
What kind of person fantasizes about a nightmare? Someone who found their real life too peaceful?
She could only arrive at one conclusion.
Yozora was sick. Deeply, incurably sick.
Later that afternoon, the final bell rang.
Under the strict, chain-smoking supervision of Shizuka Hiratsuka, Class A held its committee elections. Unsurprisingly, neither Yozora nor Miko were nominated for a single position.
Up on the school rooftop, the early spring breeze carried a sharp, biting chill. Miko shivered, pulling the collar of her blazer tightly around her neck.
Yozora leaned against the chain-link fence, staring out at the horizon with a look of deep, melancholic nostalgia. “I had a dear friend who executed a ‘split-up operation’ right on this very spot back in the day. Ah… the memories.”
Miko eyed him warily. With Yozora, she never knew if ‘split-up’ meant a bad breakup or a literal, physical bisection. “Um… did that friend of yours… turn into an evil spirit?”
“Nah. He just went over to a neighboring production studio to moonlight as a headless rider.”
Miko stared at him, utterly deadpan.
Before he could spout any more beyond understanding nonsense, she quickly steered the conversation back to reality. “So, what’s the actual plan for today?”
“Simple. Today’s agenda is just—”
Clack.
The heavy metal door to the rooftop suddenly groaned open, cutting him off.
A girl in a Sobu High School uniform stepped out into the chilly air. Her legs, clad in sheer black tights that subtly revealed the soft pinkish hue of her skin beneath, were impossibly graceful, ending in a pair of pristine leather loafers. She possessed a delicate, stunning face that carried a lazy, untouchable charm—a mature aura that instinctively kept ordinary people at arm’s length. Her cascading black hair spilled down to her waist, pinned back on one side by a simple, slightly childish rabbit hair clip that grounded her back in the world of high school youth.
Just standing there in the quiet breeze, she looked as surreal and captivating as a framed painting.
Noticing the two of them staring at her, the girl paused. She brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear, her lips parting to utter a single, quiet question that sent an icy spike of dread straight down Miko’s spine.
“You… can you see me?”