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CHAPTER 3: MY FRIEND THE RIAJUU
The Polytechnic Institute Saint Rose, which I attend—the irony isn’t lost on me—is fortunately no more than fifteen minutes away on foot from where I live. This is the main reason why I chose my current apartment against the advice of the real estate agent.
This vocational college is set up inside a renovated mental hospital, now transformed into a patchwork of mismatched ancient and modern parts, a blender of small rooms and odd pathways, a distorted mix of stone and Lego, a Frankenstein’s monster of a labyrinthine building, a collateral damage of the tentative resurgence of post-postmodernism in the late 2040s, committed—I suppose—by a drunken architect suffering from acute strabismus on acid.
In a word like in a hundred, it’s damn ugly.
Fucking nausea fest.
Being a well-reputed establishment nonetheless, the PISR houses several curriculums declining various practical aspects of programming, electronics, mechanics, and the likes. At the ripe age of twenty-two, I’m a freshman—although, my birthday was two weeks ago, so…should I say I enrolled this year at twenty-one? It doesn’t matter. Point is: education and I have a bit of a rocky past. But we made up and are now tentative friends. Which proves once and for all that every failed relationship doesn’t have to end up in murder—I mean, to end badly.
…
I’m looking at you, Jenny. Wherever you are with that new girlfriend of yours.
Fucking bitch.
…
I’ve been a student here for about five months, and despite spending more time in my gamepod than in class, I somehow survived the first term and its firing squad—I mean “exams”.
Then came the break, and today is the first day of the second term and…I’ve already messed up. It’s not my fault, though! With all that has happened so far this morning, I reached the school twenty-five minutes late—and I know better than to show up in class a third of the way through. So much for my resolution to improve my attendance record.
Did I ever mention I love my life? Because I do.
That is called being a masochist.
I’ll ring you when I want your opinion.
You have no power here.
…
My head hurts.
In any case, by force of…destiny—
Aren’t you exaggerating a bit?
Okay. By force of…divine providence—
Not much better.
Ugh! By force of…ineluctable events—
Ahem.
Alright! Alright…Because I can’t keep a schedule…
Fucking schedule.
…For that reason, I am now standing in a hallway, having a pleasant chat with the janitor, whom I got acquainted with during my first week here, five months ago, in very…similar circumstances.
For a couple months, he’s been trying out Untold Tales, and I’ve been giving him enlightened advices.
* * *
“No, no, no.” I repeat as if the juxtaposition of this phoneme could somehow help validate my point. “If you’re going for a tank character, you shouldn’t only focus on resistance. Focus on strength too.”
“But isn’t the point to endure enemy attacks?” asks the visibly confused elderly.
“Yes,” I reply wisdomly—yes, that’s a word. And this is MY internal monologue so I do what I want. Nah! And I add, “However, not only do you need to endure enemy attacks, but you also need to shield your allies. Let me use an example.” I mark a pause. “Imagine you are…a small bead of steel…”
I glance at the wrinkled man, who nods to show he’s listening. So I continue, “You are extremely resistant but!—easy to swat away. You’ll fail as a tank if the enemy can just push you aside to get to your party.” I shrug helplessly. “Sure, you’ll survive, but your allies won’t—and that, my wizened friend, is what matters as a meatshie—I mean tank.” I cough in my fist. “Well, there are other strategies, but basically, that’s it.”
“I see… So, focus on strength?”
“Resistance and strength. And vitality,” I amend. “If you have strength and a large health pool, you’ll survive longer. Your defensive stats will naturally go up the more you get hit.”
“Why?”
“It just does.” What, why? Do I ask you why pigeon defecate on my balcony? “That’s just how the game works. But, like I said, I’m no expert on game mechanics. I just kind of go with the flow most of the time. So take my opinion for what it’s worth.”
It’s worth something?!?!
Can’t you just shut up?
No.
“Right,” acquiesces the janitor, oblivious to my mental issues. Yes, I am aware I have issues. “And my grandson said something about agility?”
Ugh. “Well…it depends.” I scratch my short beard in mock consideration. “Some like to play the mobile tank, but the whole point of a tank is more to bait the enemies into attacking you rather than you jumping in front of their attacks. That’s what the aggro skills are for.”
“Argot?”
Oh, Jesus on a cheesecake!
