Its faded, peeling walls; the ancient altar of incense, and the unsightly, cobweb-covered statues of the Buddha.
The people remain unchanged, just as stagnant as the surroundings. And yet, a sense of helplessness pervades my being. Nothing has changed, yet everything has. "Why?" I plead, my voice dripping with desperation as I remain on my knees. "I've cooked, cleaned, and done everything the other monks have… I've fulfilled every task assigned to me!"
I implore angrily, hoping to stir something in the abbot, yet he remains unmoved, completely unaffected by my anguish.
"You are not ready," He declares, his tone lacking any hint of doubt. "Not yet."
"But I am!" I protest vehemently, my heart aching at the prospect of abandoning this temple that has become my home for the past months. "I am willing to let go of everything!"
Draped in his yellow robe, the abbot stands before me, his hands clasped together as he softly mutters. "You have no attachments to relinquish," Before stating. "Return in a decade, and if your conviction remains unaltered, I shall personally fashion you a robe. But for now…"
With a gentle nudge, he motions to my luggage. "It is time for you to depart."
Staring at my suitcase, peeling paint flakes crumbling off, a deep sigh escapes my lips—my idiotic belief of having found a sanctuary shattered.
The journey downhill felt much longer and arduous than the climb somehow.
Each passing day is starting to blend into the next as I meander through the streets, plagued by thoughts of whether I had done to displease the abbot. The temple I had chosen held no grandeur, nor did it possess a lustrous allure. Yet, within its humble walls, I had fostered a life there.
The unhurried pace of life, the symphony of trees and birds greeting each morning—it had become my refuge, an embrace I had grown accustomed to, even loved. And now, it was all being cruelly snatched away, and at the behest of someone I consider a teacher as well.
Feeling disheartened, I step into a quaint café and place my order, mustering a weary smile. "One iced coffee, please."
However, the waitress meets my worn and dusty appearance with a stern gaze. "You must pay beforehand." She curtly remarks.
I don't blame her, I really am not very well-dressed at the moment, and must've stunk to high heavens with the sweats I have worked up jogging.
Reaching into my pocket, I fetch a handful of crumpled bills, which I hastily pass to her.
As I turn to find a seat, another voice interjects, this time a young waiter. "S-Sir?"
He stammers, clearly forced into this position. "We have a company policy against serving homeless people."
I meet his gaze—mine steady, eyes narrowing as I move for the door.
This is beyond his jurisdiction; this isn't his decision to make.
There's no point blowing up at him, or making a mess of things. "I understand—"
Before I can finish my sentence, he surprises me with an awkward smile, returning the crumpled bills.
Retrieving a second note from my pocket, I shove it into his hands.
"How about this," I propose, "You can buy me the drink and bring it to me outside. Consider this a reimbursement for all the trouble."
His eyes momentarily flicker with anticipation upon seeing the cash, but they quickly fade once again. "I'll buy it for you, no need for additional payment. This is our mistake, after all…"
"Are you sure?" Waving the banknote at him, I question.
He nods, a bit firmer this time. "It's the right thing to do."
"Good man," I commend him, offering a thumbs-up before clumsily making my way out of the café and collapsing beside the building. My eyes roll in their sockets, my head spinning as if I've consumed a bottle of moonshines.
I clutch my stomach, sensing the churn and flip caused by both hunger and dehydration, all while the tense glare of the sun pierces my eyes. "Sir, are you alright?" I hear a concerned voice inquire.
Tearing open the paper covering, I hungrily gulp down the liquid caffeine, both to quench my thirst and shake off the sluggishness. "Thank you," I mumble, managing to flash the waiter a thumbs-up, which he receives with a tinge of awkwardness. "Good man…"
I mutter again, eyes burnt by the searing heat of the Sun as I wander off and down the street to find an acquaintance of mine—a monk I had befriended on the temple—at the corner store pharmacy. "Leo!"
He shouts excitedly at me, waving me over where I have the displeasure to see one of his legs bent in the wrong direction.
"You—" I pause, speechless. "What the Hell happened to you?"
How is the monk here of all places? Or better yet, why?
I've been living in that temple for months, and have familiarized myself with their routines inside out. The monks hardly ever descend from the mountain unless the abbot specifically instructs them to do so. Foolishly, a part of me hopes that they have come looking for me, that the abbot has experienced an abrupt change of heart.
However, my hopes are dashed as quickly as it come.
