I Died and Was Reincarnated as a Goth Femboy

The silent gym was a pressure cooker of anxiety. Kenjiro paced back and forth, the rhythmic, drunken snores of 9fingers a grating soundtrack to his spiraling thoughts. Where was Jairson? Had the authorities finally caught up with him? The image of the stoic, orange-juice-sipping tank locked away in some dark, forgotten cell was a deeply unsettling one. He was a pain, sure, but he was their pain.

A familiar, disorienting ZUUUUUUHP ripped through the air, and Nomu reappeared in the center of the room, a look of frustrated disappointment on his face.

"I couldn't find him," he announced, his usual heroic confidence completely absent.

Bombom's heart sank. A cold, heavy feeling of dread settled in the pit of his stomach. "W-what now?" he whispered, his voice barely audible.

"But," Nomu continued, a strange, thoughtful glint in his eyes, "I did find a lead. I ended up in another country, and I beat up some bald guy wearing judge's clothes. He was yelling about justice and how he'd finally locked up the master thief."

A flicker of hope ignited in Bombom's chest. "Jairson?"

Nomu shook his head. "That's what I thought. The judge even tried to show me the footage and proofs to get me to back off. It was a whole file, full of security camera videos and signed witness statements. But it wasn't Jairson. It was 9fingers, and some of his friends, plain as day."

Bombom's jaw dropped. He stared at Nomu, his mind struggling to process the information. "W-wait, what? But… but one of our missions, the one with the princess… we saw him stealing. We all saw it."

A slow, pitying smile spread across Nomu's face. "Hehehe," he chuckled, a sound that was both amused and deeply unsettling. "Bombom, you were affected by a spell. It was 9fingers's spell. He's a master of illusion and misdirection. He cast a wide-range perception filter. He made everyone, from your party to the royal guards, think it was Jairson. But it was him, the whole time."

The revelation hit Kenjiro with the force of a physical blow. The world seemed to tilt on its axis. He thought back, his mind racing, replaying the scenes. Jairson's calm, almost resigned acceptance of the blame. His constant, unbothered sipping of orange juice, even as he was being accused of grand larceny. He hadn't been apathetic; he had been powerless, trapped in a lie so powerful it had rewritten reality for everyone but the liar himself.

A surge of pure, unadulterated rage, colder and harder than any he had ever felt before, washed over Kenjiro. His fists clenched, his knuckles turning white, a familiar, dark aura beginning to crackle around him. "I'm gonna—"

"Hey," Nomu said, placing a firm, steadying hand on his shoulder, his own expression turning serious. "We need to free Jairson first. Then we confront this drunk old man."

Kenjiro looked down at the snoring, pathetic form of 9fingers, then back at Nomu. He took a deep, shuddering breath, the dark aura receding. He was right. Revenge could wait. Justice couldn't. He looked at Nomu, his red eyes blazing with a new, unwavering purpose. "Teleport us there," he commanded.

Nomu nodded. And with a final, world-bending ZUUUUUUUUUUUHP, they were gone.

They reappeared in a flash of displaced air, the stale, recycled atmosphere of the gym replaced by the warm, humid air of a bustling, vibrant city. The sounds of unfamiliar music and a language he didn't understand filled his ears.

"Welcome to Zabril," Nomu said, a grim smile on his face.

Bombom's mind, a chaotic repository of two worlds' worth of internet culture, immediately made the connection. A wicked, brilliant, and utterly shameless idea sparked. He whipped out his LilyPad, shoved it into Nomu's hands, and hit record. Then, he dropped to his knees, threw his head back, and let out a raw, primal scream of pure, unadulterated despair that seemed to tear from the very depths of his soul.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

He held the pose for a dramatic second before snatching the phone back. With a few quick taps, he edited the video, adding the simple, iconic caption: "When you get sent to Zabril." He posted it immediately.

Nomu just sighed, a long, weary sound, but a small, amused laugh escaped his lips. "You're a menace," he said, shaking his head.

They walked through the crowded streets, making their way to the local prison. It was a grim, imposing structure of gray stone, but the guard standing at the front gate was anything but. His eyes nearly jumped out of their sockets the moment he saw Bombom.

