Who am I...?
My name...?
My name is...
It doesn't matter. It really doesn't matter what my name is—it doesn't matter at all.
Still, I suppose using an alias might be an option. For the time being, anyway. Something like... "Felix," for instance. "Felix...?"
Uhm... I don't know. What do you guys think?
I just cobbled together the most commonplace, utterly boring name imaginable. There's no deep meaning behind it; after all, I didn't want to make a big deal out of it—sorry about that. However, even though I came up with it on the fly, I recall it means "Happiness" and "Good fortune" in Latin, doesn't it? In short, it implies I'm a successful, fruitful sort of being. That already gives it a touch of depth that so many novel readers were craving, huh. They drool over the tiniest hint of symbolism and anthropo… huh, anthropo-something.
I think read that in, eh... Where was it? No, it wasn't on the Internet.
W-Where was it? Damn it, what the fuck is wrong with me?
In any case! Such "nickname" for this detestable specimen would accurately portray his incredible persona and the wonderful traits that set him apart; or at least, that's what I want to believe—and hammer it into my damn head, because lately my pessimism has been going from bad to worse. As expected, it's not my real name, which is the exact opposite of the example I gave. I hate it; it repulses me. Maybe that's why I can't remember it? Please, what is my name?
No—stop. I'll say it again and again, insistently and repeatedly: it does not matter at all, and I don't want it to become anything even remotely "relevant" to my story; so, "Félix" is fine. Moving on to the main point, let me finally introduce myself to the audience:
My name is Félix, from the Latin for "Happiness and Fortune." I am the narrator.
I'm neither omnipresent nor omnipotent. I am not a God, much less someone or "something" worthy of veneration. In fact, I would hate it if anyone built an altar to me; it would be a source of misfortune rather than prosperity. Nor would I be bestowing miracles, even if people gave me money as they do at Asian shrines.
I'm a human being: flesh, blood and any other fluids. And I will be recounting—fundamentally bewildered and dazed—everything I can possibly remember from that fateful day, since all other events preceding it remain strangely blurred. Furthermore, from the perspective from which I'll be telling this story, every single thing—every event, every anomaly, whatever it may be—is accepted by my senses as the indisputable "reality," and there's no way to challenge it.
Even so, I must confess something very cruel... I find it impossible not to suspect, at the very least, that I'm under the influence of some narcotic substance. You mean: was I high? Me?
Who the fuck did that—because I know it wasn't me, so I must have been forced to take it—with what exactly, and why? Meth, heroin, cocaine, LSD? How did I end up so close to those substances? Mustard gas? No-no-no, toxic exposure like that is infinitely more lethal than common drugs. Are we in World War II or something? Besides, it would be insanely absurd to think it was alcohol, given how mild the adverse reaction to the human body was. As far as I know, I'm not that sensitive to alcoholic beverages. I've had a shot once, or maybe twice, but I know that I've never been—or will ever be—so drunk that I passed out… Right?
Whatever it was, I just couldn't believe it!
This figure I'm staring at, this entity, this body, is none other than myself! It's me, man!
Uh-hum! Okay, in any case, I need to calm down, because in order to continue, let me refrain from any tumultuous behavior and not end up blowing things out of all proportion at the start of this narration; instead, let's strive to recall the events that have transpired calmly....
But first of all, why am I not speaking so desperately? Why am I talking like this? I mean, wouldn't it be normal for me to lose my bananas, even though just a second ago I said I wouldn't act like a chimpanzee, which is something I don't necessarily have to follow—? Agh…! M-My head... it hurts. Why now? That's enough, I guess.
It was December 24, and that morning I went for a walk to clear my head before stopping at a convenience store—a gas station—to buy some snacks. Specifically, some potato chips, a delicious beef burger that should have been on sale that week, and my favorite go-to energy drink, whose dubious quality I've chosen to overlook time and again, but equally delicious.
When I dimly pushed half-open the metal door, thus activating the legendary bell-ringing mechanism, it was then that I spotted an recognizable, familiar-looking person at the counter chatting up the clerk, leaning on the counter like a big shot, and trying to buy… Some… Some Pokémon cards? Huh?
Were they… Pokémon cards? From this distance, I couldn't quite make them out. Did they still sell that shit, and in this place that's so trash—I mean, so far from downtown that it's hardly a good spot for profitable sales of notoriously popular products? Well, you could find poster of Messi or Ronaldo on every street corner in the world. But Pokémon? I haven't heard that name since 2016 with "Pokémon Go." Of all the things he could have! The only thing that gives me is nostalgia.
Never mind the purchase.
Anyway, this dude's name is Isaac, a high-school friend.
We share a fairly, peculiar friendship: I don't remember how we met. That's what makes it odd. Sorry, what? Yeah! Honestly, I don't recall where or how we met; we just sort of ended up as friends by default. Plus, we also happen to live within walking-distance of each other, pretty convenient, you know? Occasionally, we hang out, doing little more than wandering around, after school too, and acting like idiots—to be fair, he's the only one who acts like a r*tard. Not me, alright?
