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**CHAPTER 5: "K-Popper vs. Otaku"**
**Daniel's POV**
The world is full of things people believe in, even if some are just stories made up by others for various reasons.
How old were you when you found out the Tooth Fairy wasn't real? Or that the Boogeyman hiding under your bed was just a myth? And what about your dear old Santa Claus? When did you learn he was Saint Nicholas, the Father Christmas who supposedly delivers gifts to good children before Christmas?
Stories about him grew over time, and it's almost enchanting to imagine someone like him exists, granting your heart's desires on a special day like Christmas. But as you grow older, you realize it's impossible for a plump, elderly man to travel the world in a few hours, flying from the icy North Pole in a sleigh pulled by reindeer that probably only run at 60 kilometers per hour.
As kids, we didn't think about the logistics. It didn't matter that one old man couldn't possibly visit every house or dart between countries and cities in a single night. The details weren't important—we just believed he was out there, and we hoped for the gifts he'd bring.
The truth is, adults convinced kids that Santa Claus would reward them with toys if they behaved all year. Isn't that kind of harsh? Even as children, we were fed lies to make us act in ways that suited them.
*"Life is one big lie,"* I muttered under my breath.
Throughout history, clever people crafted stories to bring order, urging others to follow what they deemed "right." Look at the hundreds of religions worldwide, each worshipping their own gods. Sometimes, a simple tale becomes real because so many people believe in it. Myths like those of the Greeks or Norse, which I once thought people saw as true gods who'd punish wrongdoers, helped create laws and systems to keep communities peaceful and safe.
But why am I even thinking about this now? I shouldn't be dwelling on it. I live in a peaceful world shaped by those laws, entertained by stories that have become legends thanks to people from long ago.
Oh, I know why my brain's buzzing again. I'm trying to keep myself entertained because I'm bored out of my mind, standing here all night in front of this hot, noisy machine. I'm alone, practically rotting away, with nothing but the clatter of the machine to keep me company.
*"My life is so boring. Why am I stuck with this machine all night while others are with their spouses or loved ones?"* I grumbled, kicking the machine I was operating.
As an otaku, my mind loves to wander to fantastical things—stuff you'd only see in dreams. Like fallen angels dropping from the sky to live with me or a dragon disguised as a cute girl who becomes my maid, doing whatever I want.
Weird, right? Totally out of this world. Normies could never understand why otakus like me indulge in these delusions, acting like kids. But why do we do it? Simple—it's our only way to escape this dull reality.
If ancient people created fictional characters and stories for all sorts of reasons, and billions accepted them as truth, then why is it a big deal when we otakus fantasize? Why are we called weirdos or childish for living in our imaginations?
*"The world is so unfair,"* I whispered, letting out a heavy sigh.
When morning came, I dragged myself home from my mind-numbing job. I'd been put on the night shift, so my days were nights—sleeping in the morning, awake at night. It wasn't a problem, though. Back when I was a NEET, I'd stay up late playing RPGs and watching videos on… well, let's not go there.
I usually head straight to bed when I get home, exhausted from the commute, which is sometimes more tiring than the job itself. *"When I get rich, I'll build my own skyway,"* I mumbled as I collapsed onto my bed.
A few hours into my sleep on my soft mattress, I was jolted awake by noise from the next room. The thin wooden wall did little to block the sound, especially the blaring music now filling the air.
I didn't want to get up—my bed was too comfortable—so I tried covering my head with a pillow. But it wasn't enough; the noise still seeped through. With no other choice, I got up to put an end to it.
*"Damn it, don't they know I have work tonight?"* I grumbled.
I stormed out of my room and marched to the door of the adjacent room. Without bothering to knock, I flung it open and shouted, "Turn off that damn radio!"
Inside, I saw my younger sister, Nikki, wearing a tank top and tiny shorts, dancing to a K-pop song. Not content with just listening, she was singing along, acting like she was part of the group.
*"Cuz it's all Fake Love, Fake Love, Fake Love. Love you so bad, love you so bad, neol wihae yeppeun geojiseul bijeonae…"*
Despite my loud yelling, she ignored me, lost in her dancing and singing, mimicking her idols. "Ching chang suyuvjuf—ugh, you don't even understand what you're saying!" I complained.
I couldn't stand the noise anymore, so I marched to her desk and shut off the music player myself since she clearly had no intention of stopping. "I told you not to make noise when I'm sleeping! If you want to sing, do it outside!" I snapped.
Of course, she didn't take kindly to that. She smacked my back with the comb she was using as a makeshift microphone. "Why'd you turn it off? That's so annoying! I was almost done!" she whined.
We went back and forth, arguing. I reminded her I was helping out by working, but she insisted she needed to perfect her singing for a special performance with her friends. She claimed it was a school activity and even guilt-tripped me, saying I'd be the reason she'd fail.
"No way! Don't try to fool me. Since when did you enroll in K-pop school?" I shot back.
Nikki, my 13-year-old sister with short hair and a mestiza look, is a hardcore K-pop fan, obsessed with Korean music, shows, and everything else from that country. We rarely see eye to eye, especially when we're in full-on fan mode, bragging about our respective biases.
Her room screamed K-pop fandom—posters and collectibles everywhere. Tsk, when I was her age, I couldn't afford the things I wanted, but being the youngest, she's spoiled rotten by our parents. No matter what I did back then, they wouldn't buy me comics, but one pout from this kid, and Mom and Dad turn into generous tycoons. Unfair, right? As the eldest of their three kids, I should come first, but that's not how it works.
*"The world is so unfair,"* I muttered to myself.
I couldn't help but stare at her room, filled with K-pop merch. Even her glasses and hanging t-shirts had faces of male idols. I grimaced at the framed photos on her desk, placed next to our family picture as if those guys were relatives or close friends. "What's with that tarp now? Is that what you got from throwing a tantrum last week to get your allowance early?" I said, pointing at a massive poster of Korean guys on her wall.
The poster, almost as big as a manila paper, featured a famous Korean group called BTS, known worldwide. Instead of explaining her spending, Nikki bragged about getting exclusive merchandise, acting like it was some grand achievement. She went on and on about them, as if I cared about those guys.
I'm an otaku who loves 2D characters. 2D is life, and I have zero interest in the drama of 3D people, so I couldn't care less about her idols. "Nikki, I don't know them, and I don't care about the importance of your tarp," I said flatly.
"What?! Seriously, Kuya? They're super famous, and you don't know them? Are you even human?" she exclaimed.
Her words stung, as if I wasn't a real person for not knowing her idols. She treated me like I was clueless about the world. "How pathetic, Kuya. You've been holed up in your cave with your cartoons for so long, you don't know what's happening in the real world," she said.
"It's not that I don't know about those dancing, singing Korean guys—I'm just not interested in those pretty-boy, arrogant types," I retorted.
She kicked my shin, furious at my insult to her idols. It hurt, but I couldn't hit her back—I'm her older brother, after all. Still, what a disrespectful kid! "I won't let a weirdo geek like you badmouth BTS! You don't know anything about them, so you have no right to judge!" she snapped.
She marched to her poster, proudly showing off her idols as if I cared. "They're not just handsome and husband material—they're total performers, talented in so many ways. They went through a lot to get where they are, so you have no right to diss them!" she added.
One by one, she pointed at the guys, introducing them like I was supposed to care. "Listen up, Kuya, these are my husbands: the gorgeous V, Jungkook, Jimin, Rapmon, Jin, J-Hope, and Suga. Kyaa! They're the members of BTS, my husbands!" she squealed, pointing at each one.
"You're really fangirling hard over them, huh," I said, unimpressed.
**[To Be Continued in Part 2]**
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