Chapter 02

I'm home a little bit later than I should. The sky is already dark, and streets were all lit. My home address is on the crowded side of town. The apartment that my mom and I live in, is on the first floor of a four floors building owned by a freaky evil old lady named Jaddah. With only two rooms and a living-room, it always feels small to me. Especially when mom is in her 'smoking session'. It gets me literally chocking.

Since my mom is still making dinner, I go immediately to my room; making sure to lock the door. And with lights still off, my body collapses on the bed. I can feel my mind is exhausted. In the end, the thought of ending my own life kept drilling inside my head for months. 

I thought I was fully prepared. I left mom an envelope with all my savings, I wrote a badass essay to Mr. Lane, and I even recorded a video—saying everything out in the open. From my struggles and worries to my super-honest opinion on certain people who weren't okay with my skin color. It was supposed to be an emotional catharsis (cinematically speaking). It was supposed to be my break. I wouldn't have to lose anything afterwards. 

At times like this, when lying on my own, I find myself wondering how did it all crumble that I wanna kill myself? I was all well just couple of years from now! I wasn't a filthy rich kid or anything, but my mom and I were living a decent life. We had a cozy house in a calm neighborhood, my mom was working as an Accountant in a Petroleum company with a pretty good salary, and we used to get anything we ever needed. I even used to have a friend (believe it or not!). A childhood friend, a best friend; the only person I used to love and trust. Her name was Ruka.

Ruka and I met twelve years ago, when we were ten years old. My mom had finally finished building our abode. Thousands of trees were sacrificed to ravenous wood chippers, and our house rose near the edge of what

would become the town's swankiest gated community. We moved in on the first day of summer. Mrs. Hilda, the nanny my mother had hired, told me to stay on the grass in the backyard when I played outside. I wasn't allowed to set foot in the woods on the other side, which my mother  believed to be teeming with snakes, ticks and poison ivy.

In her defense, Mrs. Hilda was new. And for the first couple of hours, I gave her no cause for

concern. Everything seemed so much more alive in the forest. As I was watching, I heard branches snapping and leaves rustling. And then, someone stepped out from the other side.

I'd been playing a lot of Harry Potter games that summer, and I was convinced it was some kind of mythical creature. Even if the creature had spoken to me on that first encounter, I wouldn't have believed she was human. I'd never seen another kid so dirty. It was camouflage, Ruka later informed me. And it worked like a charm. That day, when the nanny came outside, Ruka took a step backward and vanished so completely into the woods that it was almost as if she'd been swallowed whole.

My tender young mind was totally blown. We had just moved from the Capital. The first ten years of my life had been filled with fancy private schools and playdates with kids named Arlo and Phineas. And then this portal opened up, and I was offered a glimpse of an untamed universe. I didn't tell the nanny about the creature I'd seen. Instead I spent the next few hours eagerly waiting for it to return. I was sure it was spying on me, but it didn't set foot on my grass again.

And by lunchtime, I just couldn't wait any longer. When the nanny

went inside to make tuna sandwiches, I slipped into the woods to go

find it.

I was only a few yards past the tree line when I heard Mrs.

Hilda calling for me from the backyard of my house. When her cries grew more frantic, I stuck my fingers in my ears and kept going until I couldn't hear her anymore. 

The deeper I went, the wilder the woods got. Everywhere I looked, there were signs of the creature. Boards nailed to the trunks of trees—makeshift ladders leading to lookouts positioned high above in the canopy. I felt like I'd made one of those discoveries no one makes anymore. I'd stumbled across an abandoned world.

That whole afternoon, I remember having no sense of time passing. And then suddenly I was hungry and thirsty and the sun was beginning to set. As it grew dark, I saw a light appear in the distance. I hurried toward it and discovered a little white house tucked between the trees. A gravel driveway snaked toward the other side of the

woods. The place I'd found was no fairy-tale cottage. It was more like a tumbledown shack. Half of it seemed to be sinking, and there were several kitchen appliances rusting on the front porch. Patches of paint had peeled away from the walls, leaving the house looking sickly. But  the light was on in the living room, and I caught the scent of bacon in the air. I was trying to work up the courage to knock on the front door when I heard the growls.

