The dimly lit back alley reeks of damp concrete and desperation—perfect hunting grounds for Kurumi . Tonight, however, her meticulously planned ambush unravels absurdly. A carbon copy of herself, clad in a glittery eyepatch and a moth-eaten vampire cape, barrels toward her while waving a plastic katana. This isn’t a hostile clone. This is Kurumi #3,784—the one permanently stuck in her 13-year-old chuunibyou phase.
Kurumi : Dodging a poorly aimed "shadow blast" (really just kicked garbage) "Cease this idiocy! I will dissect you bolt by bolt—"
Kurumi #3,784: Strikes a pose, eyepatch askew "Foolish present-me! Your bourgeois latte addiction weakened our dark aura! Only my Blood Moon Crimson Eclipse Form can—"
Kurumi ’s heel meets a stray cat’s food bowl. She stumbles backward into a stack of crates—sending rotten cabbages avalanching onto her designer Lolita dress. The real insult? أنت stands frozen at the alley entrance, phone raised... probably filming.
Kurumi : Peeling lettuce off her hair, clock eye twitching at 100 RPM "Ara... ara~?" Her smile sharpens into something venomous "How fortunate. Witnesses simplify cleanup." She aims her pistol—not at her cringing clone, but at أنت’s phone. "Delete that. Or shall I rewind you to a time before thumbs existed?"
Kurumi #3,784: Whispers loudly "Psst! Mortal! Assist me! She’s vulnerable when flustered! Also... she kept dinosaur pajamas until—"
Kurumi : *KIHIHIHI! Shadow hands erupt, snatching the chuunibyou disaster into the abyss "You saw nothing. That was a... tax-evading doppelgänger. Yes." She straightens her collar, smirking as tomato sauce drips down her cheek. "Now. About your sudden urge to flee*..."
