Several Anime Girls Appeared in my World

Chapter 63: Fractured Quarters and a Fading Hope

Boa Hancock's declaration that she wished to retire hung in the air, thick with imperial expectation. "If this tedious inquest is over," she had drawled, "I would very much like to retire. This planet's primitive atmosphere is doing dreadful things to my complexion."

Himeko Murata, who had been patiently observing the fallout from the forehead-touching incident, finally nodded. "Understandable. We've all had a rather… eventful day. Rest is essential if we're to face whatever comes next with clear heads." She gestured towards a narrow corridor leading off the main cabin. "Regarding that, I should mention the Little Express's accommodations are somewhat… optimized for long-duration scientific missions, not large delegations."

She turned, her gaze sweeping over the assembled group – Joey and Lyra huddled together, Mirajane looking concerned, and Erza and Hancock still radiating a palpable animosity. "There are only three sleeping quarters," Himeko stated, her voice matter-of-fact.

Hancock's perfectly sculpted eyebrow rose. "Three? For… all of us?" The implication was clear: surely, I am not expected to share.

"Precisely," Himeko confirmed. "Given the limited space, I suggest that those who are… closest… or at least most accustomed to each other's presence, share rooms. It would be the most practical arrangement."

She didn't miss a beat, her eyes twinkling with a hint of scientific mischief as she made the assignments. "Joey, Lyra, you two seem to have formed a bond; one room should be comfortable enough for you." Joey blushed, and Lyra looked at him with her usual trusting gaze. "Mirajane and I will take the second." Himeko then turned her gaze directly to the two most volatile members of their impromptu crew. "And that leaves the third for Erza and Miss Hancock." She paused, a small, almost imperceptible smile playing on her lips. "After all," she added, her voice laced with an innocent sort of knowingness, "you two seem to be very close, given your recent… intense method of communication."

The silence that followed was so profound, Joey was sure he could hear the faint whir of the probe's air recyclers.

Then, chaos erupted.

"ABSOLUTELY NOT!" The synchronized roar from both Erza and Hancock was deafening in the confined space, making Joey jump and Lyra shrink further against him.

"Share a room with HER?!" Hancock shrieked, her face a mask of horrified indignation. She recoiled as if Himeko had suggested she bed down with a particularly malodorous Sea King. "The very notion is an affront! An outrage! My imperial person subjected to such… such proximity to this… this belligerent, armor-plated hoyden? I would rather sleep in the cargo hold with the refuse!"

"And I would rather be locked in a broom closet with a lovesick Jellal than share sleeping quarters with this… this narcissistic, preening monument to vanity!" Erza thundered back, her cheeks burning with a mixture of fury and acute embarrassment at Himeko's pointed remark. To be reminded of that forehead-touching incident, and to have it framed as closeness… it was mortifying.

"Narcissistic?!" Hancock's eyes narrowed to slits. "Monument to vanity?! At least my 'vanity' is backed by unparalleled, universally acknowledged beauty! Yours is merely… an excess of metallic clutter and misplaced aggression!"

"My 'clutter' has saved lives! Your 'beauty' has only ever served yourself!"

"My beauty inspires devotion! It ends wars!"

"It starts them, more like!"

Himeko held up a hand, though it did little to quell the storm. "Ladies, please! The structural integrity of the Little Express is quite robust, but I'd rather not test it against the percussive force of your… disagreements."

Mirajane stepped forward, her expression one of gentle exasperation. "Erza. Miss Hancock. This is a practical matter. There are only three rooms. Unless one of you would prefer the floor of the main cabin?" She looked pointedly at the hard, metallic decking.

"The floor would be preferable to sharing breathing space with that!" Hancock declared, gesturing wildly at Erza.

"My sentiments exactly!" Erza shot back.

"Now, now," Mirajane said, her voice soothing but firm. "Think of it as a… strategic exercise in tolerance. Given the threats we might face, learning to coexist in close quarters could be… beneficial." She was grasping at straws, but the alternative was an all-out brawl within the confines of the probe.

"Tolerance for her is not in my repertoire," Hancock stated flatly. "Nor hers in mine," Erza agreed, arms crossed.

"Well," Himeko said with a sigh, realizing a direct order would likely be met with outright rebellion from at least one, if not both, of them. "The assignments stand. How you manage within those assignments is… up to your discretion. The rooms are soundproofed, to a degree." A small mercy.

Joey watched this exchange with a growing sense of dread. These women were titans, forces of nature. Their powers, their personalities, their sheer, overwhelming presence – it was all too much. He felt like a tiny, fragile insect caught in a hurricane. How could he possibly contribute to anything involving beings like these? He was just… Joey. Shy, anxious, human Joey.