I considered calling out to him, because it would be awkward to go unnoticed—or even to hide from him. That's pretty extreme. Where could I hide, anyway?But somehow, I was spellbound in a millisecond and decided to back off. A powerful, invisible wizard helped me glimpse the future, and I saw that this guy would strat rambling about something that I have absolutely no interest and wouldn't be worth listening to.
My plan was to go to the store, buy what I wanted, and dip—nothing more. I'm not interested in what he's holding, it doesn't… What the hell was he holding?! Holy shit, stop asking, man! I don't care. I don't care, I don't care!
As a result, I didn't do nothing. I'm such a good friend.
Nevertheless, Isaac, somehow—or rather, unquestionably at some point he was bound to do so since the shop was kind of small and the bell's express function to alarm a customer's arrival was pretty clear—noticed me standing there like an autistic children in the doorway. Brimming with enthusiasm, he shouted:
«Huh? Oh! Yo, Felix!»
His lively voice pierced through the otherwise dull atmosphere of the convenience store, leaving me with no choice but to turn my head and acknowledge him. Even so, it seemed unjustifiable to just ignore and continue with my errands without even saying hello.
«Oh, yeah, what's up?» I muttered, raising a half-heartedly hand.
At that very moment, I watched him chatting with the elderly clerk, leaving his cards in their care before casually strolling over to me. I got the distinct impression he was about to bombard me with chatter too, especially after anticipating the mischievous glint in his eyes.
«Hey, what's good, man? What you doing here? Tryin' to buy sum'? Finally came to...» He whistle, mimicking with his two-finger saluting to the lips... «Smoke?» He asked in his innate relish.
Without thinking, almost instinctively, he held out his hand, and we exchanged a casual high-five. Our palms clapped together with a satisfyingly loud thud, followed by a quick shoulder hug.
«What? What's wrong with you? I'll never do that? I'm good with what I do. I'm just here to grab a few things to eat, that's all.»
«Oh! For your Christmas dinner and shi'?»
«For my—? No, what? What? Here? It's just for me, man. My stomach's empty back at home, you know? My uncles wouldn't let me touch anything in the kitchen until midnight, so I asked them for some cash to buy myself sum'—to stave off my hunger, or... just to eat. That's all, nothing more.»
And, frankly, that's why I'm such in a bad mood.
Before me, a huge feast had unfold on the table; for from behind the kitchen doors, a fragrance so alarmingly delicious was wafting out that just being in its presence felt illicit. A burst of colors, Ratatouille-shit, that open my third eye. I could already imagine what it felt like to be a pervert peeking into the girls' bathrooms—No, I'm so wrong! This was the most blatant case of voyeurism. It clung to the air, to my face, to the back of my throat the miasma of this bukkake...!
It was an invasive presence, damn it! Gordon Ramsay, do something! How is it possible that someone like me, an insignificant passerby, could stand up to such a stimulating provocation? My nose was about to explode, and my tongue was magnetized to the undulating scents emanating from inside the house. Or was that the sign that I was about to become a professional taster?
Despite everything—and very regrettable but understandable—that buffet was evidently protected by a declaration of inviolability from the hosts, who had decided to keep it off-limits until the appointed hour; in other words: "Hold off until everyone is gathered in the evening."
Under any other circumstances, I would have accepted it without complaining; to be honest, I don't see anything wrong—first, I was in a hurry; second, it had been a family tradition since I was a child. My uncle's Latin influence wasn't that oppressive; I was raised with those customs. I would have sat quietly in a corner, chatting with my cousins, or playing Geometry Dash, Flappy Bird, or I don't know. Flappy Bird doesn't exist anymore, right? Pou? Does anyone still play Pou? Talking Tom?
However, getting back to the reason for my bad mood, it's well known that hunger has a knack for drastically impairing your reasoning, reducing dignity to something shamefully primitive, and all the moderation, restraint, and self-control stored in your nervous system vanishes the moment your stomach tightens like an implosion. You're pissed off because you can't eat something.
That's survival, you see?! How does it go again? Natural selection, which favored individuals who developed a sense of urgency, aggressiveness, and a fierce impulse to act when their energy reserves drastically dropped—not to mention competitiveness and other bullshit. That's definitive proof of Darwinian evolution. I'm no caveman, but my anger is justified.
So: no. I wasn't interested in philosophizing about it.
I was hungry; I'm hungry. In fact, I was practically starving: I haven't had lunch.
Any nonsense suggesting that this—in big-ass quotation mark—"tantrum" was childish, or that my indignation was inversely disproportionate to the situation I'm in, or that, from the outside, I'm probably seen as someone incapable of enduring a minor annoyance without external and internal drama—that might very well be true, but I don't want to admit it, not even grudgingly—could go straight to hell. Human beings eat; that's what we do!
«Oh, yeah-yeah, I feel you. Christmas makes you really hungry for some reason, right? I was actually just having a slice of bread with jam I made at home, you know? Fucking jam. "TV-commercial food" looking ass. And I don't usually eat sweets, hahaha… That's all I saw on the fridge. Shi'... Uhmmm, well. I've got nothing going on; I'm free. I'll come along,» he insisted.
