Aroha's frustration was palpable as her hand slammed onto the table once again, causing the cutlery to clink and shift. Her eyes locked onto mine with a mixture of curiosity and impatience, her voice carrying an eager urgency, "Yeah, no doubt! But tell me the full story, please! Why can't you tell me?"
I met her gaze with a firm resolve, understanding the weight of her curiosity and the importance of her trust. "Remember when I told you if you could see something in my hand?" Her brows furrowed in recollection, a hint of curiosity in her eyes as she crossed her arms leaning back slightly, "Yeah, I remember. What about it?"
Leaning in, I lowered my voice slightly, as if sharing a secret, "I found this book, apparently it's invisible to everyone but me, and it gives me 'quests'." Aroha's eyebrows arched, intrigued yet skeptical, as she took another bite of her meal and urged me to continue, "Quests? What do you mean?"
Taking a moment to gather my thoughts, I glanced to the side before turning my attention back to her, "I knew Jack was coming from the quest. The screen that shows up when near altars appeared when I was with you. It gave me a quest to beat Jack and protect those dear to me. At that time, it was you. It gave me rewards when I completed it." Pausing, I emphasized the significance, "The rewards allow me to get stronger. I can buy stats, skills, etc. It seems like some options are locked until I upgrade the book. That takes a huge amount of points, though."
A spark of realization ignited in Aroha's eyes as she snapped her fingers and pointed at me, her curiosity now mingling with excitement, "Who gave you the book? From what I see it does as advertised."
Feeling a sense of responsibility to share the whole truth, I excused myself from the table and ascended the stairs to retrieve the book from my backpack. As I climbed the stairs, I could hear snippets of Aroha's commentary drifting up from below. Holding the book in my hand, I descended the stairs with a sense of wonder, then pointed towards it, "Do you see this? The book is in my hands."
Intrigued, Aroha rose from her seat and approached me, cautiously extending her hand to meet mine. The revelation was both strange and surreal for her, "The book has no physical form either? I'm touching where you said it is and I feel nothing but your hand. No one could possibly steal it, even if they knew of its existence."
With a confirming nod, I replied, "Yeah. Apparently. It's trippy from my view." Her curiosity seemed to deepen as she took in the extraordinary nature of the situation. She shifted her attention to the task of cleaning our finished food, but her mind was clearly preoccupied with the enigma before her.
She began the chore of washing the dishes, a mundane task that contrasted with the extraordinary story I had just shared. Her actions seemed almost mechanical, as if her mind was lost in thought. I realized with a hint of surprise that she had finished her meal while I was upstairs, her monologue about the day's events subtly echoing through the kitchen.
Amidst the clinking of dishes and the running water, she finally spoke with a mixture of understanding and compassion, "Well, you'll tell me who gave it to you eventually. It's super late now, so I'm going to get to bed after finishing this." With her dish cleaned, she turned her attention to mine, a gesture of comfort and care. "Sorry, I should've cleaned it myself," I apologized.
Her gaze softened as she regarded the plate for a moment, her words carrying a gentle reassurance, "No. Don't worry, it's fine. We've had a rough day. I know it may not seem like it, but Jack frightened me to my core. I thought I might've been—" Her voice trailed off, leaving the unspoken fears hanging in the air.
She collected the second plate, placing it in the sink swiftly before turning her gaze back to me, her emotions raw and unguarded. Without hesitation, she closed the distance between us and embraced me, her face buried in my chest. Her voice was muffled, but her gratitude and relief were unmistakable, "Thank you, my hero."
Returning her hug, I spoke softly, "No problem. I'm going to bed now too, ok?" She nodded against me, her embrace lingering for a moment before she pulled away.
I settle into bed, sinking into its plush comfort that envelops me like a fluffy cloud. My fingers dance over my phone's screen as I enter the passcode, summoning the virtual world of entertainment. A few taps later, the familiar YouTube interface fills my vision, offering a haven of relaxation that requires neither an exorbitant budget nor extraordinary skill.
Amid the diverse array of videos, one particular thumbnail grabs my attention—a still image that stirs a whirlwind of emotions. Is that… me? A knot of tension forms in my gut as I click on the video, a fervent hope rising within me that my identity remains veiled, obscured from the prying eyes of the internet. The footage commences, a visual journey into a moment of chaos and confrontation.
The scene opens with Aroha being forcefully pulled away by Jack, the street becoming an unexpected stage for discord. In the corner of the screen, a spectator's expression on the bottom right of the screen mirrors the astonishment and apprehension that must have rippled through the crowd. My gaze shifts to the channel name displayed beneath the video—"Gifted People Fights." My stomach tightens as I grapple with the juxtaposition of my aversion to violence and the sheer brutality of these confrontations.
A voiceover narrates the unfolding events, adding layers of context to the scene. "So this dude's girl basically got snatched up by this bully, I assume. Both of them look strong, and it gets crazy," the commentator remarks, his tone a mixture of curiosity and captivation. My fingers scroll the comments section, the digital audience dissecting every frame, every action.
