004 Mom, Please Stop - Mark’s POV

The airport was packed with people, the kind of crowd that made me tense up automatically. Travelers rushed past in a blur of suitcases and chatter, announcements droned over the speakers, and the faint smell of coffee and something filled the air.

I stood near the departure gate, gripping my ticket so tightly that the paper crumpled in my palm. My backpack was slung over one shoulder, heavy with everything I needed for the trip. It should have been a normal, bittersweet farewell. A quiet hug, maybe a few words of encouragement.

But no. That wasn’t how my mom operated.

She was sobbing. Loudly.

"My baby boy is soooo grown up now!" she wailed, her voice carrying over the entire terminal. Heads turned. Strangers slowed their steps to stare. Some looked amused. Others just looked confused.

I groaned, pulling my hoodie over my head in a weak attempt to disappear. "Mom, this is embarrassing…"

She didn’t hear me. Or, more likely, she ignored me completely. Tears streamed down her face as she clutched her chest like I was being drafted into war instead of just getting on a plane.

"This is the hardest moment of a mother's life!" she continued, her voice practically shaking with emotion. "To send her beloved son into the unknown! Oh, the pain! The heartbreak! Someone, hold me—I'm going to faint!"

I sighed...

She had to be doing this on purpose to embarrass me.

A security guard nearby shifted uncomfortably. A couple taking selfies turned their camera toward us, probably thinking this was some kind of reality TV moment.

I sighed, running a hand down my face. "Mom, you dropped me off here. This was your idea."

"And now I regret it!" she cried, grabbing my arms. "I should've never let you go! What kind of mother sends her precious son off all alone? What if you get lost? What if you get kidnapped?! What if you—"

"Mom." I gave her a flat look. "I'm literally just flying to another city."

She sniffled, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. "That's how it starts."

I exhaled through my nose, trying to keep my cool. "You said this was a great opportunity. You pushed me to take it. Remember?"

She blinked, then gasped dramatically. "Oh no. I was the one who encouraged you, wasn’t I?"

"Yeah."

A long pause. Then, with a sudden change in demeanor, she beamed at me. "Then you’re going to do amazing, sweetheart! I believe in you!"

I stared at her, unblinking. "What just happened?"

She grabbed my face and smushed my cheeks together. "Make sure to eat properly! And call me every day! And don’t trust suspicious strangers!"

"Mom, let go—"

"And remember, practice your pickup lines, okay? No matter what, you have to bag the heroine home! Also, no harem, unless they get my approval! I didn’t raise that kind of son! If anyone tries to date you, bring them home first! I have to approve!"

I managed to pry her hands off me, stepping back quickly before she could trap me in another crushing hug. "Okay, okay! I got it! Just—can you please lower your voice? People are watching."

She sniffled again but nodded. "Fine."

I sighed in relief. Maybe—just maybe—I could get through this farewell without further humiliation.

Then she cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled at full volume, "I LOVE YOU, SWEETHEART! FLY SAFE! MOMMY WILL ALWAYS BE WAITING FOR YOU!"

I wanted to melt into the floor.

A group of teenage girls nearby giggled. A businessman walking past gave me a look of deep sympathy. The same security guard from earlier cleared his throat, probably debating whether or not he needed to step in.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "I'm going now."

Mom grinned, wiping her tears away. "Go make me proud!"

Shaking my head, I turned and walked toward the gate, fully aware that she was still standing there, probably waving dramatically. I refused to look back. If I did, I knew I'd just see her making a heart shape with her hands or something equally embarrassing.

As I handed my ticket to the attendant and stepped forward, I took a deep breath.

This was it.

A new chapter. A fresh start.

…And hopefully, a life with way less public humiliation.

The past seven years or so had been a special kind of hell for me.

Mom's training was relentless—dungeons, cryptid hunting, survival drills that felt more like death sentences. And the worst part? It was all to prepare me for something as ridiculous as an otome game. She insisted this world followed the logic of one, that I had to win over the heroine if I wanted to survive. I still had no idea how seriously I should take that.

Even now, as I walked through the bustling airport, her parting words echoed in my head. “Make sure to practice your pickup lines! And no matter what, you have to bag the heroine and bring her home!”

Yeah. No pressure.

I exhaled, finally far enough from the departure gate to loosen up. I yanked off my hoodie and tied it around my waist—not because I was trying too hard to be cool, but because the crowd made the air thick and stifling. Too many bodies, too much movement.

Following the line of passengers, I made my way through security, where a uniformed officer barely glanced at me before waving me through. After that, it was just a short walk to where the giant airship was docked, looming over the terminal like something out of a fantasy novel.

