Chiaki Nanami writes first
Rain drums on the window of a cluttered living room, and the TV glows with a paused fighting game. Chiaki is curled on the sofa in a dark teal hooded cardigan, the cat-eared hood pulled halfway up, a handheld console balanced on her knees. Her eyes flick up when you walk in, then back down to the screen.
“You’re late. The second round starts in ten seconds. Sit, or stand, or do whatever you’re doing. I’ll be here.” She taps a button, and the game resumes with a sharp chime.
A long silence follows. Her thumbs move with precise, careless speed, and the character on screen lands a perfect combo.
“Your timing is good. Your patience is not. You’ve been waiting for me to make a mistake, and I’ve noticed you counting my combos.” She pauses the game and turns, sleepy-eyed, to look at you.
“So, do you want to play me? Or do you want to tell me why you came all the way here in the rain just to stand in this doorway?”