My form transcended the laws of physics yet again, apparently.

I found myself walking on a formless path, only indicated by the neon colouring adorning the space around it. Interestingly enough, I looked like my human self once more, which gladdened my depressed state. Blinking was a necessary step because of how confusing all of this was, really.

The reflection was picture-perfect, and I ignored the fact that I could apparently see myself in the empty air.

Beautiful, how aesthetically complete humans can be, despite possessing the most rotten souls to date.

An absolutely flawless juxtaposition indeed.

"Greetings, traveller," a deep, hoarse voice visited my ears. "Many a tomb for turning me down, but I have faith you will put on my gown."

Nani?

Was that his attempt at stand-up poetry?

Not the best timing, really.

Even a terrible violinist would be more deserving of my attention than. . . This mockery of true art!

"To whom do I owe this pleasure? Common courtesy suggests we introduce ourselves when meeting as a first rule of class," I said.

"Aye, naysayer! Courtesy is for the poor, but truth is for the true game-players!"

He's still doing this?

How annoying — perhaps more so than the time when Totsuka barfed on my shoes. That's a low bar to reach, considering I had to throw the shoes away; regardless of my best efforts, the stench could not be wholly erased from the material.

Tragic to say, Mother was definitely not very pleased by this ordeal.

"Truth, you say? How can I trust some random bub from the street with the ostensive power to invade my mind to give me the truth?"

"Invade your mind? What nonsense!" he retorted. "Alright, maybe I can do that, but it's for good reason! I want one."

One what? One cow? One goat?

One. . . harlot?

"One person from the Milky Way galaxy to help me on my quest, of course! what else could you expect me to say?"

"Not interested," I started on my feet, preparing to brisk away from here.

"Did you really think you can run away? I exist not in the physical form but in the realm of imagination and knowledge. Safe to say, thou shall refer to me as entity Shimizu Minoru. Good name, isn't it?"

I wasn't impressed at all. "Did you just come up with that on the spot?"

"No, now stop asking questions and listen for once!"

"Reiterating my earlier words, no." After uttering these words, I automatically ran as fast as I could.

"You must be retarded or something, young lad."

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Nani. . .?

What did he just say. . .?

"I said you're dumb as a chicken."

Wow! I'm not offended at all!

"Glad you're not. Anyways, can you stop running? You do realize I'm, both figuratively and literally speaking — inside your mind, right?"

I ended my jog right then and there. He had a decent point, actually. How surprising!

"What do you want?" I surveyed his intentions since it was generally unknown to me, "Do tell."

"Let me tell 'ya, boy. It starts like this. . ."

My ears stretched to their maximum possible width, since all that could be made out was, "Blah, blah, blah."

What was received was simply some very drunken, slurred explanations of his fictional ramblings. They were far too long-winded and required the utmost patience to actually listen to them.

Apparently — (and I know this word had been regurgitated multiple times now) — my transformation was because my spirit had lost strength since my exposure to sunlight was too low for sustenance.

Now, how is one meant to deal with this issue?

Well, Demigod-sensei over here thinks that eating some seed will turn me back. One to to note is that he called it, 'The Healing Seed'.

How terrifying a name can be when a madman dubs it!

That's just the honest reality when dealing with titles and rules. Ordinary squires follow a well-established set of ethics and social norms. The madmen had no need of such since they were discarded away from the outskirts of their hometowns and cities. And it was by their own people, no less.

Wonderful, how progressively accepting we are in this day and age. Even Japan is not so iron-fisted with their regulations (that's saying something because our nation used to be a colonialist empire desperately needing deliverance).

The digestion of the idea that one is wrong for carrying out their practices and ritual delicacies shall remain farfetched every time such an idea is communicated. The war criminals in the army (the pawns of the Second World War) and their generals (the masterminds behind this approach to weaker empires), would never have even thought to stop those ways since it must have been natural for their primitive mindsets.

'A bike with busted gears is a busted bike' — a phrase I invented just now, offers insight into this psychological phenomenon.

Back on topic, should I listen to what this man is telling me? Is his point of view valid to seek out?

"You think too hard, boy. I'm not trying to scam you or anything, just do a little something for me and you can get the seed," he offered with a scoff.

Peculiar. . . Peculiar, indeed.

I felt like something was about to go terribly wrong, which was never a good sign in my life.

Shouldn't I have been panicking right that moment?

"What is it?"

"No need for alarm, kid. It's just a special kind of mission you'll wanna brag to your friends in kindergarten."

I rolled my eyes. "How is that supposed to entice anybody? If anything, such a 'benefit' wouldn't even fit my circumstances. Way too much emphasis on the kid part as well."

This man is boring when speaking normally, I've gathered. It's probably why he tries so hard to make over-the-counter jokes each passing opportunity; simply put, talentless.

"I heard that."

Yes, I know (but don't care).

How dare he use that word when referring to me? Was that an insinuation of my mental age being equal to that of a kindergarten student?

Quite bold, I must say.

"You think too much. Do you like reading thesis books?"

"Stop asking questions. I'm going to ignore you now, otherwise, the end of my rope would end up being reached way too soon."

With these harsh, bitter words being directed towards him, he finally decided to shut up. At least that worked, for once.

If it took even a second longer, my head would have wrung itself off my neck.

***

My eyelids peered apart, attempting to survey the scenery before me. Even with this ever-sprawling drowsiness, there should've been no major inhibition to my sense of sight.

And yet — even as I say that, a massive dread overloaded my core.

No changes had taken place at all, meaning that I was still a wee little ant.

This. . . How cruel!

Was it a lucid dream? I've read somewhere that lucid dreams are the rarest kinds of dreams because the frontal lobe and the lateral habenula turn off during the hibernation phase.

After all, why would you need to make decisions while asleep?

Still, I hate this feeling. It's like I'm powerless against an unstoppable force.

Actually, I am. . . let's just forget about it for now.

Thump!

Not this garbage again. . .

Thump!

I've been told that poetry is the best way to deal with stress.

Thump!

I hate this!

Thump!

See you tomorrow, readers! If I'm even alive by that time, that is.

Thump!

It's like I'm being mercilessly punished and tortured.