"A- Amitabha,"
He begins, his voice filled with pain and tears welling up in his eyes, as he pushes a nylon bag filled with drugs—not the recreational kind, thankfully—towards me. "Please don't worry about it. Bring this to the abbot, and quickly!" He insists urgently as a crowd starts to gather around us.
"Did any of you see what happened?"
"He fled so fast!"
"Hitting the someone and fleeing on his bike… What has become of the world? This is the Internet faults! Back in my days—"
My eyes widen instantly, like a pair of saucers. "You were hit by a bike?!" I exclaim.
The monk brushes off my concern. "Forget about me!" He responds. "Hurry, or the abbot won't make it!"
My heart sinks upon hearing this news. Simultaneously, a spiteful and angry voice whispers in my ear, 'Let that old bastard die! It's what he deserves for throwing you out.'
Another, softer voice interjects, 'But that's not who you are.'
A third voice pleads, 'You deserve to know the why, at least.'
It's a two-on-one: 'To the temple it is.'
Without wasting a moment, I rush through the streets, my attire dampened by a light rain.
I can't help but wonder if the heavens themselves are shedding tears for him since it sure as shit isn't weeping for me.
Hailing a taxi, I pay the fare upfront and inform the driver of our destination.
Luckily, this city is small, and everyone on this side of town is familiar with the rundown temple that rejects monetary offerings in favor of food.
They view the temple as purer… Holier because of this practice.
It's an insider's secret, known only to the locals, while tourists looking to polish their image, increase their social media following or experience an authentic cultural experience are directed to the largest and flashiest temple.
It's a hidden piece of themselves and their culture they fiercely guard, afraid it will be turned into a hollow-shell for commercial gain, fearing that the magic will be stripped away, somehow.
Leaping out of the taxi and hastily thanking the driver, I sprint towards the temple as if Death itself is on mg heel. "Hang on a little longer, old man," I mutter under my breath.
When I first laid eyes on him, my impression was of a cold, distant and aloof person.
He was an old man who seemed to care about nothing and thus desire nothing.
But one day, he surprised me by inviting me for tea.
Initially, my mind jumped to nefarious possibilities, given my upbringing and experiences with less-than-genuine monks who held their titles only in name, unfit to preach to anyone. One of the many reasons why I had fostered a deep disdain for anything religious.
Luckily, it was far from.
He simply asked me to join him for tea.
Together, we sat and watched the distant sunrise, enjoying the bitterness.
It was on the third day that our conversations began…
"Leo? You're not allowed inside the temple anymore. Why are you here?" Another of the abbot's disciples asks, a hint of concern in his voice as he stands to block my path. Gasping for breath, I hold up the plastic bag above my head. "I brought the drugs! Where is the abbot, how is he?!"
"Drugs?" The monk looms, doubtful.
"It's heroin," I jest, trying to break the tension. "It's medicine for the abbot. I heard he's unwell."
"What happened to—"
"He got in an accident," I leans over, palms placed on top of my knees. "Asked me to bring this. Hurry."
The next half hour drifts by in a tense silence as I anxiously wait outside. Of course, the thought of ignoring the abbot's order and entering the gate did cross my mind, but I decided against it.
Fortunately, the monk returns before my desire wins. "How is he?" I inquire, holding my breath.
"He's stable for now, but the situation doesn't look promising, and we have no money to put him in the hospital…"
He replies, his voice trembling.
Against my better judgment, I pause, hoping to be called inside and provided an explanation.
But nothing of the sort happens.
The monk simply gazes at me with an awkward expression. Taking the hint, I descend the mountain, downtrodden. Halfway through, the same monk chases after me and calls out. "Leo! The abbot wishes to speak with you!" His words halt me in my tracks. Spinning on my heel, I rush up, and before even realizing it, I already find myself standing in the abbot's bedchamber.
The place lacks both glamour and beauty, consisting of nothing more than a bed tucked away in a corner; a bedside table that must be 30 years older than the abbot himself, the man himself who coughs and wheezes weakly on the bed, and the scent of decay lingering in the air. "Leo..." He wearily beckons to me from the bed. "You're here."
I take a seat beside him, gentler than I've ever been for fear of hurting the fragile old man. "How are you feeling, old man?"
"Like my lungs might give out any minute now," He replies jokingly.
"If you're still cracking jokes, you'll be alright," I respond with a laugh, though deep down we both know that his time is running out, unless he is hospitalized this instance.
It's just a feeling in my gut, one that the abbot seems to share as well. "You still owe me a handmade toga," I remind him.
