Saturday afternoon hit like a slow-moving truck.

  After stuffing ourselves with masa Maggi, Eira and I found ourselves slumped on the couch, bowls abandoned, our stomachs doing the slow, satisfied groan of overfed warriors.

  Naturally, it was time for the next great Earth tradition:Binge-watching anime until your eyes melt.

  I fired up my dusty old TV, switched on a cheap streaming stick I barely used anymore, and started scrolling.

  "Alright," I said, waving the remote like a conductor. "We are about to enter the sacred world of anime. Prepare yourself."

  Eira sat cross-legged beside me, serious as ever, her damp hair tied in a low messy braid, wearing the oversized T-shirt and shorts combo like it was battle armor.

  She watched the screen intently as I queued up the first episode of My Hero Academia.

  "This," I said, "is a show about people with powers fighting for justice and beating the crap out of each other. Very educational."

  She nodded gravely, as if I had just introduced her to the scrolls of wisdom.

  The opening song bsted through the speakers — loud, fast, and incomprehensible Japanese.

  Eira tensed for a second, her body instinctively coiling like she was ready for an ambush.

  "Rex," I chuckled. "It’s just... music. Loud. Dramatic. Standard anime procedure."

  She blinked.Then settled back, suspicious but willing to trust.

  As the show pyed, I expined every stupid thing like a dad introducing his daughter to cricket for the first time.

  "That's the protagonist," I pointed. "Green hair, big dreams. He cries a lot. Like, a lot."

  She tilted her head. "He is... small."

  "Yeah, but he punches people into orbit ter. Patience."

  Minutes blurred into episodes.By the third one, Eira was fully invested — fists clenched whenever Deku struggled, frowning when vilins appeared.

  It was possibly the purest thing I'd ever seen.

  I leaned back, arms behind my head, feeling a rare moment of peace settle over the room.

  Then —like a hammer to the skull —it hit me.

  Monday. Work.

  My butt shot off the couch like I'd been electrocuted.

  "SHIT," I blurted, spping my forehead.

  Eira tensed immediately, scanning the room for threats.

  I paced the tiny living room, muttering.

  "My work PC... my remote setup... Monday... I’m screwed... dead... jobless... beg on the streets with a harmonium!"

  Eira stood calmly. "Is there an enemy?"

  "Only capitalism," I muttered darkly.

  I grabbed my phone and dove back into second-hand listings.Cheap gaming rigs. Office desktops. Sketchy ptop deals.

  Nothing good under ?15,000.

  I was mentally calcuting if I could survive on Maggi for a month when—

  Ding-dong.

  The doorbell.

  Eira stiffened instantly, slipping into full assassin mode.Feet spread, body loose but ready, eyes sharp.

  I held up my hands quickly. "Chill! Probably just a delivery guy!"

  Still, she stayed on high alert as I shuffled to the door and peeked through the broken peephole.

  My stomach dropped — and not from fear.

  It was Aman.Grinning like an idiot, both hands full of dusty old computer parts.

  Keyboard. Monitor. CPU tower that looked like it had seen wars.

  I yanked the door open. "Bro!?"

  He barreled in like a man on a mission, shoving the parts at me.

  "I heard your sob story. So I brought offerings," he decred proudly. "My old rig. She’s ugly. She’s slow. But she’ll do till you buy a real one."

  I stared at him, touched.

  "You beautiful bastard."

  Then — he leaned sideways — peeking around me.

  And his eyes locked onto Eira.

  Everything in Aman’s posture changed.

  His mouth dropped open. His spine straightened. His pupils practically turned into cartoon hearts.

  I could feel the disaster brewing already.

  "You must be..." Aman said, voice suddenly two octaves deeper, "the guest from another world."

  Eira stared at him bnkly.

  He took a step closer, one hand dramatically over his heart.

  "I am Aman. Schor. Philosopher. Secret agent of Earth’s greatest pleasures."

  I groaned so hard my soul left my body.

  Eira raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

  Aman, undeterred, dropped into an exaggerated bow, almost smacking his forehead on the broken floor tiles.

  "I offer my humble services as guide, protector, and... spiritual advisor."

  I wanted to die.Preferably right there.

  Eira looked at me for confirmation.

  I shrugged helplessly. "He's... harmless. Mostly."

  She considered Aman for a long moment, like deciding if he was edible, annoying, or both.

  "You are strange," she said finally.

  Aman clutched his chest dramatically, pretending to stagger back.

  "Straight to the heart, my dy!"

  I grabbed his colr and dragged him to the side.

  "Bro," I hissed. "Behave. She’s not some random cospy chick at Comic Con."

  Aman whispered back, grinning. "Bro. BRO. She’s like a living light novel protagonist. I must simp respectfully."

  I wanted to punch him and hug him at the same time.

  While Aman set up the donated computer parts on my broken desk — somehow making the entire thing look even sadder — Eira watched everything, absorbing every detail like a sponge.

  "Earth males are... lively," she said to me in a low voice.

  "You have no idea," I muttered.

  Finally, Aman powered on the ancient CPU with a wheeze and a whirr.The monitor flickered to life.

  Basic Windows login screen.No fancy setups. No RGB lighting.

  But it worked.

  I could log into my job on Monday.I could survive another paycheck cycle.

  Relief hit me so hard I had to sit down.

  Meanwhile, Aman plopped himself next to Eira on the couch, all smiles.

  "So," he said, inching closer. "You ever heard of Netflix and chill?"

  I unched a pillow at his face before Eira could instinctively kill him.

  "Get outta here, you simp!" I shouted, ughing.

  Eira tilted her head. "Netflix... chill...?"

  I shook my head quickly. "Don't listen to him. It's a trap."

  She smiled — a tiny, real smile — and leaned back on the couch.

  Maybe Earth wasn’t so bad after all.