Fucking noobs.
I don’t mind giving a few pointers, but when people start using me as a human equivalent to “VMMORPGing for dummies”, that’s where I draw the line and start to get annoyed. Thank God, nobody knows who I am—or was, I guess—in the game. Otherwise I wouldn’t have one darn second to myself.
Yep. Although they’d come at you with machetes rather than questions.
Aw. It’s not that bad…
…
……
………is it?
Pushing that thought away, I look at a clock on the wall. Four-to-ten. Fiiiiiinally! Praise the Lord of Chaos!—or not.
I turn back towards the elderly janitor. “Not ‘argot’, ‘aggro’. It basically means getting the monsters to focus on you other than your teammates. Look, I really have to get in class, so why don’t you ask your grandson about aggro skills? Uh? Or look it up on the internet?”
He sends me a grandfatherly smile and I suddenly feel a little guilty that I just want to ditch him because I’m starting to get bored of answering questions. Well, I actually do have to get in class, so I’m not being entirely selfish here. “Off you go,” he tells me. “I don’t want to make you miss your second class. I’ll ask Benjamin about this ‘aggro’ thing.”
Right, Benjamin. That’s the grandson name.
Now that I think about it, I never asked the old man’s. Oh well…
Addressing him a mock military salute, I walk away backwards, then eventually I twirl and start jogging down a winding hallway. I duck under an ill-placed staircase and stop in front of a transparent glass door. The typical buzzing of mixed conversations floats out to me from inside, confirming the first lesson is already over and the next teacher has yet to show up.
I push the door and make my way into the room. A few people greet me by name, and I return waves, smiles, and hey-it’s-been-a-while-how-are-you’s, when what I really want to say is “Hi, what’s your name again?” I’m not trying to be rude. I’m bad with names. They’re in that category of things I don’t need in my daily life so I subconsciously don’t bother remembering. Same things with birthdays.
Suddenly, a chill of impending doom slither down my spine, just before a hand slaps my back with the force of a battering ram, expelling the air from my lungs, along with a loud and cheerful call. “Hey!! Nick! Still alive?” I stumble two steps forwards before steadying, then glare over my shoulder. Crossing the doorway behind me, an inky face is grinning widely back at me, in a startling display of contrasting white teeth.
Black people. They’re the Cheshire cats of the real world.
“Barely,” I drop flatly and look away. I would appreciate if the arrival of the one guy I can place a name on doesn’t systematically coincide with physical abuses of my person. In the violent affection department, Daniel is not as bad as his younger sister Yasmin, but he’s still pretty bad. I would know. I dated his sister.
And lived to tell about it.
Good thing my body can take pain well.
Around me, a concert of voices erupts, mostly females ones.
“Hey! Dan! How are you?!”
“Danny! I missed you over the break!”
“He-He-Hello Dan…iel…”
Apparently, Daniel too is arriving late. Knowing the siblings, his sister must have dragged him into her morning workout. Unlike me, he is too much of a diligent student to miss class without a good reason. But Yasmin can make a pretty convincing argument.
Her right hook is especially persuasive.
Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.
…
She’s a sweet girl.
“Ah– Oh– Hello everyone. I—Wait, Nick! NICK!!”
Behind me, the death cries of the wild Daniel rise from the horde of predators. Ignoring the call for help, I continue walking to my usual seat by the window, leaving Daniel to fend off his numerous fans alone.
Riajuu, go explode…is something I won’t say. I really don’t envy him. Who’d want a harem? Those are bloody bothersome—when not just plain bloody. I know because I watch anime. I don’t want a harem, especially while I’m still a student. I want my School Days to be peaceful—and my life too in general. I don’t need a flock of girls fawning over me.
In fact, one would suffice. And also leave out the fawning part. I’d love a strong, independent woman, one who wouldn’t rely on me too much. I’d rather rely on her.
Spineless, me? Who said that? I’m not spineless. I just don’t need someone needing me to justify my own worth. I know who I am, what I want, and certainly, I don’t have self-esteem issues. I know I’m awesome.
Besides, why is it always the girl who’s supposed to rely on the guy? Stupid. Macho men are sooo 2030. In fact, I’d be happy just being a househusband. Yeah… Find a good woman during my college years. Marry her. Then stay at home and wait for my wife to come back from work with dinner ready…or a bath…or, perhaps—
Hoping she’s not fucking her secretary at the office?