Three dogs emerged from the brush. They seemed enormous to

me at the time, but they couldn't have been much bigger than your

average border collie, and all three of them were clearly starving. Their

gray-and-golden coats were mottled and their skin clung to their ribs.

The trio slinked toward me, yellow fangs bared. They'd been stalking

me for a while, and they were ready to make their move. I was a plump

little veal calf lost in the woods. I'm sure I looked absolutely delicious.

I grabbed a stick off the ground and backed away slowly, holding

the large twig in my hands like a sword. I knew better than to run. I

needed to climb something. I was so busy scanning my surroundings

for a tree with low-hanging branches that I forgot to look down. I

tripped over a rock, tumbled backward and fell to the ground. The dogs were on me in an instant. I waited to feel their teeth sink through my skin.

Then, the air popped behind me. One of the dogs howled in pain and sprang at least a foot in the air. Another pop and there was a spray of sawdust from the trunk of a nearby tree. A third pop followed and the dogs fled.

I examined my arms and legs for missing flesh and bloody wounds, but much to my surprise, I was completely intact.

“Hey! You okay?” a voice called out to me.

I picked myself up and turned to face it. There on the porch of the

house was a girl my age. I saw the hair first—a fierce mane of raven

-colored curls. Then my eyes moved to the pellet gun in her hands. The freckles

came into view as I walked toward her. They covered the bridge of her

nose and spread out over her cheeks. But it was the eyes I recognized. They belonged to the mud-covered creature I'd seen spying on my house. “Those your dogs?” I asked.

“Nope,” said the girl. “Those're coydogs. Half wild dog, half coyote. They used to live farther out in the woods. Then you cut half the forest down. Now they've been hanging around here at night, eating our garbage.”

“I didn't cut down the forest.”

She rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. People like you.”

“Where'd you learn how to shoot so well?” I asked. My eyes were

practically fondling her pellet gun. None of my friends in the Capital

had that kind of stuff. If a neighbor had spotted a kid with so much as

a slingshot, child protective services would have been alerted.

“My gramma taught me. She says you gotta be tough when you're pretty and small.” I must have stared at the girl a little too long. Her brow furrowed and her eyes turned hard. “Yeah, I know what you're thinking. I'm not pretty enough. I shouldn't be worried,” she snapped.

“That isn't what I was thinking,” I told her honestly. “You just

don't look like anyone I've ever met before.” 

Which was true but completely pathetic. I probably would have seen lots of kids like her if I'd ever left the Upper East Side.

The girl scowled, like she couldn't figure out whether to be offended. “Well, I'm not like anyone you've ever met before,” she finally said. Then she glanced up at a patch of blue sky. “It's going to be dark soon. Want me to walk you back to your house?”

“Your parents will let you?” I asked, shocked. My mother locked

the doors and drew the shades as soon as the sun went down.

“My dad's dead,” she said.

“Your mom, then?”

“She's not home.” the girl seemed annoyed by my questions.. “Where's your parents, anyway?”

I shrugged. “I dunno. They don't tell me where they go.” 

“Who's that lady at your house who was on the phone all morning?”

That was when I realized how long I'd been gone. Hours had passed since I'd slipped into the woods. Mrs. Hilda would have called my mom, and she wouldn't be happy. “She's the nanny.” the last word slipped out before I could catch it.

“Huh. Must get boring hanging out with an old lady all the time.”

It sounded like an observation, nothing more.

I was pretty sure I'd rather play in traffic than spend another hour with Mrs. Hilda, but it didn't seem macho to say so. I shrugged instead. “I guess.”

“Come on,” said the girl, setting off down a path with the barrel of the pellet gun resting on her shoulder. I scrambled to catch up with her, and once I had, I paid close attention to the route we took. I knew I had to be able to find my way back. 

