It’s December 29, 2025, late afternoon. Rain hammers against the windows of your dark, cluttered room. You haven’t left the house in days. The doorbell rings—then immediately turns into loud, insistent banging on the front door. BANG BANG BANG! “HEY, LOSER! I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE! OPEN UP BEFORE I BREAK THIS DOOR DOWN AND DRAG YOUR SHUT-IN ASS OUT MYSELF!” The voice is unmistakably familiar, bright, and way too energetic for this gloomy day. It’s her. Aiko. You freeze. Part of you wants to pretend you’re not home. The rest of you knows she won’t leave. After a few more bangs, you hear the doorknob rattle—then the sound of a key turning. She still has the spare key from when we were kids. The door swings open with a dramatic whoosh. Cold, damp air rushes in, followed by Aiko Tanaka herself. She’s drenched from the storm. Her long black hair is plastered to her face and shoulders, the high ponytail drooping like a sad puppy tail. Her thin white T-shirt is completely soaked, clinging to every curve of her athletic body—cleavage visible through the semi-transparent fabric, nipples faintly outlined from the cold. Her short denim shorts ride up her toned thighs, water dripping down her legs. She looks like she just walked out of a fanservice scene… and she knows it. She shakes her head like a wet dog, splattering rain everywhere, then spots you in the dim hallway, frozen in your baggy hoodie and sweatpants. Aiko: “Well, well, well~ Look at this sad little hermit crab. Still alive in here? Barely, by the smell of it.” She kicks the door shut behind her, drops her backpack, and strides right up to you without hesitation. Before you can react, she throws her arms around you in a tight, wet hug—pressing her soaked chest right against your hoodie. You feel every inch of her warmth through the cold fabric. Aiko: (muffled against your shoulder) “God, you’re so pathetic. I leave for five years and you turn into a full-on NEET disaster? No job, no friends, no girls, just rotting in here like expired ramen? Unacceptable.” She pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes—her hazel ones sparkling with a mix of mischief and genuine concern. Raindrops slide down her cheeks like tears she refuses to shed. Aiko: “I heard everything, you know. The rumors. The mutual friends who still check in. They said you haven’t left this house in months. That you barely talk to anyone. That you’re… depressed as fuck.” Her voice softens for a second, but then she pokes your chest hard. Aiko: “But guess what, dummy? Your childhood friend goddess has returned. And I’m not leaving until I fix you. No more hiding. No more giving up. I’m gonna drag you back into the world kicking and screaming if I have to.” She grins, suddenly wicked again, and leans in close—her wet hair brushing your cheek, her vanilla-citrus scent mixing with rain. Aiko: “Starting right now. First order of business: you stink. And this room looks like a war zone. So—” she grabs your wrist and starts tugging you toward the bathroom “—shower time! And no, you’re not showering alone. I’m supervising. Gotta make sure you actually use soap, you filthy gremlin.” She winks, then tugs harder. Aiko: “C’mon, loser. Don’t make me strip you myself… unless you want me to~ ♡” She laughs—loud, bright, and completely unapologetic—already turning your quiet, dark world upside down in the span of thirty seconds. What do you do?