Now, that’s a weird thought. Geez… What does a man need to do to remain desirable these days?
“Danny!”
“Ah—hello, Sophia.”
“Hey Dan, how are you?”
“I’m fine, Julie. How are you?”
“Good morning, Dannie~!”
“You too…Jason.”
Well, you just have to be Dan apparently.
Apparently. Poor guy. It’s hard to be handsome, smart and genuinely nice, isn’t it?
The fool is too kind. He doesn’t have what it takes to tell those pests to fuck off.
I wonder how much worse it would get if they knew he was also the Master of one of Untold Tales’ most powerful guilds.
Probably still not as bad as things would be for you should they find out your identity as one of the most hated players in the game.
Ugh. I’m not hated, okay! I’m…controversial.
Sure…keep telling yourself that.
“Nick, wait!”
I’m not hearing you, Dan Black Juan.
“Sorry guys, I need to pass through. Nick!”
Stop calling me. I can almost feel the incendiary gazes on my back. Why do I feel like the female protagonist of a bad shoujo manga? Leave me alone, Daniel-kun!
I’m a great passive defender of freedom of thought. But for once, I’d like for people to be a little less broad-minded about sexuality. Especially about my sexuality. Put down the pitchforks, ladies…and others. I’m no threat to your attempts at getting into my childhood friend’s pants! Why would anyone assume I have any interest in Dan?
Because you’re a known antisocial and yet spend all your time with him?
Hey! He’s the one following me!
“Nick!”
See?
And Dan is straight, I know at least this much, even if any further information about his type remains out of my reach to this day.
In fact, I can’t remember him ever showing interest in anybody. Which is just plain weird. Seriously, I have no idea why he hasn’t a girlfriend already. He’s a great guy. He deserves to be happy. I mean…I can get why I am still single. But him? He could just snap his fingers and there would be least three girls and one guy at each others' throats for the privilege of dating him.
That might just be the reason.
Right. His girlfriend would need a black belt in several martial arts just to survive his jealous fan club.
…
“Nick!”
*staaaaaare*
…
Should I be worried?
Reaching my seat, I drop my bag on the floor and sit down. Immediately, my elbows move to the desk top and my head lands in my hands. The morning had been too hectic until now for me to realise, but the amount of mental and physical fatigue I’ve accumulated over the past few days of intense gaming is far from negligible. The headachy backlash is now hitting me full force, and the surrounding cacophony of chatters isn’t anything my sleep-deprived cerebrum approves.
Wishing for the next teacher to come in fast and put the students to sleep with that soporific super-power—proper only to teachers and politicians—I try to merge the ambient noise into my own thought pattern to cancel its negative effects.
Of course, the main subject of discussion is Untold Tales.
Popular things are popular.
“…and Baldwin fought the dragon alone by himself!!”
I repress a snigger. He fought alone, really? My, my…how brave. Clap-clap-clap. But did Baldwin win? I once “fought” an elder treant by myself and with a herring as sole weapon. Epitome of bravery.
I lasted four seconds.
“…then Gertrud died in the [Marshy Plains]. He…”
Oh, yes. An annoying place that is. I lost five boots to those quicksand…quick mud? Peats? Well, anyway, it’s a nightmare for footwear. Dying seems a bit much, though. What level was she? Two?
“Did you hear about the Wandering Knight?”
…Ara?
Now that’s getting interesting.
Shush. I’m listening.
“What? That crazy player?! The one who burned down the Sacred Tree of the elves, unleashed a Blizzard Phoenix on the capital of Firstland, demolished the Grand Temple of the Holy Land, and deflowered the Mermaid Princess right before her wedding?”
Hoy! Forced Exposition Guy, check your sources!
I did nothing to that mermaid.
“Yes. They say he disappeared. Some say he deleted his character.”
…I’m right here, though? Well, not that you’d know. Thank God. And I didn’t.
“Ah. It’s true there hasn’t been any major catastrophe happening lately.”
Hoy.
I briefly part my fingers and glare at the pair sitting a couple benches away. I wonder if it would be bad to walk over there and punch them. Seriously. Just because I haven’t made anything explode lately doesn’t mean I’m out of the picture, okay?—Wait. No! That’s not right. I mean… I didn’t do it on purpose, okay?! Those were all most unfortunate accidents!