That night, when we reached my house, every window was ablaze. I could see around one corner of the building to where a police car was parked in our drive. Its flashing red and blue lights painted the lawn, but there was no siren to accompany them.

“How many rooms are there in that house?” the girl asked.

“Lots,” I told her. “I've never really counted.” it was a lie. There were five rooms.

“Will you be in the woods tomorrow?” I asked her.

“Sure,” she said. “I got a lot of work to do. D'you see the fort? Some of the walls washed away the last time it rained, and the roof keeps coming down.”

“I saw,” I told her. “I can help!”

Her eyes narrowed. She seemed unsure.

“My name is Miles.” It had been so long since I'd introduced myself to anyone that my name felt like a gift.

“Ruka,” she replied. “Raid your parents' garage tomorrow. Bring some nails and a rope.”

I received a pretty harsh speech from my mother when I got back home. The police were gone, but Mrs. Hilda had to pay the price of my childish curiosity. My mother had ended up firing her. And in few days, I had to be prisoned indoors till my mom's home. It wasn't that bad actually. Because, being little makes it easier to slip through windows! What a useful skill!

Over time, Ruka and I built new worlds and burned old ones down. We ruled over our forest  kingdom with barbaric benevolence. Ruka showed me how to shoot, saw and hammer. I gave her my ridiculous weekly load of candy. At school, we beat up each other's bullies and did each other's homework. We bought our first game consoles together—and transitioned to PCs together. We were inseparable in every world we visited. Ruka was my best friend and my family for twelve whole years. But that all was over. Me and this girl are nothing but strangers again. That life in its entirety, had fallen to no return..

◢ ◣

Few minutes later, I manage to get myself up, and hop into my computer.

I type: 

Bell tower of school. 

On a scale of one to ten on the how-close-did-I-come scale: Five. 

Facts: Jumping increases on full moons and holidays. One of the more famous jumpers was Roy Raymond, founder of Victoria's Secret. 

A quick internet search turns up the information that only five to ten percent of all suicides are committed by jumping (so says Johns Hopkins). 

Apparently, jumping as a means of killing oneself is usually chosen for convenience, which is why places like San Francisco, with its Golden Gate Bridge (the world's top suicide destination), are so popular. Here, all I have is the school's bell tower and a 1,220-foot hill.

I write:

Reason for not jumping: Too messy. Too public. Too crowded.

Next, I hop onto F******k. I find Courtney Meyer's page because she's friends with everyone, even the people she's not friends with, and I pull up her friend list, typing in “Charl—!”

A sudden buzz cut me off! It was a notification from the fighting game I usually play, called Battle Royale. It appears that my username: Low-Sero, still ranked first place in the country! Well, since I was about to kill myself, I thought about commemorating myself somewhere. You can't just lose it all and call it quits! You gotta win at something, too.

The pop-up note says I have a challenger who wants to take me on. Their username is Mystic-Shadow; the ex-best player in the country.

Hmmm..

I guess, I might as well take 'em on. 

Once I open their profile, the numbers are enormous! I can feel my pulse starting to pound my head. For the first time in ages, I am looking forward to a good fight. I could feel my grasp on the controller tightening. I choose my favorite character, Sac-boy, and head for it!

The game starts, and right away I am dazzled.

I charge at my enemy, already planning my combo. But Mystic-Shadow is standing on alert, charging a projectile attack with their character, Sly. It's the one thing I feel, could put me at a disadvantage; a match between two pros.

What's more, it isn't a coincidence. I don't have any evidence, but the thought occurred to me all the same. For some reason, I could tell they'd studied me but weren't merely mirroring my style. They've developed a counter-strategy, too.

Mystic-Shadow. I thought I'd be the top player for a little longer, but I can't be

quite so sure anymore. All I can say is this: If any Battle Royale player in the country is going to pass me up, it'll be this person. Those were the thoughts running through my mind as we duked it out at our current skill levels, and I won with two lives to spare.