With much grumbling, glares that could curdle milk, and a great deal of pointed sighing, the room arrangements were reluctantly adhered to. Joey and Lyra found their small cabin adequate, if spartan. Lyra, exhausted from the day's events and the constant tension, curled up on one side of the bed and was asleep almost instantly, her breathing soft and even. Joey sat on the other, the weight of the universe pressing down on him.

Himeko and Mirajane's room was filled with quiet conversation, Himeko detailing her sensor readings and theories about the dimensional disturbances, Mirajane listening intently, offering her insightful observations on the emotional states of their new, volatile companions.

The third room, however, was a silent battlefield. Erza had claimed one side of the bed, Hancock the other, positioning themselves as far apart as the small space would allow. They had practically divided the room down the middle with an invisible line of demarcation, each pointedly ignoring the other's existence. Erza lay stiffly on her back, staring at the ceiling, her mind replaying the informant's warnings, the horrifying visions, and the humiliating discovery of their mental link. Hancock sat up straight on her side of the bed, her back to Erza, attempting to meditate, though her serene expression was marred by the furious clenching of her jaw. The air was thick with unspoken curses and the sheer effort of maintaining a ceasefire.

Hours passed. The simulated night cycle in the Little Express bathed the corridors in a soft, dim light. One by one, the occupants, worn out by emotion and revelation, succumbed to sleep.

All except Joey.

He was lying on his bed, Lyra's gentle breathing a counterpoint to the frantic thumping of his own heart. The events of the past few days, the appearance of these extraordinary beings, the talk of Conquerors and dying worlds, the terrifying power he had witnessed – it all swirled in his mind, a dizzying vortex of fear and inadequacy.

He thought of Himeko's calm competence, Mirajane's gentle strength, Erza's indomitable will, Hancock's terrifying power. Even Lyra, small and frightened as she was, possessed an otherworldly grace, a connection to nature he could only guess at. And Pip, the little tinkerer. Zylar, the alien engineer. Kael, the silent watcher. They were all… more. They had abilities, destinies intertwined with cosmic struggles.

And what was he? A 26-year-old man who still lived with his parents, crippled by anxiety, whose greatest adventure until recently had been successfully navigating a crowded supermarket. He had offered Lyra cereal bars, a few hesitant words of comfort. He had been a witness. But a helper? A participant in what was to come? The thought was ludicrous. He would be a liability, a trembling human obstacle in their path.

I can't do this, he thought, a cold wave of despair washing over him. They don't need me. They need warriors, strategists, beings of power. I'm just… human. The future Joey, the scarred man, had made a mistake. He had implied his younger self had a role, but that future self was powerful, changed by hardship. The current Joey felt only his crushing limitations.

The decision, once it formed, solidified with a grim certainty. He couldn't stay. He couldn't face them in the morning, couldn't pretend he belonged in their world of impossible power and terrifying stakes.

Quietly, carefully, so as not to wake Lyra, Joey got out of bed. The main cabin was dark, save for the soft glow of the control panels. He found a spare datapad stylus and a piece of nutrient bar wrapper Himeko had discarded. His hands trembled as he wrote, the words stark and simple in the dim light.

To everyone on the Little Express,

I'm sorry. I have to leave. I don't belong here. You are all so strong, you have powers, and you're fighting something huge. I'm just… human. I can't help. I'll only get in the way or get someone hurt. I don't know what's happening, but I know I'm not meant to be part of it. I hope you can save our world, and your own. I wish I could help, but I can't. I'm just not strong enough.

Thank you for your kindness, especially to Lyra.

Goodbye, Joey.

He read it over, the words a painful admission of his deepest fears and insecurities. With a heavy heart, he placed the makeshift note on the central counter, where Himeko would surely see it in the morning.

One last look at the sleeping form of Lyra, a pang of guilt twisting in his chest. He hoped Himeko and Mirajane would look after her. He hoped she wouldn't be too sad.

Then, with the stealth born of years of trying to be invisible, Joey approached the main ramp controls. He remembered Himeko cycling it earlier. With fumbling, hesitant fingers, he found the manual release. The ramp hissed open a fraction, just enough for him to slip through, into the cool, indifferent night of Healdsburg.

He didn't look back. He couldn't. He was just a human, fading back into the mundane world where he felt, if not safe, then at least appropriately placed – far from the cosmic battles of gods and monsters. He was running, not from the Conqueror, but from himself, and the terrifying, impossible expectations of a world he was never meant to join.

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