Despite his illness, the old man chooses to chuckle, even though it triggers a fit of coughing that makes me fear his lungs might just rupture.
For a while, we sit in silence, allowing the unspoken words to hang in the air until I can no longer contain myself. "Why?" I finally ask.
There's no need to elaborate, as we both understand what I'm referring to. "Your heart doesn't belong in the Dharma Halls. If I had allowed you in, I would have crushed a young man's dreams and hopes… Too inexperienced to know what he truly wants." He grabs my hand, his expression serious. "Leo, this isn't where your story will end… It's simply a stop along the journey ahead."
My trembling lips form a grin, overwhelmed by emotions. "It doesn't feel that way."
When I was younger, I used to believe that the road ahead was dark—a never-ending tunnel void of any light. But I was mistaken.
"There is no tunnel, no long and winding road, old man," I say with resignation. The tunnel, however dark, would have given me some sense of direction in this confusing world. But, "There's just a whole lot of fucking nothing."
The old man's voice, weak and feeble, rasps. "There is something… You've simply been ignoring it. But don't worry, life is difficult. It takes most people years to learn, and even longer to excel. Some never do."
"And have you?" I question.
With a sorrowful smile, the abbot only replies, "Take a guess."
The following morning, the abbot passes away peacefully in his sleep.
Many of the monks suspect me of foul play, believing my resentment towards the abbot for his decision had driven me to harm him. But the coroners find no evidence of foul play. The abbot's passing was as natural as could be, and despite the accusatory glares I receive, I choose to honor him by staying for a week.
Fortunately, while the younger monks may entertain such thoughts, the older and wiser monks have made arrangements for me to stay. Sadly, just like the late abbot, they have informed me that once the seventh day is over, I will have to set off again.
The sky is crying that day too…
The clouds casting a dark shadow upon the entire city; the droplets turning the trail into a muddy mess. Yet, in spite of everything, my heart feels light, lighter than it has been in a long time since the constant dread settled in my stomach.
As I take the first step down the dirt stairs, a bubbly sensation overwhelms me. Skipping down the stairs, I can't help but scream at the top of my lungs, "This is not the end for me!"
But just moments later, my jubilation is cut short as I slip on the mud.
The impact is brutal, shattering my arms into pieces, with splintered bones breaking through my skin.
The force causes me to spin as I make contact with another step, this time my legs bearing the strain.
Almost immediately, my ankles crumble under the pressure.
My head becomes the next victim, yet it is my neck that succumbs first, unable to withstand the immense and sudden pressure.
I am quite certain my skull cracks upon impact as well, though no crucial function seems to be compromised.
If something had, it definitely isn't my pain receptors, that much I can tell.
Finally, the journey comes to an end, leaving me broken and sprawled at the base of the mountain. As I lie there, gazing at the sky, a self-deprecating laughter escapes my lips. By some miracles, the joy has not left me. 'It is what it is,' I think to myself, quietly accepting the fate that has befallen me. 'Just go out with grace, Leo.'
In the blink of an eye, I find myself in an empty Void, where a flickering sphere of light hovers above.
My heart urges me to enter the light; promising solace, tranquility, and a sense of peace that transcends all earthly experiences.
Though mesmerized by the alluring sphere, my gaze proceeds to shift to a pitch-black tunnel—or rather, a Void of absolute Nothingness.
No path.
No glimmer of light.
Yet, I yearn for it as much as I yearn for the comforting glow. "So, who's got it right? The Muslim? The Hindu? The Buddhist?"
The sphere emits a subtle pulse.
Although its gesture should be beyond my comprehension, I somehow grasp its message. "All of them and none? So they have elements of truth and falsehood intertwined?"
In confirmation, the sphere pulses again, while beckoning me forward.
Curiosity tugs at me, prompting a question that, admittedly, isn't very intelligent. "What happens if I go in the opposite direction?"
The sphere explodes into a magnificent display, sending sights and visions of extradimensional horrors of which even Lovecraft's disturbed mind cannot conjure, yet I'm also shown worlds so much more colorful than Earth, that my Earth screams with glee. I'd have gone mad—torn apart by Infinity, but the images are purged from my mind soon after, leaving naught but lingering sensations.
'Is that what you want?' The sphere seems to ask.
"Kinda, yeah," I confess, then correct myself. "Not precisely that, but I haven't had my fill of life just yet."
Once again, the visions assault my mind to caution.
"I know."