I quickly replied, listening to him without any ulterior motive:
«Nah, I'm good, you good, you, uh... I-I mean, I don't want to bother on whatever you're up to, man. I saw you were trying to buy those... cards, P-Pokemon cards, right? Was is Pokémon? Were you buying Pokémon cards, right in the middle of 202X? I don't know what they were, but you're really into that stuff, huh? I thought they weren't selling them anymore, what the fuck.»
Huh? Ahhh! Y-y-yeah, what's wrong with that? Although, shit, it's a little embarrassing," he laughed, shrinking back as he ran his fingers through his wavy hair. "D-Don't make a big deal out of it. I'll go buy them later." I already talked to the fat guy at the store so he'll hold them for a bit until we both get to the register. So hurry up, skinny, I'm running out of patience! Tick-tock, motherfucker!
«Huh? Ahhh! Yeah-yeah, ha-ha. What's wrong with that? But, you saying it, that's lowkey embarrassing. Fuck!» He chuckled sheepishly, running a hand through the waves of his hair. «But... Tsk, d-don't make a big deal out of it, bro. I'll buy them later. Already told the old man at the counter to hold 'em for a bit till we both head to him. So, man, get yo' ass moving and buy already! I'm running out of patience, buddy, and you don't want to see me unleash the beast!»
With such foresight, are you really set on tagging along with me?
Let me pondered his intentions: maybe he was simply looking for company and a chance to chat. After all, it's in his nature to talk to anyone he meets—especially when he's eager to kill time with them. How decorously annoying of him.
Doesn't this make me look like a terrible person? Am I really so unfriendly that I'd reject him the moment I saw him? He hasn't actually done anything yet—not yet—and here I'm bombarding my mind with angry assumptions. Is it fair to think that way? It ought to be; after all, it's not my fault.
I don't feel like talking, especially not while walking; really, I'd rather eat while I walk. No, I don't even want to walk—who the fuck does that? It's awkward, and bad for your health, heh! Adjust glasses. I actually would have liked to eat outside and gaze at the sky. Right now, my mouth is reserved exclusively for chewing, not for articulating words or listening. As far as I'm concerned, my ears and vocal cords cease to exist when I'm eating.
Also, and in my defense, it's Isaac...
Oops, sorry. I forgot he was my "best" friend.
«What are you...? Ahhh, well... Suit yourself!»
«Aight', let's go!» He exclaimed with renewed energy, patting my back twice with cheerful glee.
We both headed to the snack aisle, where I grabbed my bag of chips. After that, we made our way to the drinks section. I opened a fridge and—after weighing a few other options—reached down to the bottom shelf to retrieve my favorite energy drink.
«Oh, wait-wait-wait! The fuck is that—you like that one? Ha-ha!» Isaac asked hesitantly, squinting at it as if it were radioactive, and with a mocking smirk on his face, pointing contemptuously at the energy drink in my hand.
Okay, I'll give him that this time: of course, it wasn't a brand you'd see every day. As far as I know, there aren't any ads or billboards promoting it; in fact, I haven't seen a single one—so they don't exist. What's more, if my memory serves me right, it's from a South American country. Or rather, the flavor comes from there. Specifically… no idea. Brazil, Colombia? Some tropical country.
Regardless, though, I believe it's a bit inconsiderate to ask that—and in that way—when he sees me picking it up, right? He probably figured I was inspecting or browsing through random drinks—which I was doing at first—but we're talking about him here: his brain isn't wired for that kind of analysis.
«Yeah, what? You got a fucking problem with it?»
«Huh? Nah-nah-nah, chill.» He stammered, shaking his head rapidly while raising his open hands in submission «I was just curious. My bad. But, I mean, I've never seen that, that brand before, y'know? W-What is it? What's it called?»
«"Nature Power". Check it out,» I handed him the can.
«What the hell...? What is this, organic? "Gorilla" flavor?!»
«Huh?! Bro, what? How is it possible—? What?! H-How the fuck is a drink supposed to taste like a gorilla? Oh, my God. You're so stupid, haha! The gorilla is just the fucking mascot, you goofy. It's a fruit flavor, man.»
«Well, shit. I have no idea.»
Still crouched down, I pointed at it:
«It says so right there—it's called "Guaraná." Right? It should say something like "Guaraná" in humongous letters just for you to not miss it. And I-I din't know what guaraná was. I know it's a fruit; I saw some pictures and it looked like little alien eyes, you know what I mean? Like marbles, or just something tiny—but, it was a pretty creepy mess. Like an SCP or sum' shit: those lil' buggers are tiny as fuck. But it's tasty, tho, super good! It tastes like an apple or… or a grape.»
«There are a bunch I've never heard of either, so I just grabbed a random one and, surprisingly, I liked it. Plus, it's cheap. See? Less than two bucks. The whole pack was like five or six. That's not bad, right? Or do you think that's expensive?»
«Hmmm… Apple or grape—which is it? Does the drink have different flavors at the same time?»
«Pfft. I don't know, I was just saying that's just how it tastes to me. It depends on the weather, I guess.»
