Bonus Chapter: “Fly Me to the Friendzone”
Scene 1: Mistaken Identity
—-: Jiro Taiga
Jiro had two things: flowers, and absolutely too much confidence for how this was going to go.
He’d spent the entire night building the little delivery cart — steam-powered, with spring-loaded arms to hold a bouquet at the perfect romantic angle. The chrome plating caught the morning sun just right, and the smell of polished brass made him feel unstoppable.
Today’s the day, he thought, gripping the handlebars of the cart like a man about to propose to destiny. She complimented my jacket last week. That's basically a prenup.
The "she" in question was Minako Fujita, a second-year chemistry major known for perfect goggles, terrifying lab precision, and legs that could bench-press a turbine.
Jiro spotted her across the quad. She was walking with a clipboard and an aura of don’t-bother-me-right-now so intense it could’ve been weaponized.
He took a breath, wheeled the cart forward.
“Minako-san! Special delivery for the lady of intellect and aerodynamic beauty!”
She stopped.
Turned.
Looked down at him.
Then said flatly, “Oh. You’re the new flower courier? Could you take this to Iron Blossom’s hangar? Tell them to stop using my flammable stabilizer gel as conditioner.”
She dropped a sealed package into the cart’s flower tray and walked off without another word.
Jiro stood there, bouquet half-smashed, pride gently imploding.
Well, he told himself. That could’ve gone better. Or worse. Like, actual fire worse.
The cart’s left wheel popped off and rolled into a bush.
Worse, apparently.
Scene 2: Saki’s Dare
—-: Jiro Taiga
There were a few things Jiro knew never to trust: a low-pressure crystal valve, food labeled “experimental curry,” and Saki’s smile.
Right now, that smile was aimed squarely at him over a plate of golden fried tofu and malicious intent.
“I dare you to ask Rin out,” she said, flicking a slice of cucumber off her chopsticks with surgical precision.
“On a date?” Jiro nearly dropped his rice bowl. “Rin? The same Rin who flies like a goddess and glares like a court-martial?”
“For journalism,” Saki said sweetly. “I’m writing a piece. ‘Romance Among the Steamworks: Can Love Lift Off?’ You’d be doing the literary arts a favor.”
“You’re going to print my public death.”
“Maybe. But imagine the headlines.”
“‘Boy Vaporized After Emotional Takeoff.’”
Saki arched a brow. “Don’t be a coward. I saw your failed flower delivery this morning. You clearly have nothing to lose.”
Jiro wanted to object. But… fair.
Across the courtyard, Rin sat under a cherry-blossom tree, eating lunch like it was a tactical operation. She wasn’t even chewing aggressively, but somehow it still felt like a warning.
Jiro glanced at Saki. She was already raising her pen.
Of course she’s documenting this.
He stood. Wobbled. Took a deep breath.
“Okay. Okay. I’m going in.”
Saki grinned like a fox who’d just tricked a chicken into building its own oven.
Thirty seconds later, Jiro came speed-walking back, pale, twitching, and mumbling.
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“She said if I ever breathed romantically in her direction again, she’d use me as a rudder weight.”
“And?” Saki chirped.
“...Honestly, still less painful than rejection by Minako.”
“Hmm. I give it a six for delivery, but a ten for commitment.”
“Please put ‘survived’ in the article headline.”
“No promises.”
Scene 3: The Bouquet Drone Disaster
—-: Jiro Taiga
Jiro tightened the last screw on his magnum opus and whispered to the machine like it was a sleeping dragon.
“Okay, sweetheart. Just fly straight, spin cute, and don’t explode.”
Before him sat the MK-III Bouquedrone — sleeker than its predecessors, with polished copper struts, twin micro-rotors, and a crystal filament launcher tucked beneath a velvet-lined basket. He had even tied a ribbon to the top. Crimson. For passion.
Ren stood ten paces back, goggles on, arms crossed.
“Are you sure about this?”
“Absolutely. This is the future of courtship. Roses by air. Aerial affection. Cupid with gears.”
“You said that last time. It set off the fire alarms.”
“That was the MK-I. We don’t talk about her.”
With great ceremony, Jiro wound the activation crank. The drone coughed steam once, then rose into the air with a triumphant fwoosh! It hovered, wobbled slightly, then adjusted its position. Jiro beamed like a proud parent at graduation.
“Look at her go! Smooth as silk. Steady as—”
The drone let out a ka-chunk, spun in place three times, then began listing dangerously to one side.
“...She’s tilting.”
“No no no no—”
The drone veered, did a loop-de-loop, and accelerated toward the group of students gathering near the lunch benches.
“Abort! Disengage flower cannon!” Jiro shouted.
