Daniel's POV
They say life is short, so you have to make the most of it, finding joy in even the smallest moments to truly say you've lived a vibrant, fulfilling life. But as I sit here staring at the peeling paint on my bedroom ceiling, I have to ask: what does it really mean to "make the most of it"?
Is it about going on lavish vacations, buying everything you desire, or achieving your dreams? Are those the markers of a life well-lived?
Money, love, fame, luxuries, and status—these are the things people chase, believing they'll earn admiration and respect. In today's world, those seem to be the standards of success. They're proof, people say, that you have something to be proud of, that you're living a good life. Maybe. But is that really what a successful life means?
If the essence of a "fulfilled life" lies in material comforts, then it feels painfully unfair to those who can't afford such things—people like me, born into poverty. For them, for us, is a meaningful life out of reach?
Why am I even thinking about this? Honestly, I don't know. Maybe it's because I, too, want to succeed, despite being just a poor guy. That's why I'm here now, working, trying to earn money to change my life's circumstances.
After searching for a job to turn things around, I landed in a massive canning factory. The air inside is thick with the smell of industrial brine and hot metal. My work as a machine operator is hot, dangerous, and mind-numbingly repetitive—just pressing buttons over and over. It's exhausting and boring, made worse by supervisors who pace the floor like hungry wolves, berating me for moving too slowly.
"I can't take this anymore. I miss my PSP," I muttered under my breath, letting out a heavy sigh that was instantly swallowed by the roar of the engines.
"This isn't the change I wanted."
This wasn't what I expected when I decided to transform my life. It's completely different from the stories of anime protagonists who, after resolving to change, rise to greatness through a montage of hard work. I wanted that kind of progress, that kind of triumph. Instead, I just have sore shoulders and a headache.
Money—lots of it—is what I need to stand on my own two feet and truly make a difference in my life.
Press, lift, press, place, press, remove, log—over and over, all day and night. No one to talk to, no music, no games, and worst of all, no anime. Sometimes, I feel like I've become a machine myself, just like the one I'm operating. My movements have become jerky, automatic.
"Tch, change? The only change is landing this boring factory job!" I shouted, the sound echoing off the corrugated metal walls. I kicked the heavy iron base of the machine in frustration, the vibration stinging my foot through my worn-out sneakers.
Days of enduring this grueling work passed, and finally, payday arrived. I could collect the fruits of my labor, and I was determined to make use of it. It's ironic, though—the joy I felt holding that small envelope of cash should've hit me like a lightning bolt, but reality didn't match my expectations.
I had debts from the medical exams and requirements for this job, and most of my earnings went straight back to daily expenses like transportation. Whatever was left, my parents took to help with household costs. When I sat down and did the math, all my hard work amounted to nothing. The money just slipped through my fingers like sand. Even though I wanted to spend it on something for myself—a new figure, maybe, or a premium subscription—I had no choice but to let it go.
"Reality is so disappointing," I whispered, watching the last few bills disappear into my mother's purse. I sighed heavily, the weight of the coming week already settling on my chest.
Today was my day off, my chance to do what they call "enjoying life." Naturally, I planned to spend my remaining hard-earned money on my passions—anime, manga, and games. All the exhaustion from that sweaty, metal-scented factory was for this moment.
"Time to treat myself," I said with a grin, finally feeling a spark of genuine excitement.
As I tidied up the clutter of instant noodle cups on my desk and dusted off my PC chair, a sharp knock came at my bedroom door. I paused, the microfiber cloth still in my hand. I wondered who'd bother knocking without saying a word. I ignored it at first, determined not to let anything ruin my day off. But the knocking grew louder and faster, a rhythmic annoyance that vibrated through the wood.
"So annoying," I grumbled as I trudged over to answer it. "That's not how you knock properly. You're going to break the hinge."
When I pulled the door open, a cheerful greeting hit me like a physical wave. A young woman stood there, smiling brightly enough to be blinding. She was holding a small basket of fruit and waving at me as if we were best friends.
"Good morning, Didi!" she chirped.
I stared at her for exactly one second before slamming the door shut. I walked back to my chair, whistling a nervous tune as if I hadn't seen or heard anything. I had a bad feeling about this—she was a walking disaster, a hurricane in denim, ready to ruin my perfect day off.
But she wasn't deterred. She knocked again, louder this time, her fist thudding against the door. She started shouting for me to open up despite my clear rejection.
"Hey, Didi! Open this door! We need to talk—it's an emergency!"
"Go away!" I yelled back, my voice muffled by the door. "I'm not here!"
"I can hear you talking, idiot!" she yelled. She didn't stop, banging on the wooden walls of my room, making a racket that surely the neighbors could hear. It was clear she wouldn't leave until I faced her.
"Can you just go home?" I shouted, leaning my forehead against the cool wood of the door. "I'm a busy person, and I don't have time to deal with you!"
"Busy? Yeah, right! All you do is watch cartoons and listen to those Chinese songs. Stop acting like a kid!" she shot back.
Fuming, I stormed back to the door and slammed my fist against it from the inside. "Get out of here! I don't want to see a witch like you! And for your information, it's not Chinese—it's Japanese! Most importantly, anime isn't for kids!" I roared.
She didn't flinch at my outburst. I could hear the smirk in her voice as she mocked me, pointing out that I watched anime with "cute little girl characters" or lolis, as they're called. I quickly denied it, my face heating up. I explained that while some of my favorite series might lean toward comedy or lighter themes, I'm open to all genres—action, psychological thriller, seinen. It doesn't matter if they look "childish" to an outsider; as long as they entertain me, that's enough.
I knew she wouldn't understand, no matter how much I explained. Her perspective on anime was completely different. She was just a normie—a term we otakus use for people like her who don't get our world.
"Listen, normie, stop causing trouble in my house. If you're bored, go be quiet at your own place!" I snapped.
"That's exactly why I'm here—I'm bored at home! My brother is hogging the TV! Now hurry up and open this door, or I'll eat all the chocolate in your fridge! I know you have some!" she threatened.