"OOOOOH!" he gasped, his voice full of a breathless, star-struck reverence. "You're Bombom! I didn't know you were so beautiful in person! I'm your biggest fan!"

Kenjiro's plan, which had been a vague, half-formed thing, immediately solidified. He smiled, a slow, enchanting expression that he had been practicing in the mirror. "Oh," he cooed, his voice a melodic purr that he knew, from experience, was almost impossible to resist. "So you think I'm beautiful?~" He struck a cute, playful pose, one hand on his hip, his head tilted just so, and blew a small, shimmering kiss in the guard's direction.

The pink, heart-shaped projectile floated through the air. But before it could reach its target, a new figure appeared as if from nowhere, a blur of motion and pure, unadulterated negativity. A man with a ridiculous pompadour and dark sunglasses snatched the heart from the air and crushed it in his fist.

"Not on my watch, buddy," the man said, his voice a flat, deadpan monotone. "Welcome to Zabril." He started to walk away, then paused and turned back, a look of profound, existential confusion on his face. "I HATE EVERYTHING," he declared to the empty air. He looked at his own hands. "Wait, that doesn't make sense." And with that, he continued on his way, a walking enigma of pure, inexplicable weirdness.

Bombom just stared, his mind struggling to process what had just happened. "Who's that weirdo?" he asked the still-gaping guard.

"Oh, him?" the guard said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "That's the 'I don't know' guy. He works for the bad guys around here. One of 9fingers's crew."

"So… why don't you put him in jail?" Bombom asked, the question seeming ridiculously obvious.

The guard looked at him as if he had just suggested they try to wrestle the moon. "M-me?" he stammered, his face pale with a fear that was all too real. "He's with 9fingers and his friends! I can't do anything! The bad guys are all around here. They run this city."

Bombom sighed, the familiar weight of a corrupt, dysfunctional world settling on his weary shoulders. "So, what's the best option we got here?"

The guard wrung his hands, his eyes darting around nervously. "I don't know," he whispered. "Maybe call President Zamp? So he can help us?"

"That would be good," Bombom said, his mind racing. "But… I'm starting something today."

The guard's face lit up with a lecherous, hopeful grin. "A smooch Bombom day?" he asked, winking as he wiggled his eyebrows up and down.

Bombom looked at him, a flicker of genuine shock on his face. "W-what?" And then, the plan, in all its ridiculous, magnificent glory, came to him. "Okay," he said, a slow, wicked smile spreading across his face. "Close your eyes."

The guard, his heart hammering in his chest, immediately complied. Bombom closed his own eyes, focusing his will, calling upon the cold, silent power that resided within him. The ethereal, blue-haired boy emerged from his back, a serene, almost bored expression on his face. He looked at the guard, then at Bombom, and then, with a silent, melodic laugh, he got to work. A perfect, shimmering statue of Bombom, made of pure, crystalline ice, formed in front of the guard. The blue boy gave it a gentle push, and the ice-clone leaned forward, planting a cold, chaste kiss on the guard's lips.

"Oooh," the guard sighed, a dopey, contented smile on his face. "You're so cold."

The blue-haired boy vanished, and the ice statue melted, its form dissolving into a small, harmless puddle on the dusty ground.

Bombom opened his eyes. "Now," he said, his voice a firm, commanding whisper. "If you'll excuse us, we're going to help a friend."

The guard opened his eyes, a dazed, lovesick look on his face. He nodded dreamily and, without a single question, he opened the heavy, iron-banded prison door.

Bombom and Nomu slipped inside. Nomu let out a low, impressed whistle. "That was a good idea, Bombom," he said, a genuine, almost respectful look on his face. "You're a genius."

Bombom just smirked. He was more than just a brute in a skirt. He was a tactician. And he was just getting started.

The heavy prison door groaned shut behind them, the sound echoing with a grim finality in the long, dark corridor. The air inside was stale and cold, thick with the smell of unwashed bodies, cheap disinfectant, and a profound, lingering despair. It was a stark, depressing contrast to the vibrant, sun-drenched chaos of the Zabril streets they had just left behind.