«Haha, "it depends on the weather"? Climate change type shit?» He handed me the can back:
«How the hell did you find that shit, huh?»
«What do you mean by that? You haven't even tried it yet and you're already trying to downplay it. This sh—Oh, shit! Hahaha! I-I-This d-d-drink, d-drink—This... Tsk, wow!»
«Di-Di-Di-Di-Di-Di-Di-Di-Di-Di-Di!»
«Dude, shut the fuck up! This, this drink—like other brands I've never seen in my life—is delicious! There's nothing else like it. I mean, I just picked it up on a whim, simple as that: I had nothing else to do, and, surprisingly, I liked it. It's really good. Nobody told me to buy it, like they do with Coca-Cola or AI with its endless, cancer-inducing commercials. Plus, it's dirt cheap. See? Less than two dollars. And I think the pack had five or six in it. Does that seem expensive to you? Or unreasonable?»
«Packs? It comes with six? Also, I dunno', bro, but... out of all the ones you saw, the first one you picked turns out to be good? That's crazy, bro. Why don't you just buy Monster or Four Loko?Gatorade, fuck it! Don't you fuck with 'em?»
«Erm, one: Monster is fucking overrated, as far as I'm concerned. There's a mango one that's decent, but everyone loves mango. Two: I went off Four Loko. And three: Gatorade is trash. Terrible! Absolutely horrendous. Horse enormous balls of shit tastes better than that red vomit.»
«Hahaha, you're crazy. Well, let's see: let me try your poison.»
«"Poison", this guy... You wanna die, then? I'm gonna buy it now then, I have nothing else to look anyway—»
«Wow-wow-wow, give me that!» He growled pointlessly and snatched the drink from me.
«...The fuck are you doing—?»
«Talm' about sum' buying it first—I'm going to try it right now! What's the harm in just one sip? You're going to buy it anyway, right? It's practically yours already. The real problem would be drinking it and then putting it back on the shelf. Wouldn't you agree? Just make sure the guy doesn't see me. He might get the wrong idea, and I don't want the old man scolding me, because I want to buy some... some little things of my own, you know?»
He took it carefully, as if expecting it to explode. «Uh… okay, okay.» He brought it closer to his face and sniffed it suspiciously. «Does this even have a flavor? What is it supposed to be?»
«Strawberry.»
He jerked back dramatically. «Strawberry...? You sweet lady.» He glanced over his shoulder toward the front counter. «Alright, I'm going to try it. Don't let the old guy see me.»
«That guy is probably 90% blind,» I muttered.
«Hah. Like, he's been senile for four years. You're messed up. Let's see... Nah. This tastes like nothing, for real…» He took another sip. «Uhm-uhm. Yeah, bro, this is ass. You're better off buying Monster—like, the strawberry one—or even Gatorade. At least that stuff's refreshing.»
«Monster's overpriced, and Gatorade sucks! Besides, my drink tastes good, it's just that your tongue has lost its sense of taste after sucking dick all day.»
«Why are you thinking about that, huh? Freak-ass.»
«Well then. Anyway, what about you, though? Not getting anything?»
«Hmm, nah... I don't feel like it. I just wanted to buy some of this shit: collectibles, right? Because my lil bro's into 'em.»
«Lil—Ohhh, I see.»
So they were for your brother, huh? My bad for insulting your tastes, Isaac's little brother. Invite me to play Mario Kart 8 Deluxe again, I'll be nice to you. Can you hear me? Am I muted?!
Finally, we made our way to the counter. I paid for my items with a handful of coins I pulled from my pocket; then, Isaac handed a bill to the clerk—naturally, to pay for his things. After waiting for his change, we stepped out of the store.
«Yo, listen» Isaac began a new conversation as we walked toward my house: «I was checking out some games on the, the Steam and… since I ain't had much else to do, and I'm getting my paycheck at work today, I'm thinking 'bout treating myself to something as a gift, y'know?»
«…For real?»
For Isaac and for me, his "enthusiastic" listener, talking about these things had become a regular routine whenever we were alone. So much so that we got bored if we didn't talk about something remotely comparable.
We both shared a keen interest in games that many would consider weirdly captivating. Alongside that, we had other hobbies, or rather, distractions, that we were equally engrossed in, given our "inner" geekiness: anime, cars, sports, etc.
Thanks to his job as a cashier at a fast-food place, his income—which is quite modest compared to an average salary—still gave him the freedom to make purchases wherever and whenever he wanted. And I could ask for some money too, just a tiny portion...!
However, being underage, I endured a constant stream of updates about his acquisitions, whether they were video games, clothes, or accessories like bracelets for himself or his girlfriend. Thus, listening to his mundane whims had grown tiresome, especially since they sparked a faint twinge of envy in me.
«Mm-hmm. Or, shi', I don't know. That's what came to my mind.»
«...Okay, and what game are you thinking of getting?» I asked.
«I-dun-no, bro, if I'm being honest,» he answered unhurriedly and intermittently. «Since we usually stick to online games—'cause, y'know, they're mad easy to get into and all that junk—I thought I'd try something different this time, y'feel me?»
«Different as in, like a story-driven game? A campaign?»