The video plays on, reliving the moments leading up to the crucial encounter. The uppercut that I had unleashed on Jack flashes across the screen, the sheer force of it leaving an indelible impression. The commentator interjects again, his voice laden with speculative hindsight, "Dude... if he landed that, it would've been over." The narrative shifts seamlessly to the impact of Jack's retaliation, the subsequent slam that almost killed me.
The commentator's voice maintains its fervor, deciphering the intricacies of the conflict. The footage spotlights my unexpected dash to the Macy's, apparently—prompting questions and debates among viewers. The dynamics shift, the momentum pivoting in my favor as the video captures the electrifying moment when I claim the book, a turning point that launches my resurgence.
The screen becomes a spectacle of ferocity, capturing the raw power of my kick as they connect with Jack's jaw. Teeth scatter, suspended in a grotesque display that registers my potency. The commentator's cadence quickens, intensifying his awe, "How could he do this? Is this even possible?" The replay shows my mastery of a technique—a hammerhead strike—precise and devastating, a testament to the adrenaline that coursed through me.
As the video approaches its climax, the intricate dance between me and Jack continues, the commentator's voice accompanying every twist and turn. Dodging a final, desperate punch, I execute a triumphant slam that seals my adversary's fate. The commentator's voice drops, reflecting the conclusive outcome, "The bully was utterly defeated, as he should be."
With the video's conclusion, the focus pivots to the commentator himself, his presence serving as a bridge between the digital and real worlds. His words carry a mix of approval and recognition, acknowledging the complexities of the situation. "Cops ain't gonna protect you out here," he asserts, underscoring the harsh realities that often shape such encounters. He lauds, "He had to defend himself. Whatever caused this to happen is a bad thing. Whoever that person is, good job defending your girl. We're proud of you."
The video ebbs away, replaced by an outro accompanied by heavy metal music—an unsettling juxtaposition to the deep reflections churning within me. I don't need to listen or watch anything else. Setting my phone aside, I turn onto my side, thoughts swirling. The video's popularity hangs like a weight, a harbinger of the challenges that lie ahead. As sleep attempts to reclaim me, questions persist—how will I face school tomorrow? How will my teachers perceive the video? Or have they even seen it yet?
I hear the door crack open ever so slightly, the soft creaking of its hinges barely audible in the dimly lit room. Intrigued, I instinctively narrow my eyes and shift my gaze towards the source of the sound. There stands Aroha, bathed in the pale moonlight that seeps through the half-drawn curtains. Soft lavender hues off her intricate purple nightgown, the color creating a gentle contrast against the warmth of her complexion. The fabric cascaded down her figure gracefully, hinting at her delicate silhouette. The faint glimmer of moonlight filtering through the curtains danced upon the fabric, casting a dreamlike aura around her.
Her beauty was arresting, the kind that left you momentarily breathless, unsure of how to capture its essence in mere words. Her eyes held a mysterious depth, like pools of liquid amethyst, reflecting the enigmatic thoughts that danced through her mind. The way her hair tumbled over her shoulders in waves added to her ethereal appearance, as if she were a nocturnal enchantress weaving spells under the stars.
As she approached, each step was a careful, almost balletic movement, as if she were navigating the space with a quiet elegance. Her gaze was both curious and contemplative, as though she was just as intrigued by my presence as I was by hers. The room seemed to hold its breath, as if aware of the charged atmosphere between us. With a grace that felt almost supernatural, she tiptoed closer, her movements almost soundless against the plush carpet beneath her feet nearing my bed.
As if in a trance, I find myself holding my breath, straining to catch any hint of her intentions. Her lips move soundlessly, forming words only for herself to hear. The hushed tones of her whisper reach my ears like a secret carried by the wind. "Good, he's asleep. Now I can squeeze in with him." The words hang in the air, their meaning enigmatic and tantalizing. What could she be referring to? My mind races to decipher her intentions with this act.
With a mixture of curiosity and caution, I decide to feign sleep, allowing my eyelids to droop shut once more. I sense the mattress give way slightly under a new weight, and I can almost feel the warmth of her presence as she slips into the bed. It's as if the very air around me is charged with an electric uncertainty.
Just as I immerse myself in the unfolding mystery, a familiar noise reverberates through the room, triggering a cascade of memories. It's the same sound that greeted me when I embarked on the quest, a resonance that had stirred both excitement and trepidation within me. The sound is accompanied by a subtle vibration beneath me, as though the room itself has come alive with hidden mechanisms.
As the sound crescendos, I instinctively open my eyes, greeted by the faint glow of the quest board materializing before me. With a mixture of awe and apprehension, I read the contents of the quest, my heart pounding in response to this situation. Oh Lord.
Quest 2: Sleeping..?
Aroha has entered your bed? Why?
Is she a Deredere or something?!
Figure out why and don't let her know you're awake!
Requirements:
Deceive Aroha into thinking you're asleep and figure out why she's there.
Recommendations:
Make Aroha blush.
Rewards:
200 points (100 extra if recommendations completed)
Lvl. 1 People Person (Passive) - People naturally care about you more.