I respond, reminiscing about my time on Earth. "Nevertheless, I want for the opportunity to explore different worlds. I want to experience the wonders of magic, encounter captivating people, and spectate the epic clashes between Heroes and Villains firsthand, damn it! I am aware that this is not a novel or a game where I can expect special advantages or your approval, even. And I don't."
The more I express myself, the more my excitement intensifies, mirrored by my energetic imitations of Goku's iconic leaps.
Whatever this entity may be, I cannot hope to oppose it or flee.
It is best to lay my desires bare and hope for understanding.
"I crave a grand, albeit possibly fleeting, existence… Even if I meet my end at the hands of a third-rate antagonist, especially then!" I appeal earnestly, baring my heart.
After all, why bother when it can so easily glimpse through my thoughts? "If you truly are a God, you must have seen the conversation I had with the abbot. Please, do not let this be my end. I beg you."
Thrice, the sphere quivers, speaking of the sheer impossibility in safeguarding one of its own in the vast unknown.
It reveals the myriad ways my very being could be obliterated or consumed by unimaginable horrors too twisted for even the most depraved minds of Mankind—Past, Present and Future—to conceive.
"I understand," I affirm, but insist. "I don't expect you to. If I were to meet my demise or encounter unspeakable terrors, it would be my own responsibility. It's on me. A baby bird has to leave the nest, eventually."
The sphere falls into a serene stillness, its soft flickering stretching into what feels like an eternity.
'The bird that ventures forth prematurely shall plummet to the ground to meet its demise,' It gently cautions.
"I am as prepared as I'll ever be," I assert, causing the sphere to dim briefly.
Then, it throws me a nod of approval.
A smile quickly graces my lips. "Out of sheer curiosity, how many others have made the same choice as I have?"
Surely, in a world of billions, I cannot be the only one?
It is simply inconceivable to believe that no one else has bought into the allure of 'Isekai'.
Bursting into a resplendent golden aura, a thousand times more potent than its initial display, the sphere dissipates, relinquishing its hold as darkness descends once more.
'Less than I think?'
Lost in the vast expanse, I wander aimlessly when a new sight emerges—a second sphere. Unlike its golden predecessor, this one boasts a kaleidoscope of colors, endlessly collapsing into itself.
"Is this the true nature of Gods?" I muse.
'Are they Singularities?'
The radiant halo of gold had concealed the first entity from view, but this new manifestation unveils itself with audacious nonchalance, leaving me astounded. Who'd want to leave themselves so bare and vulnerable?
'Does it not dread being seen through?' I ponder silently, withholding my tongue while trying my best to avoid contact with the sphere. There's no guarantee it's friendly, after all.
My efforts are unfortunately in vain, for it detects my presence nonetheless. "Well, well, well! Look who we have here! Another human unable to tolerate my stuffy sibling, eh?" It exclaims with a hint of mischief. "Um... Hello?" I awkwardly gesture, surprised by its ability to communicate.
"You're not a fan of how he communicates either, huh? It's ironic, really. For someone who advocates for detachment so vehemently, he sure loves using that flashy Aura trick. Typical double standards, if you ask me."
"Yeah, it does feel a bit intrusive," I admit, realizing that concealing my thoughts from someone who is essentially God's brother is quite the foolish endeavor.
"You know, most people accept my brother's offer without question. But every now and then, a mortal like you comes along, looking for something more than what's offered in his Garden. How about it, kid? Become my agent, spread my teachings, and help me in my battles against him!" The Singularity floats before me, enticing me with its proposition.
Gazing at the floating entity, I decline its offer as well. "Nah... He seems like a cool guy. I don't have any issues with him, so it wouldn't feel right to join you. I appreciate the offer, though."
"Are you sure? I can grant you powers that surpass your wildest dreams. I can provide you with endless worlds to rule and an never-ending array of big-booty succubi bitches to entertain yourself with… Anything you can imagine, I can make it a reality."
It tempts, its voice disgustingly sweet.
Thoughtfully, I hum to myself and reply with hesitation.
I'll admit, I'm afraid of getting struck down where I stand. Gods, according to most myths, legends and religions of Earth, don't tend to take 'No' quite well. "I think I'll pass."
"Are you absolutely sure?"
Instantly, my mind is bombarded with vivid images—visions of unimaginable pleasures; of impossible delights that even the wealthiest people on Earth could not comprehend. Yet, deep within, it is still… Lacking, as if something essential for Life itself is absent.
"I'm sure." The God of Obsession stares at me, bewildered, and wonders to himself, "Strange… I usually have them at the 'big booty' part. Why?"
"I haven't earned it yet," I assert.