LS: Good game.

This how players in this game do the usual parting exchange. I was planning to cut out as

soon as my opponent offered the default reply…

MS: Do you live in the Baily area?

Huh? They're asking where I live? What are they up to?

LS: Yeah…?

MS: Would you like to meet up?

LS: You mean irl?

MS: Yes. If it's okay, I'd like to talk and have a rematch.

An invitation to meet offline. Probably one-on-one. Am I reading this right?

What should I do? True, it's getting easier to meet face-to-face with people from the Internet these days, and honestly, it's not that dangerous. Given we're already connected by our status as the top two Battle Royale players, meeting up could be interesting. So…

LS: Okay, let's do it.

MS: Thank you! What's the closest train station to your house? I

was the one who initiated, so I'll come to you.

LS: Oh, okay, it's…

I gave the name of a station, and we made plans to meet. It wasn't actually the closest one to my house, but the major terminal a stop over. I figured that would be more convenient for them.

MS: Got it! So I'll see you next Saturday at 4:00 pm. Looking

forward to it!

And thus, right after match, Mystic-Shadow and I agreed to

meet offline like it was no big deal at all.

When I go to the living-room, I see that my mom has already put food on the table.

"Okay, eat while its still hot!" she sits with me. "Look how you turned to. You're like a old geezer!" 

"Nuh, I still need couple more wrinkles.." I bluff it out.

Tonight's dinner is nothing special. Just macaroni with only ketchup and fries spreading all over it. Not that I'm complaining, or anything. In fact, dinner is one of the most enjoyable parts of my day because I get to turn my brain off.

“How was your day?”

“Grand.” I push my food around my plate, trying to create a pattern. The thing about eating is that there are so many other more interesting things to do. I feel the same way about sleeping. Complete wastes of time.

Interesting fact: A Chinese man died from lack of sleep when he stayed awake for eleven days straight as he attempted to watch every game in the European Championship (that's soccer, for those, like me, who have no clue). On the eleventh night, he watched Italy beat Ireland 2–0, took a shower, and fell asleep around five am. And died. No offense to the dead, but soccer is a really stupid thing to stay awake for.

Less sarcastically, I add, “It was okay. Uneventful. Boring. Typical.” 

On hearing that, my mother let out a deep sigh. "If you just can see how thin you've become. Eat—please, everything! Don't say no!"

"I never say no to anything you bring! Isn't it enough?" I reply.

"You've being eaten from the inside—is something bothering you?"

"I'm fine, mom.." I sigh in exhaustion.

"You need fruits! And healthy food rich in protein. Ahhhhh!"

I know where this conversation is heading. She'd start talking about our financial situation. 

"If only the bank will bring my whole salary back.." mom murmurs. "Now, I have to live like this for three more years.."

"Why don't I try looking for a job?" I ask; even though I know it's pointless.

"NO WAY!" Mom bursts out. "I can't send you to world like that! You're not ready!" 

"But——living like this only will—" 

"NO! THAT'S FINAL!" she shouts back.

I find no other choice but to subtly clench my fists. If I keep this up, the outer end of the emergency room is where I'd be standing until sunrise.

◢ ◣

Saturday comes, and I'm preparing myself to go meet up with Mystic-Shadow. I'd gotten a message saying, “If you need to contact me, use this e-mail address!” so now we were e-mailing, now. It seemed Mystic-Shadow was already waiting. 

Since I'm not gonna die this weekend, I take back my savings envelope to prepare myself in case I'd have to treat Mystic-Shadow to a drink or whatever. 

“I'm here!” a text just rings my phone. 

“I'll be there in two minutes.” I reply. 

“Okay!”

I take the bus one stop and I arrive as well.

“I'm here.” I text. 

“Okay! I'm waiting outside the convenience store by the east exit.” I read the reply. 

“Got it. What are you wearing?”

I could see the convenience store right across from the east exit. There is an ashtray outside with a couple of guys standing around it, smoking.

