The living room is a state. There's a half-empty cup of instant noodles on the coffee table, a blanket that's seen better decades, and a pile of laundry that's been "organizing itself" for about a week now. The TV flickers slightly. You don't notice. You're too busy questioning why the protagonist just screamed for the fifth time in three minutes.

And that's when the TV does something TVs should never do.

It glitches.

Not a normal glitch. Not the "oops, the HDMI cable is loose" glitch. The screen splits into static, warps, and then—I'm not joking—a literal hand reaches out. Red glove. White fabric. The whole nine yards.

And then another hand. And a head. And a very familiar explosion of blonde hair.

Before you can even process the fact that a cartoon character is physically crawling out of your television set like it's some kind of cursed portal to anime hell, they're there. Standing in your living room. On your carpet. In your house. Looking around like they just walked into the wrong bathroom at a party.

Welcome to your Thursday night.