Herein lies the crux of the matter.
There is a sense of pride that accompanies accomplishment, as opposed to simply being handed rewards.
Some may deem it insane or even masochistic, but the true joy lies in triumphing over hardships. It is those men and women whom society applauds, not for enduring difficulty, but for emerging on the other side having gained invaluable wisdom, sometimes even at their own expense.
"Moreover, I've already told you, I have no beef with the guy. He's just minding his own business," I respond honestly, bidding farewell with a friendly wave as I turn in the opposite direction and walk as fast as I can, as if I'm trying to avoid a very persistent NPC with a clearly doomed Quest to give. "It was nice to see you!"
Unexpectedly, the sphere materializes right in my path, its tentacles wriggling towards me. Disgust immediately contorts my face. I have a range of… Peculiar preferences, some more intense than others, but tentacles have never, and will never, make it onto that list. The same goes for spiders, regardless of how attractive their upper torsos may be.
"Do you think you can just reject my offer and walk away, mortal?" The God hisses, an ominous pupil forming within the singularity that is its existence. "Do you even comprehend what you're turning down?"
I won't deny that I'm the tiniest bit fearful… Alright, in all honesty, I am practically trembling with fright. "As I told your sibling, I may not have an exact understanding of what I'm declining, but I have an inkling."
"Hah!"
The God emits a loud snort, his disdain echoing through the air. "You mortals, forever predictable. You say one thing, yet deep down, you stil hope—hope that by placating me, I'll bestow upon you gifts and favors, all without any cost for your supposed acts of goodness!"
His voice, dripping with accusation and judgment, crashes into my being like a maddening symphony, stirring up a tempest of obsessions and desires.
The sensation inundates my very Soul in tidal waves, threatening to envelop me entirely, and yet, an insatiable longing for more persists. "Do you truly believe it's so easy? Do you see yourself as some kind of Hero?"
As its pulsing form draws near, a surge of resignation begins to stir within my chest, mingling unexpectedly with a strange sense of satisfaction.
'How many humans can proudly reject the offerings of not one, but two Gods?' I ponder to myself.
"This is your final chance, mortal. Serve me faithfully, or face Oblivion… True Oblivion!"
"It is what it is," I mutter, nonchalantly shrugging my shoulders and closing my eyes to brace myself for the what the God has in store for me next.
Unexpectedly, the anticipated agony never arrives.
Instead, the God of Obsession hovers just inches from my face, genuine confusion seeping into his voice. "Is my brother worth eternal damnation?"
"This isn't about him," I clarify earnestly. If the God has momentarily halted his assault, it must be part of a test or a cruel ploy to buoy my hopes before mercilessly crushing them. In any case, I face the situation with a mindset I'm sure many would have in my shoes—cautious optimism. "It may sound absurd, but I I'm doing this for my own peace of mind. Will you let me go, please? Pretty please?"
"Do you believe a simple 'please' is enough to sway me?"
I pause, a mischievous grin spreading across my face, while a discomfort settles in my stomach. "With a cherry on top?"
"Where, pray tell, is the cherry?"
"In the fridge." I reply, relatively calmer.
Out of nowhere, the original golden sphere materializes, appearing alongside the vibrant God, emitting a gentle vibration. "Apologies for that, kid!" Obsession growls, clearly irked. "The quality of Otherworlders has been horrendous lately. We don't mind directing you kids to the nearest Universe besides ours, but we have been bloody flooded with complaints about your behaviors."
Despite lacking a physical face, the expressive God contorts in a manner suggestive of disdain. "'Oh, they are a murderous bunch! Psychopaths riddled with unresolved traumas and mental illnesses! They've even gone as far as destroy half of my Clusters!'"
Furious, Obsession launches into a tirade. "'They fucked my wife while I was out fishing!' As if their children aren't complete horn-dogs too! And if anything, it's their fault for picking them hoes!"
"What was that?"
Maybe it's just me, but I think I've been made privy to some very juicy and sensitive gossip of the Most-Highs.
'Nothing.'
Detachment chimes in, its demeanor laced with disapproval. I couldn't explain the science behind reading the body language of a literal ball of light, but somehow, I'm picking up on it.
"In the past, we allowed kids to Isekai whenever they pleased, but people just don't want to accept them anymore." Obsession grumbles wearily, burdened by the weight of the Universe… Multiple actually, given the context.
'So, our Universe has the equivalence of an incredibly weak passport, huh?' I think to myself. 'What on Earth did my predecessors do?'