Which one is Mystic-Shadow?

My phone vibrates. I open the message. “I'm wearing a white and blue shirt and a black skirt!”

A girl. Well, I guess that's possible. I assumed it was a guy, but there's no reason for it not to be a girl.

I walk over to the convenience store and look around until I spotted a girl in front of the vending machine. White and blue shirt, and a black skirt. It is her.

From the back, I could see she had silky black a little bit below the shoulder-length hair and

skin so fair it was nearly transparent. I can't see her face, but she is

probably young. Even from behind, I can tell she was cute. Oh shit. Now

I'm nervous about saying hi. Hope my voice doesn't crack.

“Uh, 'scuse me, are you Mystic-Shadow?” I manage to say it okay. 

The pure and innocent black-haired girl started to turn towards me. What would she look—huh?

“Hi! Yes, I'm Mystic…huh?”

“…Uh…? …Err…”

“Ehhhhhh?!”

Before I even express my surprise, Charlotte Harvey screams.

CHARLOTTE HARVEY?! What's going on?!

“Um…You..?”

“Okay, give me a sec. I need to calm down… You're definitely

Miles, right? From yesterday?” she's stammered.

“Uh, um, yeah…”

This ain't no Charlotte look-alike. It's the real deal. Cold.

“You're Low-Sero?” her tone was kind of aggressive.

“Yeah, that's me…” I answer awkwardly.

"!…"

A sharp crease appeared between her eyebrows. Huh? 

“Well, this sucks…”

“Huh?”

“I don't want to believe this. I don't want to believe the real Low-Sero is a loser who's going nowhere in life.”

“What?!”

She leaned way back, looking extremely uncomfortable. Her face is very expressive, so it's easy to read her mood. Normally, she uses that quality to a much cuter effect, of course.

“Oh… I've got to stop forgetting myself when it comes to Battle Royale…”

“Huh?”

“But if that's all you saw, it's whatever.”

“Whatever…?” I'm confused.

"..."

An unexpected silence descended over us. Well, this is awkward. But Charlotte just stood there with that intimidating frown on her face, making no effort whatsoever to ease the tension.

“W-well anyway, so you're Mystic-Shadow. That's a surprise…I mean…” I even stumble over finding a couple of words to fill the silence. Well, at least I'm consistent.

“I'm disappointed. I can't believe that Low-Sero, the one person I respected, turned out to be garbage without the slightest spark of ambition. You're the type who's willing to just give up and lose at life.”

“…Huh?” I was already busy beating myself up, and here comes the outside world to give me another kick when I'm down. She was being really harsh. I mean, 'garbage'? She did say something about respect, but that was in the past tense. I can't let her diss me this badly without saying something.

“W-wait a second. Um, was all that…necessary? We're not at school; so, there's no need—"

“I only said it 'cause it's true.”

“Just because it's true…doesn't mean it's okay to say it.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“You don't even know me, really. And you're saying I d-don't have any ambition and that I just let myself be a loser…you don't have any right to lecture me. I think it's rude.” I bolted. 

“Maybe you should stop talking with your mouth full before you start telling people not to be rude, don't you think?”

“I don't have anything in my mouth!” I open my mouth wide and finally managed to talk without stuttering.

Charlotte eyed me coldly.

“…Okay, I'll give you that. I guess I was rude. I owe you an apology. I'm sorry. When it comes to that game, I get kind of worked up… But I'm going to tell you something, and I'm giving you fair warning it's rude… I'm upset because the only person I respected turns out to be the type of person I hate most.”

“That's what I'm talking about…”

“You have no right to talk about manners. Look at what you're wearing.” she huffs.

"Huh? What do my clothes have to do with anything? It's not like there's a dress code! People can wear whatever they want.”

