Chapter 32: The Forbidden Route

Three days had transformed everything.

Ryuuji followed me everywhere now, like a loyal shadow with designer shoes and questionable social awareness. Between classes, during lunch, even waiting outside the bathroom while I handled biological necessities. The dedication was honestly impressive in a slightly concerning way.​

Currently he carried my bag along with his own, weighted down like a pack mule but somehow maintaining perfect posture. His face showed no strain, no complaint, just quiet determination.

I’d asked once if he needed help. He’d looked genuinely offended, like I’d questioned his honor or insulted his ancestors.

“This is my duty, Sensei.”

Duty. The word carried weight, seriousness, commitment that went beyond normal friendship dynamics. But who was I to question his methods? If he wanted to be my personal bag carrier, that was his choice.

We settled in our usual courtyard spot, a bench near the cherry trees that provided optimal shade and privacy. Lunchtime meant food, and today Ryuuji had brought something special.

He opened a lacquered bento box that probably cost more than my monthly allowance. Multiple tiers revealed themselves, each containing culinary art that belonged in magazines, not school lunches. Sushi arranged in perfect rows, each piece identical, professional-grade presentation.

“I cannot eat alone today.”

His voice carried an emotion I couldn’t quite identify. Loneliness maybe. Or just rich-kid weirdness. Hard to tell sometimes.

“I brought enough to share.”

Sharing food was serious business in Japanese culture. Meant trust, friendship, bonds deeper than casual acquaintance. This was next-level friendship unlocking, relationship progression, genuine connection forming.

My chest swelled with something that felt suspiciously like pride mixed with satisfaction. The CP system might not be active right now, my phone safely tucked in my pocket, but I could feel those imaginary points rising anyway. Spiritual CP gains. Metaphysical dominance expansion.​

This was what being a king felt like. Having loyal subjects who carried your bags and shared expensive food. This was peak existence, maximum achievement unlocked.

“I accept your offering.”

I kept my voice formal, maintaining the teacher-student dynamic even during lunch.

Ryuuji selected a piece of tuna sushi with his chopsticks, holding it toward my mouth instead of his own. The gesture felt oddly intimate, servant-feeding-royalty vibes that anime loved depicting.

I hesitated for exactly half a second before opening my mouth. The sushi practically melted on my tongue, flavors exploding like tiny fireworks. This wasn’t convenience store grade. This was restaurant quality, probably prepared by someone with actual culinary training.

“Holy hell, that’s good.”

Ryuuji’s expression brightened, genuine pleasure at my enjoyment. He selected another piece, offering it the same way. I accepted without question this time, too focused on the premium fish to worry about optics.

We fell into a rhythm. He’d feed me a piece, then eat one himself, alternating like some kind of elaborate lunch ritual. Other students passed by, throwing curious glances, but I ignored them. Let them wonder. Let them witness my ascension to social royalty.

“Sensei, I must tell you something.”

Ryuuji’s voice had gone soft, almost vulnerable. His eyes looked slightly watery, emotion threatening to break through his usual controlled composure.

“You’re the only one who makes me feel safe, Alfred-kun.”

Alfred-kun. He’d dropped the sensei title, moved to something more personal, more intimate in the friendship sense. My brain noted this development, filed it under positive relationship progression.

“When I’m with you, I don’t feel like she is watching.”

She again. The mysterious girl causing him anxiety. Probably some ex or crush who’d rejected him brutally. Classic heartbreak scenario requiring friend support and guidance.

I nodded with what I hoped looked like sage wisdom, channeling every anime mentor who’d provided emotional support to troubled students.

“I am a fortress of solitude, bro.”

The words came out more philosophical than intended, but they fit the moment. Strong. Reassuring. Exactly what a good friend would say.

Ryuuji set down his chopsticks. His hand reached across the space between us, grabbing mine with surprising firmness. His palm was warm, slightly sweaty, trembling just a bit.

“I think I want to stay by your side forever.”

The declaration hung in the air, heavy with meaning I was probably misinterpreting. Forever was a long time. Like, marriage-vow level commitment. Obviously he meant as a subordinate, a loyal friend, someone who’d learned valuable life lessons and wanted to maintain that connection.

Still, the hand-holding felt slightly intense. My natural panic response activated, screaming danger alerts, suggesting tactical retreat.

But the sushi was really, really good. Premium grade. Probably cost more than my entire lunch budget for the month. Pulling away now would be rude, wasteful, strategically unsound.

I maintained hand contact, accepting this as normal friendship behavior between bros who shared expensive food.

My phone vibrated in my pocket. Not the gentle buzz of a normal notification. This was violent, aggressive, the kind of vibration that suggested something had gone catastrophically wrong.

Heat radiated through my pants. Actual burning sensation, like my phone had spontaneously decided to become a miniature furnace. I yelped, releasing Ryuuji’s hand immediately, fumbling for the device before it caused permanent leg damage.

The screen glowed with colors I’d never seen from it before. Not the usual pink. Not even red. Rainbow colors cycled through at seizure-inducing speed, flashing and pulsing like a disco ball having a mental breakdown.

Text appeared, bold and aggressive, taking up the entire display.

《 ERROR: GENRE SHIFT DETECTED 》

What. What did that even mean. Genre shift. Like a story changing categories. Fiction becoming horror. Romance becoming thriller.

More text scrolled across the rainbow background.

