Flashing lights, strong odour and loud sounds of speakers and murmur. This was not the best place for Reginn, and it caused him to hold his guard. However, he continued forward to unearth the mystery of what humans found fun.
“This way!”
The first game was a rhythm game, the kind where one has to step atop the correct tile, at the correct time. It required rhythm, rhyme and grace, perhaps not the best choice for a total beginner such as Reginn. However, Sivrit was quite bad at the game as well, and it wasn’t as if skill mattered in fun.
Sivrit first demonstrated the rules and the basic directions. At first, Reginn struggled to hang on but quickly adapted to the environment. Instead of focusing on the rhythm of timing, he simply followed the visual indications. It was quite similar to reacting to the opponent’s blinking of the eye or a moment of distraction — the perfect moment to strike. When it came to speed, Reginn was rarely paralleled.
“Y-you’re a lot better than I expected…” said Sivrit through her exhaustion.
“I suppose.”
However, he did not particularly have ‘fun’.
The second game in store was a traditional fighting game, the kind where two opponents move back and forth, gauging distance and using various tricks and attacks to gain advantage and ultimately fall their opponents. Sivrit was not sure whether Reginn would enjoy this one, as though it contained battles — which she wasn’t particularly confident Reginn enjoyed — it was also nothing like battles in reality. But then again, there were many comparable elements.
“...Hm.”
“J-just one more round…”
Of course, Sivrit should’ve expected to lose against someone who held a dictionary of the divine language in his head and learned a whole new language in minutes. While he did not use any information-type spell this time, he still accepted adaptation and reaction speed. Reginn did not use any gimmicks or take advantage of the special skills of the character, the hero had incomparable fundamentals, able to react to every single choice Sivrit made.
But Reginn still did not find it entertaining.
The final ‘game’ of the night was simply a photo booth. Since Reginn did not enjoy these fleeting moments of enjoyment, perhaps something more permanent was to his taste. He seemed to find pride in his statue after all. Sivrit still had her photos with Attila in their first year of high school. Back then, they used to visit this location much more often, though these days they were occupied with personal work. But she still had photos to preserve the memories, and maybe Reginn would also remember the day in a good light.
“So it’s like a painting, but an almost perfect recreation of reality, and also instant?”
“Uh, yeah I guess so.”
“...Hm. Humans sure do invent creative artifacts.”
“Anyways, let me teach you how to pose for a picture!”
Sivrit passed all knowledge regarding photography onto Reginn, though it wasn’t quite sure he noted everything. In all photos, Reginn refused to smile, almost making it seem like he was forced here against his will.
“You should smile for the photo you know…?”
“...I will smile when I do. If this is to be a true recreation of events, I cannot falsify my emotions.”
Come to think of it, Sivrit had never seen Reginn smile before and wondered whether he even could.
Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.
“Tickle attack!”
“...”
“...”
“...”
“S-sorry…”
After all the photos were taken, Sivrit invited Reginn to edit the photos with her.
“...It almost seems like you were smiling here!”
“I wasn’t.”
“O-okay… Anyways, you can use stickers and filters to decorate these images like this…”
“...Could you keep this one unedited?” said Reginn as he pointed to a specific frame.
“Sure, but why?”
“If images are to be captured time, I’d like at least one to keep unadulterated.”
Perhaps Reginn enjoyed this one just a bit.
----------------------------------------
The sun was already beginning to set this Saturday afternoon. Everyone began to leave for home, and the streets began to vacant into melancholy avenues. The sky was crimson and glowed warmly across the city. The shadows were contrasting, distinct and long. It felt a bit strange, this beautiful emptying playground.
Reginn and Sivrit sat down at the bench at a park but left the center seat vacant.
“...So did you have fun today, Reginn?”
“...I wonder.”
Reginn pondered the day’s events. In quantity, he did not get much done other than receiving some unnecessary equipment and a statue of the Goddess, and he had wasted so much time on human ‘fun’. However,
“I suppose it wasn’t too bad.”
Sivrit looked up to the sky. The sky was like a storm frozen in time, a roaring cyclone captured in ice, vortex in stone. The clouds were slow and painted the scenery.
“...I’m going to go to the Academy next month or so,” said Sivrit, “I’ll be a lot busier then. I’m glad I came here one last time.”
“...Hm.”
Sivrit wondered if she was ever going to see Attila again. If she was here, she probably would’ve dragged her to the arcades once in a while even during their Academy years, slacking off on homework and having fun.
“...I forgot to tell you about the demon.”
“...What about her?”
“I met her yesterday. I met Kyriekaos yesterday night, and I entered its mind.” said Reginn, “She’s still safe in there, and conscious.”
“R-really?”
“...I’ll be meeting Kyriekaos again tomorrow at the Colosseum. The hero said something about needing to rescue the demon quickly, or else she would dissolve. It’ll be the last chance.”
“...”
Reginn turned to see Sivrit’s scared face. It was an expression that he was familiarly numb to, the one he most often saw. There were different flavours of this facial expression — fear of pain, fear of death, fear for others, fear of the future and such. However, this time, Reginn felt a small pain in his heart.
“...I’ll try my best, but this isn’t a guarantee.”
“...Thank you.”
The hero was startled by the hug but soon relaxed his body under the warm sun. How long had it been since he was contacted by anyone without malice? He was too used to being pummelled with blood, that the soft skin was foreign to him.
Perhaps it wasn’t such a waste of a day.