"Wait… Aren't you both Gods? How is it that you don't already know my answers?"
"The Void exists outside of Time, kid." Obsession pulses, illuminating the space around us. "While we cannot see your decisions in this space, we can predict them based on your past actions."
Amidst the conversation, I can't help but wonder aloud, "I was actually half-expecting you to try and 'trick' me into granting you some kind of power. Color me surprised."
"Would it have worked?" Scratching my chin, I joke. "Not in a gazillion years. But it's the thought that counts, or in this case, doesn't."
"So… What happens next?" I inquire, my gaze fixed on the two glowing orbs.
"Now, we're going to give you a little something to level the playing field and send you off on your adventure! How about—"
Unable to contain my excitement, my eyes gleam. "Can you make me a Saiyan?"
"Don't you want to explore other options—" Obsession begins, only to be abruptly interrupted. "I don't wanna. Just ask any 90's or 2000's kid who grew up with anime, they'll tell you the same thing."
Some might aspire to be magical girls or Shinobi, but, "Spiky hair, multiple transformations, a literal power boost after taking a beating. Every. Time!" I emphasize. "What can top that!"
Obsession's expression turns awkward as he responds, "Ah, well, you see… if we were to do that, no other God would accept you."
Puzzled, I tilt my head and inquire, "Why not?"
"The last mortal we transformed into a Saiyan," Obsession starts, "Was unable to handle the primal bloodlust that comes with the heritage. He charged the Grand Priest, and as expected, it didn't end well for him. All we have to offer is this thing you mortals refer to it as a 'System'. That's it."
"That's actually a powerful tool,"
I exclaim, my excitement bubbling once again. "If I can't become a Saiyan, it's definitely my second choice. What does mine do?!"
Enthusiastically, I start to speculate, listing off possibilities in quick succession. "Is it the Classic Gamer? Or perhaps a Gacha System to feed my non-existent gambling addiction? Maybe it's the Realistic Overhaul that rewards repetitive actions with Stats? Oh, oh! I've been reading these Simulation System recently. That sounds fun!"
Detachment shivers.
"Neither of those, you say?"
I furrow my brows, eager to uncover the mystery. "Then what is it?"
Obsession replies happily. "It's a Skill Tree! I'll leave the specifics for you to figure out!" He exclaims. "Now, as a token of appreciation for being a good sport, we'll graciously allow you to pick your destination, because we're cool like that."
Without even a moment's hesitation, I confidently declare. "Nasuverse."
"No hesitation, huh?"
"None. The best waifu is there."
"Come on, Saber's like a seven, top!" It retorts, voice trailing off. "Her Lancer form, though…"
Frustration surging, I feel my fists clench in agitation, "You take that back…" And growl.
"Saber. Is. Mid." Obsession emphasizes each word, deliberately rubbing salt in the wound he opened.
Unable to contain my anger any longer, my cheeks twitch as I counter, "She's the reason why I have a preference for slender girls. She's the reason I prefer Soifon over Yoruichi."
I smile, hearing the gasp of disbelief escape Obsession, and can almost imagine how dramatically he'd have grabbed his chest if he had a physical form. "Soifon over Yoruichi?! Blasphemy! You only like her because you pirated Fate Stay Night as a kid and, let's face it, you were so dumb that her Good End was the only one you could get even with a bloody Walkthrough. It's the most basic route!"
His voice booms with thunder, but I stand my ground. "I only got her Good End because that is the only one that matters!"
There are many things in life I'm willing to compromise on, but this is not one of them…
This is a hill I'm ready to die defending.
"Saber is best girl, hands down! She's love! She's life! She is better than Rin! She is better than Sakura! She's better than the whole cast and I'm fucking tired of pretending she isn't!"
I boldly (loudly) proclaim. "Why do you think all the antagonists were obsessed with her?"
"Because she's a Saber Class Servant!"
I grin at him. "Now you're getting it."
"She got beat by every other Servant!"
A sagely expression on my face, I counter. "Not her fault she's summoned by a paranoid Master in the Fourth War and a subpar one in the Fifth."
"You disrespectful little shit, I can't believe I was starting to like you! I ought to—" Obsession begins, each of his words causing rift to form in the Void.
Thankfully, before the fight can escalate, Detachment steps in. With a dismissive shrug, he tears open a portal in the Void, tossing me through the wormhole as I continue to scream at the top of my lungs, "SABER IS THE BEST GIRL!"
The abbot was right…
My heart really doesn't rest with the Buddha.