There were only two things Shizuku Kuran needed to be happy in life: video games and a constant supply of sweets. Preferably the sugary kind that rotted your teeth and your will to live. Romance? School? Human interaction? Hard pass.
Other people were exhausting. Their opinions? Overrated. Their drama? Predictable. Their presence? Unnecessary. Shizuku had everything she needed in her tiny kingdom of LED lights, pixelated quests, and 2D husbandos.
She lived in a modest two-bedroom apartment in Tokyo with her mother, who worked night shifts as a nurse at the local hospital. Shizuku barely saw her, but that suited her just fine. Her dad had bailed when she was little, and her memories of him were so fuzzy they might as well have been part of a deleted anime filler arc. Something about a motorcycle, maybe? A loud argument? Then poof—like a side character written out of the plot.
Shizuku liked her peace and quiet, her digital worlds, and above all else, her fortress of solitude: her bedroom. Posters of fantasy RPGs and mecha anime lined the walls in a chaotic mosaic of color and action poses. A triple-monitor setup glowed with soft light, paused mid-boss-fight, while RGB strips bathed the room in shifting shades of violet. Her floor was a minefield of snack wrappers, instant noodle cups, and manga volumes stacked like architectural monuments to procrastination.
She sat cross-legged in her gaming chair, one hand gripping a controller, the other lazily dipping into an almost-empty bag of Pocky. Her blue eyes narrowed at the screen in front of her. Long, pale-blonde hair tied in a messy ponytail fell over her shoulder as she leaned in, muttering curses at pixelated princes with gleaming teeth and unrealistic waistlines.
"Ugh. Not again," she groaned as the female protagonist on-screen tripped—again—into the waiting arms of the sparkling, smirking prince.
Romance Royale: Love's Divine Academy.
Quite possibly the worst game ever inflicted on the human race. A dating sim drenched in sugary tropes, where every interaction reeked of glitter, dramatic piano music, and shirtless magical princes offering you roses and emotional trauma.
Shizuku hated it with the fiery passion of a thousand exploding mechs.
She preferred games where you could punch dragons in the face or blow up demons with fireballs the size of small cars. Not blush and stutter your way through tea parties with golden-haired nobles who said things like, "You have bewitched my soul, dearest commoner."
She'd only agreed to play this cursed game because her best—and only—friend, a fellow shut-in and full-time otaku, wouldn't shut up about it.
"The love interests are just so hot, Shizu-chan! I swear, you'll thank me!"
"Play it for one hour! Just one! I'll bring you the good chocolate!"
"Week-long bribe! I've got imported mochi!"
It was a battle of wills. And Shizuku, defender of solitude and guardian of snack reserves, had sold her soul for a week's worth of sweets.
And now here she was, three weeks later, finishing the final prince's route while questioning all her life choices.
"Congratulations," the screen read in sparkly font, "You've unlocked the True Ending!"
Shizuku stared blankly. "…Finally. Sweet, sweet freedom."
She threw the controller onto the bed with a groan and stretched like she'd just been released from a cursed seal. That was it. No more princes. No more roses. No more dramatic confessions under cherry blossom trees.
She needed a reward.
Heading straight for her secret snack drawer—a drawer she guarded more fiercely than any dungeon loot chest—she pulled it open with reverence.
Empty.
Her expression darkened. "What the hell?"
She tore through her stash like a woman possessed: under the bed, behind the manga stacks, even the emergency Pocky tin she kept disguised as a dictionary in the bookshelf. Still nothing. Nada. Zilch.
There was only one solution. The most terrifying solution of all.
She'd have to do the unthinkable.
Go outside.
After fifteen minutes of mentally preparing herself like a warrior facing her final raid boss, she shuffled into the night air like a disgraced anime villain. Hoodie up, hair tucked in, sunglasses on despite it being past sunset. She looked like a celebrity trying not to be recognized or a goblin escaping its cave in search of treasure.
The world felt… hostile. Too loud. Too bright. The city buzzed around her, cars passing, voices chattering, neon lights glowing in dizzying arrays. Shizuku hugged the shadows like a ninja, mentally cursing every step that took her farther from her room and closer to—ugh—society.
The convenience store was just a block away. She kept her head down, muttering to herself. "This better be worth it. I swear, if they don't have strawberry mochi, I'm committing arson."
The store bell jingled as she stepped inside.
Something felt… off.
The air was too still. The usual hum of fluorescent lights seemed quieter. The cashier stood frozen behind the counter, pale as a ghost. Shizuku noticed two little girls huddled near the ice cream freezer, wide-eyed and trembling. Their father stood a few feet away, whispering urgently, helplessly, as he peered around the corner of the next aisle.
Then she saw him.
A man in a ski mask stood at the front of the store, waving a gun toward the cashier and shouting, "Open the damn register or I'll shoot! NOW!"
Her brain froze. Her body didn't.
Later, she wouldn't be able to explain why she moved. Maybe it was those ten years of karate lessons her mom had forced her into. Maybe it was the look on those girls' faces. Maybe it was the sugar deprivation making her hallucinate a sense of justice.
But before she knew it, her legs were moving.
"Hey, jerk!" she shouted—because apparently, she also lost her filter along with her sense of self-preservation.
The robber barely turned before she slammed into him, grabbing for the gun. They struggled. He cursed, trying to shake her off.
The gun went off.
There was a sharp, hot pain in her chest, like being punched by lightning. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed to the floor, gasping.
The robber panicked and ran, footsteps pounding out of the store and into the night.
The father rushed forward. Someone screamed. The cashier shouted something. But it all sounded like it was underwater.
Shizuku stared up at the flickering store lights.
What the hell...
Her thoughts came slow and muddled.
Why did I do that? I don't even like kids.
Blood soaked through her hoodie. Her vision swam.
All I wanted was Pocky...
The little girls were safe. Someone was crying. Her chest felt heavy. Her limbs were numb.
I hate people. I do. I really do...
Her final thought drifted somewhere between irritation and disbelief:
If this is karma, it's got a real messed-up sense of humor.
Everything faded to black.
To be continued...