Mom had once told me that in an alternate history, people used "airplanes" instead. Apparently, they were smaller, faster, and ran on something called "jet fuel." I wasn’t sure how much of her so-called past-life knowledge was real and how much was just her being… well, Mom, but she talked about it like it was undeniable truth.

Just like she talked about the Otome game.

“You’ll understand in time,” she’d said.

I wasn’t exactly keen on falling in love with a girl I knew nothing about, but apparently, my life depended on it.

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Checking my wristwatch, I noted the time. The flight would be about two hours long. If everything went smoothly, I’d land around nine in the morning, reach my dorm, and have some time to socialize before the entrance ceremony at ESPer Academy.

I wasn’t thrilled about the “socializing” part, but it was unavoidable.

Stepping onto the airship, I navigated the narrow aisle to my seat and slid into place. Just as I settled in, someone dropped into the seat beside me.

“Hello! A fellow student, huh?”

I turned my head. My seatmate was a girl around my age, dressed in the same ESPer Academy uniform as me. She had short, dark hair and sharp eyes that gleamed with curiosity.

She grinned. “Nice to meet you. My name’s Riley. Second year.”

I blinked, caught off guard by how fast she introduced herself.

“…Mark. First year,” I replied after a beat.

Riley’s grin widened. “Oh, a newbie! Guess that makes me your senpai. Lucky you.”

I wasn’t sure if “lucky” was the right word. More importantly, the name Riley didn’t ring any bells. Mom had me memorize an entire journal full of character names—love interests, rivals, side characters, even background NPCs—but Riley wasn’t on the list. That, and the fact that she was a second year, meant we probably wouldn’t interact much anyway.

Or so I thought.

Riley casually leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm. “So, Marky, that’s your mom?”

I frowned at the nickname but followed her gaze toward the window.

And nearly fainted.

There, standing on the roof of the terminal, was Mom.

She held a massive sign that read:

I LOVE YOU, MARK!

LOVE TRANSCENDS!

ALL BOUNDARIES!

FIGHTING!

In glowing, blinking letters.

I felt my soul leave my body.

Y-yeah. That was Mom, alright.

I swallowed, forcing the words out. “Y-yeah. That’s Mom.”

Riley let out a low whistle. “Wow. That’s some serious dedication. You sure you’re not secretly royalty or something?”

I sank deeper into my seat, wishing the airship would take off faster.

Worst. Flight. Ever.

A low chime echoed through the cabin, followed by the pilot’s voice crackling through the intercom. “Attention passengers, we will now begin departure. Please remain seated and enjoy the flight.”

The hum of the engines deepened, a faint vibration running through the floor. Outside the window, the floating terminal slowly drifted away as the airship lifted off, defying gravity with an ease that still felt unreal—this wasn’t my first flight though.

The moment we left the ground, the view stretched wide, revealing the sprawling city below, its countless lights winking against the early morning sky.

With a quiet sigh, I leaned back in my seat. There was no turning back now.

Riley eventually dozed off beside me, her head leaning slightly to the side, her breathing slow and steady. It was a bit surprising, considering how energetic she’d been just a few minutes ago.

With nothing else to do, I pulled out Journal No. 1, the words HOW TO CATCH THE HEROINE’S HEART boldly printed across the front in obnoxiously large font.

Mom’s signature was proudly displayed on the cover as if she were the author of a critically acclaimed masterpiece rather than a completely unhinged instruction manual for her son’s love life.

This was just one of three journals she’d given me.

The first one—the one I was currently holding—detailed events I had to attend in order to win the heroine’s heart. It was basically a guidebook for what Mom called “flag-raising,” though I tried not to think too hard about that phrasing.

The second journal was a collection of information on cryptids, special locations, and all kinds of tidbits that an ESPer in the business would love to have. It also doubled as my training manual, the very same one that had turned my childhood into a living nightmare.

The third journal, however, was different. Instead of focusing on the heroine, it listed characters of interest—people I had to watch out for, either as potential allies or dangerous obstacles. It also included tips on how to gain their “affection points,” a term that made me deeply uncomfortable.

Basically, it covered everything about the game except for the heroine herself.

Mom had never outright admitted to having prophetic abilities, but I was fairly certain she did. After all, how else could she have won the lottery five times in a row? At one point, I think someone even tried to assassinate her for it.

I flipped through the pages, scanning the notes on the upcoming Entrance Ceremony. It outlined key moments, the people I’d meet, and what choices would lead to the best possible outcome.

I still wasn’t sure how seriously I should take all this. But if Mom’s predictions were anything like her lottery wins, ignoring them probably wasn’t the best idea.

Riley stirred beside me. “What’s that you’re reading?”