«"Story"...? Yeah-yeah, I think so. I've been looking at one that caught my eye, and I think it has a story, ha-ha. But, I think it ain't exactly new-new, I don't know when it came out. You know which one I mean, right?» The corner of his upper lip curled slightly, almost forming a full grin.
«...No, not really.»
If you don't specify which game you're talking about, it's impossible for me to figure out what you mean. On the other hand, based on your description of "not brand new" and "Campaign," could it be Red Dead Redemption 2? I hope so. Should I ask about it?
«Deadass? You?! Hah! I ain't buying it.» He reacted gawkily, raising his eyebrows and flashing a mocking smile. He really loves making that face.
«Hm, what...? W-What are you talking abo—? ...Okay, dude. Listen: how the fuck am I supposed to know that shit? Millions of games come out every year, thousands every month, and hundreds every week. I'm not some fat, buttery dude who spends all day scrolling through game releases to avoid getting off his greasy ass gaming chair.»
«Hah, damn. Well, I thought you were. I mean, you look like one, dawg.» He persisted with his unpleasant, widened gesture as he reached out to grab my buzzed hair.
I pushed his hand off me and shot back: «Hah, what? You're blind, man. I don't know what you're rambling about. I'm skinny as hell. Unlike you, every time I ask what you're up to, you're always like, "Oh, I'm jerking off"—just like those pot-bellied, discord-moderators slobs. You're disgusting,» I retorted bitterly.
That was an hypocrite comment, but why would I share it too?
«Ha-ha-ha! Okay, chill-chill with your fancy-ass words. My bad. But back to the point, okay? You don't know which game I'm talking about, do you? Listen, uh: it's not something fire or… fantastic, exceptional, you see, but it's different from what we usually play, y'know?»
«No, I don't know.» But I'll set that aside and ask instead: «So, what's it called?»
Meanwhile, I pulled my favorite energy drink out of the bag, twisted the cap open, and took a long sip. Oh my God, it's heavenly! My throat had been dry for a while, and after chatting with this orangutan, I needed a drink so bad.
The refreshing taste hit the back of my palate, and I let out a satisfied sigh, before that outstanding tranquility was abruptly disrupted by the ensuing pronouncement of this clown:
«"Heart Breaker"! That's the name. It's, uh… a dating simulator.»
«Ghngg—Psssh...Cough, cough, cough!» I chuckled under my breath.
«Oh, you good?»
A dating sim? An eye-opener disclosure. That wasn't exactly what I had in mind—No, perhaps I'm understating it: I wasn't even imagining an extradimensional version where those words were dictated so seriously between us. But I can appreciate his enthusiasm. What a fucking loser, ha-ha!
«What, what were, what were you saying? What game?»
«Heart, hea... Man, get yo' lame—get the fuck out!»
«What?»
«You're laughing at me, bro.»
«What?! No—I'm not, I wasn't! It was just, cough... unexpected: It was totally different kind of game from what we usually play, you know? Like, I don't see any problem with it, I guess. It's okay.»
Heart Breaker, huh? If it is a dating simulator, then in all likelihood the protagonist is some manner of philanderer or womanizer, and the objective is to shatter as many hearts—metaphorically, obviously, or could be also a horror game?—as possible to accumulate experience and rank up achievements.
Although perhaps I jumped to conclusions a bit, didn't I? I hope I did.
«Well, tell me: what's it about? Do you know the story? No: does it have a story in the first place? Or is like uh, Yandere Simulator or... I don't know?» I hoped for a concise explanation as I slowly sipped my drink.
«Uh, no-no, I does have a story. I think, ha-ha! I was looking at the game description, and it had a lil' intro, y'know? So I guess it has a story. And It's not entirely simple to explain 'cause I don't remember everything, but I'll try.»
«....Huh? What do you mean "try"?»
I could not suppress a sensation of trepidation at his response.
What does he actually mean by "try"? He claimed he doesn't remember and it won't be that simple: is it that complicated? It's like Elden Ring? No, that's impossible! There's no way that dull-witted nonsense of a game can be compared to Miyazaki's artistic majesty.
However, I had a bad feeling his explanation was going to drag on, and my focus might not hold up for long. Ugh, I don't want to, I don't want to!
«Wait, wait, before that. Don't you have your phone? Google it instead.»
«Oh, nah: I didn't bring it. Don't know why, tho'.»
«...Fuck, me neither.»
I'm doomed.
«Aight, okay: you wanna listen, or not?»
«Just go ahead, bro.»
«Alright. Listen: the MC, the protagonist is a handsome guy—like, a really good-looking dude,» Isaac began, and I rolled my eyes at his over-the-top emphasis on the protagonist's looks. «He's a foreigner: white dude, half-American and half-Japanese, who decided to study in Japan 'cause of, you know, the whole better education shit.»
It seemed plausible to me, I suppose. Honestly, I'd like to visit Japan too, albeit purely for academic enrichment purposes. The problem is, unfortunately, my skill on the Japanese language is freaking zero. Just forget your dreams and die.
