I often find myself thinking, 'What's the point of being rich if you don't have anyone to share it with?'
After countless gatherings, meetings, events and parties, that question always pops up in my head.
And the answer?
Useless.
That was the fate I was forced to accept. Orphaned young, I had to fend for myself — a pretty common sob story, yeah? Mine has a twist.
I didn't end up a loser on the street or some weirdo staring at anime on a one-bed apartment TV. No. I worked. Odd jobs, washing clothes, cleaning houses, walking dogs — anything that paid so I could eat once or twice a day.
And as they say, 'hard work pays off.' I discovered I had a knack for massaging after helping one of my employers relieve stress.
What did I do? What any sane person would do.
I massaged anyone and everybody I could get my hands on — with their consent, of course.
The result? A two-year contract from one of the biggest firms in the country.
It was smooth sailing from there. I got promoted to head masseuse. I massaged and listened to top celebrities around the world. I was living the dream... or at least that's what I'd like to say.
The truth was every day was a chore. Don't get me wrong: I loved massaging and listening, but that was about it. I had no time for myself. I was always on guard for picky clients or fake 'friends.'
All day. Every day.
But I made ends meet. Heck, I was one of the most popular — and richest — masseuses out there. The name Handel 'Magic Fingers' Grey was on everyone's tongue.
Did I love the attention? Of course. Who wouldn't?
Did I want it to stop? Yes. Very much.
Contradictory, right? That was my mental health: living a life I didn't enjoy. I lived in mansions, booked weeks in advance by CEOs and presidents, vacationed on private beaches, flew in private jets.
What more could I ask for?
I don't know. Maybe someone to talk to.
Despite all the wealth, I never had anyone to talk to freely — no girlfriend, no best friend, no tsundere boss. So I turned to webnovels. An escape. Fantasy, action, romcom — I read them all.
And the thought hit me: 'I'm going to die alone.'
A common thought, but it scared me. I got paranoid and started going on dates. The first rejection stung. The second hurt. The third, fifth, tenth — they added up. After the tenth rejection I withdrew. I rejected bookings. There was backlash, but I didn't care. I had to figure out what I did wrong. The constant response before and after every rejection was:
'You don't look like you're enjoying yourself.'
Enjoying myself? 'Haha — I lost any sense of enjoyment years ago.' So I gave up on relationships and went back to work.
I was welcomed with smiles and hugs, but behind those faces I saw envy, anger and greed. It didn't matter — I'd always be there, rising while they watched.
Or so I thought.
Coming back from work, stepping out of my Porsche, I crossed the road to my home and was hit by a truck.
'Why couldn't I hear the horns?' I wondered as the truck launched me into the air. 'Ah — I was listening to an anime opening... how pathetic, to die like a weeb: no girlfriend, no kids, just me and my novels.'
My consciousness slipped. 'I'll probably get reincarnated or something... haha.' I laughed, then felt the last of my strength leave.
'There's no way that's happening... I don't want it to happen,' I muttered with the last of my awareness as I fell to the roadside.
And then — I died.