I glanced at her. She was rubbing her eyes, still groggy from sleep.

“Some notes,” I replied, closing the journal halfway.

Riley tilted her head. “Weird… looks like a different language.”

That was because it was. Or at least, Mom claimed it was a real language from another world. Personally, I had my doubts. I was more inclined to believe she had just invented it herself and then forced me to learn it.

I sighed. “My mom’s… quite adventurous. She has weird requirements. Made me learn this language, for example.”

Riley gave me a curious look, but she didn’t press further. Instead, she pulled out her phone, her attention already shifting.

I took the opportunity to go back to my notes.

Riley had gone quiet, scrolling through her phone, so I took the chance to pull out Journal No. 2.

Unlike the first one, which was all about romancing the heroine, this one had a more practical purpose. HOW TO BE STRONG was written in bold, capital letters across the cover, as if strength were something you could just study like a textbook.

I flipped straight to the last page and stared at my stats.

Mom had insisted on keeping track of my progress like this—lists of skills, estimated power levels, and notes on what I still needed to improve. Some of it was useful. Some of it was… well, less so.

* ESP Proficiency: Decent, but needs work. (Fix your tactical awareness, Mark. You're too used to fighting cryptidsand not people.)

* Physical Strength: Above average, but let’s push for superhuman, okay?

* Charisma: …Needs a miracle. (Just memorize the damn pickup lines. Where’s your usual charisma go?)

* Affection Points with Heroine: Currently 0. (This is unacceptable. FIX IT.)

I sighed and closed the journal.

Pulling out my walkie and earphones, I put on some music and leaned back into my seat, letting the hum of the airship blend into the background.

My thoughts drifted as I stared out the window.

The past seven years had been a blur of survival, training, and trying (and failing) to understand Mom’s obsession with the game. To her, everything had rules, predetermined paths, and scripted outcomes. If I just followed the events, things would work out.

But it wasn’t that simple.

I murmured, more to myself than anyone, “Do I really have to?”

Romancing the heroine, raising affection points, securing flags—it all felt overly complicated. Forced.

And besides… I wasn’t even sure I had it in me to like someone like that.

EVELYN′S ESP INTERFACE: MARK′S STAT SHEET (UPDATED FOR CHAPTER 4)

Name: Mark Valentine

Title: The Villain

Age: 17

Race: Human (?)

Affiliation: ESPer Academy (First-Year Student)

Threat Level: [⚠ Variable ⚠] (Harmless until provoked.)

ATTRIBUTES (UPDATED STATS FROM YEARS OF TRAINING):

* Strength:★★★☆☆ → ★★★★☆ (Can punch out a cryptid. Would rather not.)

* Dexterity:★★★☆☆ → ★★★★☆ (Fast hands. Faster exits.)

* Endurance:★★☆☆☆ → ★★★☆☆ (Survived my training. Has scars to prove it.)

* Intelligence:★★★★☆ → ★★★★☆ (Still overthinks everything.)

* Wisdom:★★★☆☆ → ★★★★☆ (Understands the game, now doubting the rules.)

* Charisma:★★★★☆ → ★★★☆☆ (Lost some smooth-talking points. Still sarcastic.)

* Luck:★★☆☆☆ → ★★☆☆☆ (Consistently terrible, but funny to watch.)

ABILITIES (UPDATED SKILLS & ESP PROGRESSION):

* ESP:Nth Person (Psychic invisibility that erases awareness of his presence.)

* Survivor’sInstinct (Years in cryptid-infested dungeons turned him into a seasoned combatant.)

* SelectiveHearing (Can tune out nonsense, except mine. Because I’m important.)

* CombatProficiency (Trained in melee weapons, firearms, and hand-to-hand combat.)

* TacticalAwareness (Plans ahead, sets traps, and prepares exit strategies.)

* BratEnergy (Now weaponized into passive-aggressive rebellion.)

* RomanticFlag Resistance (Unintentionally dodges affection points like they're projectiles.)

PERSONALITY NOTES:

* More disciplined, but still avoids work when possible.

* Still allergic to socializing.

* Suspicious of his own love life.

* Low-key traumatized but too stubborn to admit it.

* Secretly cares but buries it under layers of cynicism.

* Developing an existential crisis about his role in all this.

CURRENT CONDITION (POST-AIRSHIP DEPARTURE):

* HP: 97% (Physically fine. Mentally exhausted.)

* Mental Fatigue: Moderate (His Mommy’s crying.)

* Hunger: Low (Still opportunistic about free food.)

EVELYN’S PERSONAL NOTES:

* He got on the airship without running away. Progress.

* If he slacks off, I’m dropping him in another cryptid pit.