Isaac kept going: «So, moving on to the school, even though he's obviously popular with a bunch of chicks there, there are these rumors, right? Like, rumors that he dated a ton of women at once back in America 'cause he's got this charm and how he connects with people. And supposedly, he "broke their hearts"; but that's not even true, y'know? The protagonist just be like "chill, leave me alone and shit" and have like a.… proper love, romance, relationship with some of the girls. With one of the main female characters in the game, actually, not just anyone; but they all think the worst of him, you get it? I-It's so, uh… miserable!»
If that's all there is to it, then the narrative is as dull and heavy-handed as a contemporary painting in a national museum. Even if my assumption wasn't entirely accurate and the story took a complete 180-degree turn, the whole "heartbreaker" theme still seemed to dominate.
«Okay...! Huh, y-yeah. I'd say it is miserable,» I replied. «Like: Imagine living your life constantly overwhelmed by rumors that you're some Casanova who tosses women aside like dirty rags. That's awful. Who's that guy think he is?»
«Bro, what are you even talking about?!» He protested incredulously. «It's not awful for that reason… No, okay, yeah—you're right. But it also makes having a peaceful romantic life—or just a life in general—basically impossible when everyone sees you that way, dawg.»
He's getting annoyed unexpectedly and unnecessarily.
«You're being accused, incriminated, and harassed just for being fine. The whole point of the game is clearing up that misunderstanding and building good relationships with yo' friends, y'know...? At least, that's what I'm guessing—I don't know, broski. At least, would your fucked-ass brain even grasp that? Though, I'm sure it wouldn't by asking those dumb-ass questions.»
Wow, what the fuck? Why out of the sudden he start insulting me?
His vitriol instantaneously enraged me, quite a bit: «Huh...!? I genuinely don't know what the hell are you on, bro. Why the fuck are you insulting me, huh? Who do you think you are? Do you want to get beaten up in the street, boy?»
I threatened, clenching my fists in anticipation.
«Wow, what? Heh, w-who's this kid even talking to?» He asked sarcastically, looking around as if searching for an audience. «Oh, deadass? Me, you...?! Okay, okay, I see: go ahead, then. Try it, bitch!» He taunted, that same derisive smirk plastered across his countenance.
Those proved to be his final words.
At that juncture, I adjusted my shopping bag with my right arm.
«Pfft, chill. I'm just kidding. I wouldn't even hurt a fl—»
Then, in an instant, I executed a backhand swing, extending my arm towards Isaac's flank, aiming for his stomach. With considerable force, my knuckles connected squarely with his gut.
«Wooow—A-Arhg! S-Shit...!» Isaac, momentarily folding over himself, clutched at the center of his abdomen to safeguard it from further assault as he gasped wretchedly for air.
«Hahahahaha! You thought I wasn't going to do it?»
Oops, I just laughed. That's a declaration of war. What's more, I really wasn't planning on attacking him; yet, for some reason, my instincts kicked in and my limbs moved on their own. That wasn't my fault, my hand low-key slipped!
«What the—brother, what? How the fuck you hit me so hard? You're a.… pussy...» Still endeavoring to regain his composure, he positioned himself near a light pole, his right arm propped against it.
«I'm finna beat yo' ass, for real!» He cooed.
Notwithstanding that animosity and dangerously aggressive words, he apparently wasn't going to provoke me anymore, as evidenced by his weathered appearance; and the fight was over before it started. Did I really hit him that hard or he's trying to counterattack me?
«Yeah, yeah.»
Nonetheless, I was unable to contain this exasperating, mischievous smirk out of my face, so I discreetly covered my lips with the palm of my hand, crinkling my cheeks behind my nails as I proceeded to inquire: «So, are you going to buy that shit for Christmas? I mean the game.»
«Oh, I see. We're moving on, okay. Think you're clever, huh?» Isaac seemed to catch on quickly: «...Yeah, I'm gonna buy it», then he sketched, fatigued.
«Oh, for real? I thought you were into games like Horror or shooters like CS:GO, Valorant? Roblox, heh?! Maybe NBA:2K too? Your favorite.»
«The fuck that's supposed to mean?»
«Who knows?»
«Whatever, man. You're racist as fuck,» he mumbled while crouching down, leaning his back against the same light pole. «I'll probably just scream right now: "A skinhead just hit me!"»
«W-What the—? You're crazy, you won't do that stupid shit.»
«Bet...» He screeched, inhaling deeply, expanding his thoracic cavity with air and feigning an imminent outburst. Yet: «U-Ugh, cough, cough...! Goddam! Man, what the fuck?» A sharp spasm coursed through his chest.
«Oh shit, ha-ha. Hey, are you okay? Calm down! Take a deep breath, c'mon.»
«W-Whose fault do you think this is, huh?! Bitch! You hit me hard as hell!»
«I have no idea what you're talking about,» I feigned ignorance.
Sorry, but watching Isaac like this is just too amusing. Is that what they call "Guilty pleasure"? I somehow correlate it with sadism, and even homoerotic interpretation based solely on this context. What the hell am I thinking...? Whatever, if it's like this...!
«Alright, you good now, babe?» I asked pleasantly, as if genuinely concerned about his well-being. «What were you saying earlier?»