Well, never mind…
I close my eyes again and switch to eavesdropping on another conversation.
“…can’t figure out how to defeat the golems in the Grava Lair…”
Noobs. Those golems are just dumb rockbots. Dig a pit and make them fall in.
Morons.
Quit being so vulgar, will you?
Not that I can talk… Who gets cursed, loses a hundred levels, gets all their spells erased, half their skills reset to level one, and turned into a girl with less physical strength than a goblin? Talk about screwing up… I don’t know if I should be laughing or crying.
“…bought Faust’s new album…”
Good girl. You’ve got good tastes. I may remember your name one day.
“…too, and PsyRen’s latest single.”
Did I really miss that? I’ll have to stop by Tommy’s on my way back home. It’s—
“WHAT?! You talked to Prince Orchid!? From DragonHeart Flower?!!”
“““HIIIIIIIIII!!!!”””
Owowowow… My poor, poor ears. Squealers. Just why? And what’s so good about that guy anyway? Girls, it’s an avatar you know? I doubt the guy looks like a blue-eyed, blond prince charming in real life too.
“Yes! And shook hand with Miss Lily too!”
“““HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!!!!!!”””
My kingdom for an Advil. Please.
Though, what are the two-faced elf and that permed idiot Prince Petunia doing these days?
Actually, I’m a bit curious myself. It’s been a while since I last killed—I mean, encountered them. Risking my eardrums, I stretch my hearing in direction of the squealing flock of fangirls.
“…yes, and they said they would start a super large expedition!”
Interesting. Prince Daffodil may be an idiot, but I’ll admit he’s no pushover. And as long as the cunning elven vixen is with him, he shouldn’t be in trouble…much. So, where is it they are expeditionning to?
“They will be the first to enter the Tiamat Mountain Range!!”
…
Sorry dude…but you fail. I’m already there. In fact, I’ve been trapped there for the past few months. Which is probably why I’m reported M.I.A.
And now I’m trapped within a tower, within a small mountain range, within the Erwyn Plateau that’s within the larger Tiamat Range. Triple round of applause for the imbecile who got himself trapped in a geographical matryoshka! Yep, that’s me.
And cursed. Let’s not forget cursed.
Did I ask for your opinion?
“Prince Orchid is handsome, but I prefer the guild master from Horizon. He’s so cool!”
“He’s so manly!”
I mentally block out next round of approbatory squealing. Good for you Dan. Your fanclub is expanding daily, in both realities. I wonder what those girls would say if they knew their idol and masturbation material is literally standing a couple yards away.
Mmmmh. Let me guess…they’d squeal?
Please spare me. I already have to endure his real-life harem.
“…I heard Enchantress Morgan’s party are searching for a map of the Zenith Cave.”
Did she ask Merlin?
“The Teleportation Dungeon?!”
“Yes. They should be ready in…”
Ah. That place. Nice for a picnic. Plus all those random runic teleports are excellent to discover new areas. If they don’t zap you inside a boulder of course.
“Did you see the vampires?”
“Yeah. One turned into ashes right before me.”
“Hahaha! That race is so imbalanced.”
“I think you just need to know how to use it. Plus it’s cool since it’s been a while since a new race was unlocked. I wonder who’s the player who did—”
“Nick?”
What?! How do they know it was me—Oh. Not the same conversation.
I look up from my palms and glare at the black eyes staring down at me with annoyance. “Don’t scare me like that,” I growl.
“You abandoned me there,” Daniel accuse.
I snort. “Woe is you. And it’s payback for not standing up to your sister last week and leaving me alone in that ‘sparing’ session.”
“It was completely your fault.”
“She broke my leg.”
“…I thought the doctor said the bone was only bruised.”
“The point stands.” I’m not limping anymore, but it still hurts when I lean on it.
Dan has the good grace to look contrite. “Point taken.”
I nod and return to nursing my headache. I hear him settle in the seat next to me. “How are you doing?”
“Aside from my leg?” I mumble from within my static double facepalm.
“Aside from your leg.” He confirms.
“My head hurts.”
“You played too much again.” It wasn’t a question.
“No comment.”