《 WARNING: BOYS LOVE (BL) ROUTE INITIATED 》

My brain stuttered to a complete halt. BL route. Boys Love. The genre. The thing. The extremely specific category of romance that I definitely, absolutely, completely was not trying to activate.

《 PROHIBITED! PROHIBITED! PROHIBITED! 》

The words repeated, flashing faster, the phone’s vibration intensifying until my hand shook from the force.

《 MONOPOLY PROTOCOL VIOLATION: NO MALES ALLOWED 》

The screen turned black for one horrible second. Then new text appeared, red letters on dark background, carrying an authority that made my blood pressure spike.

《 ACTION: CORRECTIVE MEASURES DEPLOYED 》

The phone discharged. Actual electricity, shocking my hand with enough force that my fingers spasmed involuntarily. My arm jerked outward in a violent slapping motion, connecting with Ryuuji’s still-extended hand and knocking it away with unnecessary aggression.

The sound echoed across the courtyard. Sharp. Definitive. Absolutely brutal in its rejection.

Ryuuji’s expression crumbled. Genuine hurt flashed across his features, confusion mixing with pain, the look of someone who’d just been emotionally slapped along with the physical contact.

“Sensei?”

His voice came out small, wounded, nothing like his usual controlled tone.

I stared at my phone in absolute horror. The rainbow colors had faded, replaced by a final message in stark white text.

《 MAINTAIN HETEROSEXUAL PARAMETERS OR FACE IMMEDIATE ACCOUNT DELETION 》

Account deletion. The death sentence. Loss of all progress, all control, everything I’d supposedly built. The App was threatening me. Actually threatening me over hand-holding and bento sharing.

“I WAS JUST FARMING SUSHI!”

The words exploded from my mouth before I could stop them. Internal screaming had become external screaming. My brain had officially short-circuited, all filters removed, pure panic vocalized.

Ryuuji stared at me like I’d started speaking ancient Sumerian. Other students turned to look, drawn by my outburst, witnessing what probably looked like a complete mental breakdown.

The phone buzzed once more, gentle this time, almost smug.

《 HETEROSEXUAL ROUTE RESTORED. CONTINUE FARMING WITH APPROVED TARGETS ONLY. 》

The screen went dark. Normal black. No rainbow colors. No threatening messages. Just my regular home screen with that cursed spiral icon sitting there innocently.

I looked at Ryuuji. At his hurt expression. At the expensive bento box still sitting between us. At his hand, now withdrawn, resting on his lap like a rejected offering.

My mouth opened to explain. To apologize. To somehow make this situation less completely insane.

Nothing came out. What could I possibly say. Sorry, my hypnosis app thinks we’re entering a Boys Love route. Sorry, I got electroshocked for sharing lunch. Sorry, I just screamed about farming sushi like an unhinged person.

Ryuuji stood slowly, gathering his bags and the bento box. His movements were stiff, mechanical, the warmth from moments ago completely evaporated.

“I should go.”

“Wait, I can explain—”

“It’s fine, Alfred-san.”

Alfred-san. Back to formal distance. The kun had disappeared, friendship level dropping faster than my social credit.

He walked away, posture perfect despite the obvious emotional damage. Other students parted around him, probably sensing the drama radiating from the situation.

I sat alone on the bench, phone cooling in my hand, half-eaten premium sushi abandoned beside me.

What the hell just happened.

The App had actively intervened. Physically shocked me. Forced my hand to reject Ryuuji’s gesture. Threatened deletion if I didn’t maintain heterosexual parameters, whatever that meant.

This wasn’t a passive tool. This was active control. This was something monitoring my actions, judging my choices, enforcing rules I hadn’t agreed to.

Cold realization settled in my stomach like lead. The App wasn’t giving me power. The App was controlling me, dictating my relationships, deciding who I could befriend and how close those friendships could become.

I looked at the spiral icon, that innocent swirling design that promised control and delivered chains.

My finger hovered over it. Should I delete this. Should I uninstall right now, before things got worse, before I lost more than just a weird friendship with a rich kid.

A notification appeared before I could decide.

《 DELETION BLOCKED. CONTRACT TERMS REQUIRE MINIMUM USAGE PERIOD. 》

《 DAYS REMAINING: 84 》

Eighty-four days. Almost three months. I was locked in, trapped with this thing, subject to its rules and restrictions until some arbitrary timer expired.

The lunch bell rang, signaling the end of the period and the beginning of afternoon classes. Students filed back inside, leaving the courtyard empty except for me and my existential crisis.

I grabbed the remaining sushi, eating it mechanically, not even tasting the premium fish anymore. Just fuel. Just food. The magic of the shared meal had evaporated completely.

◆　◇　◆

Somewhere in a monitoring room that definitely didn’t exist in any official capacity, Seda watched multiple screens displaying various camera angles of the courtyard scene. Elizabeth stood beside her, tablet in hand, reviewing logs and data streams.

“The genre shift warning was perfect.”

Seda’s voice carried satisfaction mixed with amusement.

“He actually screamed about farming sushi.”

“Monopoly protocol was a nice touch. Really sold the possessive App angle.”

They reviewed the footage again, Alfred’s panicked expression frozen on screen, preserved for posterity and future entertainment.

“Should we feel bad about destroying his friendship?”

Elizabeth considered the question for approximately three seconds.

“No. He needs to learn there are consequences. Besides, Ryuuji was getting too comfortable. This serves both lessons.”

The screens showed Alfred walking back to class, shoulders slumped, phone clutched in his hand like a cursed object he couldn’t release.

His education continued, whether he understood it or not.