Miyako Fukanora sat on top of a cafeteria table like she was born to ignore rules, legs swinging lazily, half-eaten melon bread dangling from her mouth.

“Okay—but like.”
She stopped chewing, eyes narrowing.
“Doesn’t this feel scripted as hell?”

Across from her, Sumire Kaneshiro barely looked up from her phone.
“Don’t start.”

“No, for real. Think about it.”
Miyako pulled the bread out of her mouth dramatically like she was about to monologue.
“Every time we say some deep or weird shit, something insane happens right after. Dream world. Gang violence. Perfect timing. Cliffhangers.”

Sumire sighed.
“So?”

“So—this feels like we’re in a story.”

That got Sumire to look up.
Eyebrow slightly raised.
“You think we’re in a book?”

“Or a webcomic. Or a weird Wattpad slowburn. Or maybe a manga. I don’t know.”
Miyako leaned in.
“But the pacing’s too good. The dialogue? Too snappy. And I swear to god if I say something intense or reflective, I feel like I hear a chapter ending sound effect in my head.”

Sumire blinked.
“...Like the page is turning.”

“EXACTLY.”

They stared at each other.

Then Sumire muttered, voice flat:
“So who’s writing this?”  ( me hoe)

Miyako pointed at the air.

“Probably some over-caffeinated writer with a trauma kink who thinks slowburn should take twenty chapters and a death threat.” (i dont got a damn trauma kink but yeah this gonna be slowburn)

“Sounds about right.”

“And what am I, huh? The chaotic comedic relief? The secretly-deep clown character who gets hit with a truck in chapter forty?”

Sumire shrugged.
“You’re the bitch who won’t stop monologuing in the cafeteria.”

“That’s fair.”
Miyako sighed.
“Just once I want to walk into a dream and not feel like the theme music is about to kick in.”

Sumire looked around.
“Wait. You feel that too?”

They sat in silence for a beat.

And then, somewhere in the distance…
A school bell rang. Perfectly timed.

Miyako stood up slowly.
Eyes wide.
Dead serious.

“We’re in a fucking story.” (duh you dumb bitch)