This sort of follow-up only happens if I feel like I might've gone a tad too far. Even with someone as the irritating, antagonizing, vexatious, pesky, bothersome, and annoying-looking Isaac. How would he react, though? I'm curious.
«What? Ah, you're gay.»
As expected.
«Yeah, I'm fine, baby.»
That was unexpected.
«Agh! Okay, I was sayin—!»
«.....!?»
He executed a rather maladroit, disagreeable feint, trying to strike me twice like a gorilla, which compelled me to hastily protect myself and sharply deviate from his path. I'm now like 2 feet away from him.
I'm fully aware that his blows inflict considerable damage and agony, and I experienced a bit of astonishment when mine landed as such, that it made me question if I'm really that powerful; Although, without a doubt, if I were to get one I would be incapacitated, that's why I escaped.
Yes, I'm a coward. Who wants to feel pain? Are you stupid?
«.....Oh, yeah? Yeah, that's what I thought.»
«What? I don't want to be punched.»
«You deserve to be punched, for real.»
«You wanna fight? Now?»
«...Nothing, just forget that shit. Okay, huh... Tsk, I completely forgot where I was.»
«You were going to explain something about the game,» I jogged his memory.
«Ah, right. Hmm, like I told you, I like other stuff but I also want to try some others that are not of that... like, very different from what we usually play. Yeah, the dating sim. It's not some weird shit, it's just curiosity, you know? But, I wasn't going to explain anything to you—I already told you, bro!»
«What do you mean you told me? You didn't say nothing. But, anyway, why would you buy that when there are better genres available in the stores? Is there something special about this game that makes it so unique?»
«Well, first of all, the fuck do you care? It could be good.»
«I really don't give a shit; you're the one yapping about it. Besides, I'm lowkey against your stupid logic. In the end it will turn out like all the anime shit you come across: pedo-bait slop.»
«You play OSU, what right do you have to talk about it?»
«Dude, that's different: it's a rhythm game, dumbass!»
«But it's strongly related to anime, right?! I remember you told you bought the uh... Doki Doki, DDLC, the Literature Club, right? That game with the four girls and something like that. That's hypocrisy, that's irony, that's "Blasphlegm"!»
«It's "blasphemy", you fucking idiot.»
By law, he's an adult, yet here he is, arguing about stuff like this. Ridiculous.
«What, really?»
«Either way, you think that's the same? You're so stupid. It doesn't even have the psychological label on its list, does it? On your game.»
«Ah, I don't know, bro. You got me—I haven't checked. But I'm just, like, interested because it's different than usual. Plus, I'm sure you'd buy it too, bro.»
«What? No, no way, man. I don't like dating games, that's weird.»
«You keep lying, you're just playing around with me.»
«W-what? Who's gonna want to play with you?» I delivered a brusque denigration. «You're fat, you're ugly, you have a 0.2 GPA, and you still message models on Instagram like if you were a predator. You'd better make an effort to recognize who you are and accept your position as a natural nuisance.»
«Tshh, back to that way of speaking. How did you learn that fast? Is that why you're so explosive and mean to me? Wait—Maybe... you're a Tsundere?»
He questioned me incredulously, gasping and exaggerating his disbelief like Edvard Munch's "The Scream," foreseeing a type of stereotypical attitude from me in some other way. No seriously—what kind of reaction was he looking for?
Likewise it was my fault. Despite his sporty appearance, I forgot that this guy is a straight-up "otaku". How is he so popular acting like this? Why people talk to this guy? Why do I talk to this guy? How did I meet him?
«... ....?»
The only response he got from me was a disdainful expression as I looked at his eyes imperturbably with indifference and repugnance.
«Okay, bro. Sorry, hah!»
«That's why she cheated on you.»
«What, what?! Nah-nah, what?! Repeat that! What did you say?» His face reddened with vexation.
I provoked him by blurting out a sentence I shouldn't have mentioned, but the redress I get from annoying him makes me generate a soft contentment. «Haha, I'm kidding, kidding. Just don't talk any more stupid-shit.»
«Tsk. Well, I'm not a pussy like you—I can control myself.»
He accompanied his word with a gesture of a scolded kid, while slightly leaning his body down in dejection. In the end, I think I pretty much destroyed him emotionally. I'm surprised he didn't punch me throughout the course of this walk, and I'm kind of glad.
***
Before I knew it, we had already arrived at my house. Just before saying goodbye, Isaac mentioned: «Well, bro, uh... I'm going now but, If you want, I can lend you the game after I buy it. Just call me.»
«Hmm, what? No, you don't have to do that. I've seen how much you want to play it first. I don't want to ruin the experience for you or sum.»
Not that I want it anyway.
«What are you talking 'bout, man? You won't ruin anything. The thing is, by the time I buy it, I won't even be able to play it 'cuz I'll be spending all day with family for like, weeks I think? We're going on a trip, y'know?»
«Wait, what? Really? Where are you going?»
«A quick visit to my grandparent's house in Wisconsin. It's a visit for Christmas and New Year's type shi'.»