Instead, the drone did the opposite. The bouquet launched prematurely, scattering roses like high-speed confetti. One rose impaled itself directly in the back of a janitor’s hat. Another hit Rin squarely in the side of the head as she turned the corner.
She froze mid-step.
Ren exhaled like he was watching a building collapse in slow motion.
“Well,” Jiro said, bracing for impact. “Cupid never said love was safe.”
The drone exploded in midair with a thunderous pop, raining flower petals, gears, and just enough burning ribbon to trigger a fire extinguisher burst from a nearby sensor tower.
The janitor didn’t flinch. Rin turned and walked away.
“Worth it,” Jiro whispered, completely covered in steam foam.
Scene 4: Hana’s Advice
—-: Jiro Taiga
The sky was a muddy blue, caught between sunset and forgetting. One of the campus boilers hissed in the background, releasing a puff of steam into the chilly air like a sigh that had been waiting all day.
Jiro sat on the concrete steps outside the hangar, arms draped over his knees, smelling faintly of fire-retardant foam and cooked wiring.
He wasn’t in pain. Not physically. But emotionally?
He’d just been friendzoned by gravity.
“I didn’t even aim at Rin,” he muttered. “She just exists where my drone decided to explode.”
A soft voice answered. “You said that out loud.”
Jiro looked up.
Hana stood beside him, holding a small tin of what looked like candied ginger. Her goggles were perched on her head, and her sleeves were rolled to the elbow, grease smudged on her wrists.
“Did you come to laugh?”
“No.” She sat next to him. “Saki already did that.”
“Of course she did.”
There was a long pause. Jiro watched the steam rise from the boiler stack. Hana fidgeted with the edge of the ginger tin, eyes fixed on a distant crack in the pavement.
“You know,” she said finally, “you’re not unlucky.”
“Have you met me?”
“You just try too hard.”
Jiro blinked. “That’s… worse.”
“It’s not.” Her voice was quiet but clear. “You care. You commit. That’s rare. But romance isn’t a problem you solve by tightening screws or launching flowers.”
“It was a bouquet drone.”
“Exactly.”
She nudged the tin toward him. He took a piece absently.
“If you stop trying so hard,” she added, “you might actually see the people who already think you’re worth something.”
He looked at her, mouth half-open to make a joke—but something in her expression stopped him. It wasn’t pity. It wasn’t sarcasm.
It was just… honest.
He nodded once, slowly.
“You’re not bad at advice,” he said.
“I know,” she said, brushing her hair behind her ear and standing up.
“And this ginger’s terrible.”
“That’s why I shared it.”
Scene 5: “My Co-Pilot”
—-: Jiro Taiga
Jiro lay half-buried under the Silver Dart’s wiring trunk, knees sticking up in the air, one hand holding a wrench and the other trying to thread a heat-shielded cable through a conduit that absolutely hated him.
“If I die in here,” he called, “bury me with my drone blueprints. And tell Rin I died bravely. Or silently. Just lie.”
Ren’s head popped over the rim of the engine housing. He was upside down from Jiro’s view, goggles pushed up and oil smudged along one cheek.
“I tell her you were working on the stabilizer alone, and she’ll personally test the emergency eject seat. On you.”
“Perfect,” Jiro grunted, yanking the wire through. “She’ll think I’m useful in a way that involves screaming and terminal velocity.”
Ren laughed—genuine, not the half-sarcastic kind he usually gave when Saki roasted someone.
“You know,” he said, “you could probably build your own team. Wild Tempo would take you. Half their engineers think you’re cursed, but the other half thinks that’s cool.”
Jiro slid out, wiping his hands on his pants, grease already smeared into patterns that looked suspiciously like failure.
“Nah,” he said. “They wouldn’t let me name the ship.”
Ren handed him a bolt. “What would you name it?”
“Love Missile.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Wingman?”
Ren paused.
Smirked.
“Better. But no.”
They fell quiet for a minute, the only sound the steady tick of a pressure gauge slowly cooling behind them.
Then Ren said, low and not looking directly at him:
“Thanks, by the way. For sticking with the Dart. With me.”
Jiro blinked.
Ren never got sentimental unless he was dizzy or out of coolant.
“You kidding? I’m not going anywhere. You’re a magnet for disaster. I’m practically your insurance policy.”
Ren laughed again—this time softer.
Then he did something he hadn’t done before. He reached over and held out a hand.
“Co-pilot?”
Jiro looked at it like it was a golden ticket.
“Only if I get to install the cupholders.”
“Fine. But I get to name the throttle stick.”
“If you call it ‘The Friendship Lever,’ I’m jumping.”
They shook hands. Just for a second.
But it stuck.
Mini Payoff Complete:
Jiro didn’t get the girl.
He got something better.
A purpose. A seat. A future at someone’s side.
