Whenever someone tells me looks don't matter, I always harbor this unexplainable moment of disdain where I'm stuck between two possibilities:
They're either an idiot or a liar.
It's like when your girlfriend tells you size doesn't matter, and as you sit there, wondering how she was able to come to that conclusion, you know she's definitely lying to you.
Or maybe she had just been really busy before she met you.
I just can't stand them. Lies.
The most well-intentioned are the ones that end up being the most annoying.
They would always follow it up with, 'personality is what matters.'
What a load of nonsense.
I don't really think anyone actually even believes that. And sorry to bring it back to this, but it's like when your girlfriend says 'the motion of the ocean' is what counts.
More lies.
No one really cared about the motion of the ocean. Not if your ocean was the size of a pond.
That's the truth.
And before you bring out the measuring tapes, my point is this: No one cares about your personality if they don't find you attractive enough in the first place.
I know this because for the most part, it has been the story of life.
I find it nosy of you to invade it, but at least you're someone new to talk to besides myself.
My name is Ken Katsura.
I think it's a cool name. My online buddies think so too.
But what was the point of having a cool name if it didn't match the person who owned it?
With a name like that, I could be the main character of an assassin movie. The real me, on the other hand, I'm barely even the main character of my own life.
I'm skinny, my personality is shit, I have no talents, no real friends, no money, no girls, no confidence, and even worse, I have a recessed maxilla.
That's one of the many reasons why I'm ugly.
And I'm not 'subjectively' ugly or any apologetic phrase like that.
I'm just ugly.
I'm the hunchback of Notre Dame, but skinnier.
And the swelling is on my stomach. Not my back.
Now you get the picture, I think we can agree on this fact. I'm pretty ugly.
I don't know how I ended up this way. I could blame a million things; from my early exposure to porn to my obsession with games.
Whatever it was, I had fallen way too deep, way too fast because now, I feel like my life is over, and I'm only just twenty nine.
Minus ten.
Minus one.
Eighteen. I'm an eighteen-year-old kid.
It sounds bad saying it out loud.
Apart from school, I live most of my life in isolation. I am the sovereign of a world that is my bedroom. The bed, the chair and my dirty clothes are my subjects, but the cool thing was that I have a portal.
I can travel to other worlds with this portal, and in these worlds, I can slay beasts, monsters, and clear dungeons.
The portal is called a gaming monitor.
My favorite of these worlds is Dungeon Lord. It's an ARPG where you play as a demon hunter, clearing dungeons teeming with hundreds of demons and spirits.
Remember when I said I have no talents? Well, at least I have a skill I'm far better at than most.
Gaming.
I'm a religious gamer.
And I have dominated every game I've come across. I'm just that good.
You can trust me on this. If I was honest about how magnanimously ugly I am, I'm sure as hell not going to lie about this.
People online know me as Masked, the brutal gamer topping the leaderboard in all three of the most popular videogames. Even Dungeon Lord.
You'll never hurt my ego by calling me ugly or stupid. Just don't say I suck at gaming.
Cause I really don't.
At school, I get paid to play games for others, helping them pass difficult levels or beat tough bosses.
Okay maybe I don't get paid. I do it so they bully me.
It's pathetic. I know. But big fish, little fish.
That's how I live my life.
I've accepted the fate that in the hierarchy of men, which we all subconsciously hold behind our minds, I'm lower than a beta.
I'm weak, I'm broke, I'm uncharismatic and I'm ugly.
I have no chance with the beautiful people of the world. And it's a brutal truth I've learnt to accept.
I'm always being bullied in school, but hey, the strong prey on the weak.
I'm constantly being laughed at and mocked, but comedy is subjective right? If they find my ugly face amusing, who am I to stop them from laughing?
When everyone avoided or ignored me, I understood why: People were drawn to beauty, and I wasn't beautiful. I looked gross. People avoided gross… things.
So rather than yelling at the world, cursing a god for making me this way, or trying to get people to change, I decided to accept my fate.
I resolved to live the life a person who looked like me deserved.
But heck, it is difficult.
Especially at school.
I hated school.
Every time I was there, it felt like I was some kind of scapegoat. It made sense because in Sora University, almost every person looked like they were sculpted in a lab by some deranged plastic surgeon obsessed with jawlines.
It was like someone took the cast of a K-drama, sprinkled in a few TikTok models, added athletes forged from Greek marble, and then added me.
The scapegoat. Thrown in there to make everything balanced. The ugly guy to make the pretty ones even prettier.
But what could I do about it?
Between getting my ass kicked and having names hurled at me, I also suffered in silence; being powerless and alone.
Only today, Ryo Tanabe had slammed me to the wall, making fun of my jeans as his crew laughed.
"What's up with his hair? Katsura, did you shower in a frying pan?!"
"Look at his face. He looks like depression!"
Their voices weren't even angry. Just bored. Casual.
Like bullying me was a casual pastime, an exercise of sorts.
One of them tugged my collar back, glanced at my face as if inspecting a stain, then snorted.
"It's too bad for you, Katsura. God really hit shuffle with your features, huh?"
I hated how creative they were becoming with the insults.
They walked off after, leaving me in a heap of myself. Myself that I hated.
The only use they had for me was as a game shuttle, and then, at other times, a punching bag.
Because they knew there was nothing I could do except exist and take it.
I also hated that they were right.
I did my best to pretend none of it got to me.
I acted like the insults were water and I was a waterproof surface.
I acted like I was "above it all."
But I wasn't.
In truth, everything I said about accepting my fate was a lie.
I pulled myself up with a sigh that felt like it came from my soul.
"The truth is," I muttered, "I'd do anything to be good-looking.