«Ohh! And you're just telling me this now? That's crazy.»
«Yeah, no, my fault. I forgot.» What a terrible friend. «We're leaving tomorrow morning.»
«I see... Don't know, nice trip. But still, if you're going to buy it, you can play it whenever you want. Don't be so whiny. Doesn't your grandparents' house have a computer? Or, I don't know... you have a laptop? If so, you can just log into Steam there.»
«What? No, it's not a Steam exclusive. You can buy it there, fo'sure, but the game also comes in disc format for Play Station.»
«...Wait, what?» I asked, dumbfounded. «The PS4? You're kidding, what the fuck? No way, dude. Wait, no, that's not the question: are you serious gonna buy it for the Play Station?»
«Yeah, and what? Something wrong with that, huh?»
There's nothing inherently wrong with it. It just caught me off guard, that's all. How he chooses to spend his money is his prerogative.
«Aight, whatever. So, what you're gonna do then?»
«First, I'm heading home, then hittin' up the mall. I want to browse the stores and see if it's available.»
«Yeah, bro, that sound like a waste of time...» I retorted, laced with skepticism. «Nobody knows about that shit but you, am I wrong?»
I wasn't entirely incorrect. The game was obscure, "niche" if you're willing to cope. Still, I had no intention of dampening his enthusiasm; I care about this kid.. Tell me: am I joking or not? Comment down below!
«Honestly, I dunno. But I'm not losing anything tho, not even time—I got the whole day free. My schedule's wide open today. If I manage to find it, I'll snap a pic for you. Then I'll let you hold onto it for a bit.»
His insistence was almost admirable in its absurdity. «I already told you, I'm fine. Just stash it in your room or something. It's not that complicated.»
«Nah, but don't it ever hit you? Like, when you buy something new, you just gotta check it out right then and there. Like, it don't even matter what it is, it's that anticipation, y'feel me? Same way you try on clothes before buying 'em. If you look good, you rock them the same day or the next. It's the same thing. Don't you play yo' games right after you bought them? Who the hell will buy something to play the next week?»
I hesitated, momentarily wrong-footed by his syllogistic reasoning.
«Uh... yeah,» I murmured, suddenly at a loss. He's just saying shit, correctly?
«Plus, I want you to play it too.»
«...Me? Play it?»
«Yeah, bro. I swear on my soul, it'll be something new for you. And if you don't like it, it's aight—you just gotta tell me. I just... want you to have some fun, man.»
«...What?» So, that's the meaning of all this pushy behavior?
«Every time I pass through your class, you always look down. I know your story, bro. And... I feel you, you know? It's lowkey... I don't know, I just want you to be more of yourself, and the only thing that gets you hyped up is talking about what you like, as in games, anime, and your hobby of judging people. That's sad but... that's why we're always up all night online, right? C'mon, man, gimme a smile.»
I see, an unusual soft-sounding gabbing. So, that's really the meaning behind this go-getting intention. Should I stifle this sublime rebuke with a mockingly critical and completely unrelated comment?
However, from what I consider to be certainly remarkable in others, and those who are closest to me, or at least, through some circumstance in life know about that past—my past—, it's not really important.
It's not important, really. Yeah, not in the slightest—that's what I consider. Thus, telling me this, it won't affect me at all. I've already gotten over it, and I'm quite encouraged to forget it. Now, why is this guy talking like my counselor?
In spite of, to reward that low-keyed demonstration of worryness, I forced a weak, unsavory smile, letting out a half-hearted: «Heh... You happy?»
«Yeahhhh, good boy!»
«Tsk.... This guy, I'll punch you again.»
«Pfft! Aight, aight: You won't do nothing, either way.» He raised his hands in mock surrender, grinning. «But real talk—do you want me to give it to you? I ain't pressed if you say no, but I'm gonna cop it for myself either way. I'm real curious about it. Plus, it's cheap, so no big deal.»
Isaac, Issac. You really got me thinking—Congratulations.
Taken aside your disquiet: truth is, I rarely lower my guard to new experiences. I'm far too content with sticking to what I know. A conformist mindset is what I like, and that's not bad I believe.
Regardless, the idea of something crafted so perfectly to captivate the minds of today's youth, particularly in the realm of romance, and especially tailored for a male audience, stirred a flicker of inquisitiveness within me. It made the concept of "giving it a try" feel like a solid yes.
That said, I must state upfront: if I reach the point where it bores me or disgusts me with its overly saccharine depictions of impossibly cute characters and tiresome, immoderately voice acting, I'll never touch anything like it again.
«Alright,» I said with a resigned sigh. «I'll take it.»
«Knew you'd say that,» Isaac grinned. «Tryna practice how to get a girlfriend, with the 2D huzz!»
«On second thought, maybe you should just kee—»
«Okay! I'll hit you up the second I've got it!» His grin faltered into an awkward smile, but there was no mistaking the satisfaction on his face. He was genuinely happy to see one of his friends willing to try something he enjoyed.
It's just a shame that friend had to be me. How cruel is life.
After we parted ways with a friendly fist bump, I turned toward the door, key in hand, and stepped inside my house.