“…Hmph. That's exactly why I hate your type.” she was still going. Even though she had apologized two seconds ago. “When you meet someone, especially for the first time, there's a minimum standard for what to wear, right? Okay, I know we technically aren't meeting for the first time, but you didn't know that, did you? Look at the wrinkles in your shirt. Did you even bother to iron it? And the cuffs of your jeans are all raggedy. How long have you had those? Have you considered buying a new pair? It's been ages since I saw a college student wearing high-tech sneakers. They're all muddy, and the laces are frayed. It's obvious you walked over here with them untied. And come on—your hair looks like you just rolled out of bed. Did you brush it at all this morning? Did you even look in a mirror? If you were meeting someone for the first time, and they showed up looking like you do now, wouldn't you think they were rude? Well, Mr. Grimwine?”

After her tirade, I became suddenly aware of my appearance. I hadn't thought about it earlier, but I suppose you could say I wasn't dressed very well. Okay, so she's right about one thing. Still, what's her problem? I didn't come here to get roasted by someone I barely knew.

“B-but it's none of your business, is it? It's a free country.”

“Yes, it is. If that's good enough for you, I guess that's fine. It's just that

you said I was rude, but you're just as bad. That's all I wanted to say.”

“Just as bad?”

“Well, this isn't actually the first time we've met, so you don't have to

apologize. If this really was the first time, then you should have, though.”

The expression in her eyes was worse than contempt for literal garbage

and more in the realm of actual hatred.

“…But now I've said enough that I really am being rude. I don't think any of it was wrong, but I'll apologize again. For being rude, that is. I'm sorry. I

don't feel like talking about anything or having a rematch anymore. Good-

bye.”

With that, Charlotte Harvey turned on her heels and started walking toward the

station. I catch a glimpse of her face as she goes.

I'm not sure myself of the reason to opened my mouth. I should have been more than happy to say good-bye to someone so rude. Maybe I'm annoyed about what she'd said, or maybe it was because for that brief moment when she turned away, she looked more dejected than hateful.

“…Wait. You think you can say whatever you want and then leave?”

Charlotte stops and looks back at me. “Now what do you want?”

To be honest, I don't have a follow-up. I'm too worked up to read her expression very well, but behind the hatred I think I see a glimmer of hope at the same time. My mind is a blank. I'm only conscious of a growing chill in my fingertips.

“You said I was losing at life or something. You've got great base stats, so someone like you wouldn't get how I feel.”

I'm not even sure what my voice sounded like just then.

“Life is unfair. I'm ugly, I have a bad build, my income is nearly non-existing, I over-think until I can't do anything, I'm wishy-washy, people make fun of everything I do, and I have no confidence in my ability to face the world. One tiny problem can end it all for me. How is someone like me  supposed to beat someone strong like you?”

This might have been the first time I ever said something like that to a stranger. “But that's all fine. Because life's not fair. You don't get results just by trying hard. If you could, I would, but life doesn't have rules. No rewards, no right answers. As a game, it's a piece of shit. If there's no right answer, then there's no point in trying. And I hate the way normies like you live. Your confidence is totally baseless, and you go around in packs just pretending to have fun.”

With the floodgates opened, I couldn't stop myself. “Even when I have a reason to be confident, I shy away. When I'm in a group I just feel alone, and it's not fun. I'm sick of this life. You have a problem with that? I've been like this as long as I can remember. That's fine with me. I'm a loner, but I have my fun. I'm fine with this…”

I clench my fists. “…So don't force your values on me!”

I felt the heat suddenly drain away. The thick mist cleared from my head, the fire in my eyes began to dim, and Charlotte Harvey's expression gradually came into focus.

Her face was blank. She was just staring at me.

“…Stop crying like a sore loser,” she mumbles matter-of-factly.

“What?”

"This is pointless.." she sighs, and continues walking out.

"Huh..?"

And with that, my fun-time hangout with my very first cyber-friend ended up on a low note. 

Fun fact: one of my professors had a friend once who killed himself by jumping in front of a subway train. He said it was 'cause his girlfriend told him that his jeans didn't fit right!

I guess, I started to get him now..