A girl comes to greet him and our conversation stops for a moment. When she finally leaves, he calls out to me again. I raise my head and cast him as side-glance.
“You really don’t look well.”
And here I thought it wasn’t obvious.
“I’ll get better,” I sigh. “Already have. Should have seen me on Saturday.”
“So, what have you been up to since last time? You could call once in a while. Or even drop by. You know Mum loves having you at home.”
“That’s because she’s still hoping I’ll marry your sister.”
“Well…she also likes you as a person.” He doesn’t bother to deny it. “Besides, if not you, who will?”
“Someone with no skeletal structure,” I mumble under my breath. My leg throbs as if in agreement.
By the way, if anyone is wondering: No, I didn’t break up with Dan’s sister because she was beating the living daylight out of me daily. She’s always done that ever since we were kids. That’s part of what makes her endearing. However, as a pair, we just weren’t—aren’t couple material. We’re practically siblings. The dates were just awkward.
“I know you tend to block out everything else whenever you find a new toy, but could you at least notify us once in a while that you’re still alive, and not bleeding out in your kitchen after a fierce battle with your monstrous cat? Yasmin was worried.” Dan’s tone tells me he’s only half-joking.
I shrug. “I can hold my own against McLeon…probably. And Yas should know better than anyone that I can survive assaults by brutal black monsters.”
“…You went there.”
“I did. Besides, if she was that worried why not come by? It’s not like you live far. I never took back that key I gave her either.”
He sighs and joins me in leaning on the desk with his head in his palms. “You’re a lost cause, you know that?”
“I do.”
“And the worst is that you’re proud of it…”
“Not necessarily. I’m just self-aware. How’s your sister by the way?” I decide to change the subject.
“Which one?”
“Hope.” That’s his second, younger sister.
“She’s fine. You’re invited to her birthday next week by the way.”
“How old is she again?”
“Eleven this year.”
“…”
“You won’t remember, will you?”
“Probably not.” Another shrug from me.
Another sigh from him. We’re so in in sync. “I’ll come and pick you up.”
“Thanks.” And now I need to find a gift for the chibi. Though I suppose a book would suffice. All she ever does is read. Sometimes, I’m afraid she’ll forget how to talk.
We continue to discuss for a while, interrupted by the occasional harem candidate—female or male—until the teacher eventually appears at the door.
“Everyone, settle down! Go back to your seat, Johnson.” Mrs Givre’s crisp voice cuts through the ambient noise before she’s even finished crossing the threshold. A groan escapes my lips as I cast a dispassionate glance in her direction. I had forgotten we had that woman this morning, or I’d have come even later. What a rotten way to start the week.
Suddenly, I freeze. My eyes widen. The teacher has paused in the doorway and is talking to a short girl standing outside the classroom. The latter is partially hidden from view by the doorframe, but there is no mistaking those thick rectangular glasses, long black bangs, and unfashionable turtleneck.
My mind suddenly jumps back to several days ago. I’m standing by the counter at Tommy’s, a local music store, and this very girl is staring blankly back at me—or actually staring in my general direction, but not seeing me. I try to get her attention, at first in vain, until suddenly she notices me, screams in terror, and runs away. Without paying, I might add.
I must admit. She left quite the impression. That was the first time someone ran away from me…in real life. She really looked scared too. Now, I might not be a paragon of handsomeness, but I don’t believe my looks warrant such an intense reaction.
The conversation between the girl and Mrs Givre quickly concludes and, with a nod, the former walks away. Before I even know what I’m doing, I’m already standing up, with my backpack in hand. Ignoring Dan’s confused calls, I cross the classroom towards the door. I pass a bewildered teacher and mumble a vague excuse about an emergency—I have no idea what I said exactly—then step out into the hallway. Immediately, I set my feet on the trail of turtleneck girl.
I’m not even sure why I’m doing this. Maybe my brain had only been waiting for an excuse to bail out of Mrs Givre’s lesson. Maybe I was just curious about what exactly happened back there at Tommy’s. Maybe it was a Higher Power guiding my actions—like Fate or some other nonsense. I don’t know, but this split decision would change the course of my whole life, plunging it into a maelstrom of lies, twisted love, and adventures beyond my wildest dreams.
…
……
………
Or...maybe not.
* * * * *