Daniel's POV
A few hours later, the heat was no longer a dream.
I was at work, busy "standing around." Tsk. Well, I call it busy because operating a heavy machine isn't exactly a walk in the park; it's a constant battle against boredom and the risk of losing a finger if you lose focus for a second. The real struggle, though, was the stifling, oily heat of the factory floor. I wiped sweat from my brow with a greasy sleeve, thinking about how lucky mall employees were—getting paid to stand in a steady stream of free air conditioning.
"The mall? Dammit, why am I still thinking about the mall?" I grumbled to myself, adjusting a lever.
Eventually, the internal alarm blared, a harsh mechanical shriek that signaled the afternoon break. We all shuffled like zombies toward the factory canteen, the sound of heavy boots echoing on the metal walkways.
I sat down at a scratched plastic table to eat with my two coworkers, Lucas and Pako. In a place like this, finding fellow fans is like finding a rare drop in an RPG; most of the guys here are "Normies" who think anime is just something you outgrow at ten. That's why, even though we work in different sections, we always gravitate toward each other during breaks.
Lucas is 25, thin, and dark-skinned. He isn't quite as hardcore as I am—I live for the soundtracks and the deep lore. He's content just watching the mainstream hits and grinding ranks in Mobile Legends during his commute.
Pako, on the other hand, is... specialized. He doesn't watch anything unless it involves swords, gore, or extreme fan service. He's the kind of fan who skips the dialogue just to get to the fight scenes or the "plot."
Still, they aren't hard to get along with. It beats being the weird introvert hiding in a corner eating alone. Tsk. I don't want to go back to being that guy.
I must have looked like a ghost, because I was staring blankly at my rice for five minutes without taking a bite. They finally noticed.
"Hoy, Daniel. What's with the face? You look like you just saw a Titan," Lucas asked, poking at his fish.
"Hmm... what does marriage mean to you guys?" I asked, the question slipping out before I could filter it.
I wasn't sure why I was asking them, of all people. As expected, they immediately broke into grins. Lucas let out a sharp bark of laughter at the sudden gravity of the question. I couldn't even blame them; I knew I sounded like a character in a bad soap opera.
"If you're planning on getting hitched, don't. Women are cheaters, man; you'll just end up hurt and paying for a house you can't live in," Lucas joked, though there was a bitter edge to his voice.
"You're so cynical. Not all women are like that—look at my mom, she's still with my dad after all these years," I countered, finally taking a bite of my lunch.
"Daniel, look, it's easy to explain, but it depends on the situation and the conditions," Pako chimed in, leaning forward.
"Situation and conditions?" I repeated.
Pako began to explain his take, using his own life as a blueprint. He'd married his wife because she was beautiful and had been a local model. To hear him tell it, he'd won the lottery.
I thought he was going to give me some profound, poetic advice, but he mostly rambled about his own "needs" and how his wife took care of the house. But then, his tone shifted, becoming uncharacteristically soft. He said that, ultimately, you have to actually like the person, because you'll be staring at their face every single day for the rest of your life. Sharing a life isn't a small favor.
"You only say that because you got lucky with your wife," I said, leaning back.
"I'm lucky she's beautiful, sure," Pako admitted, shrugging. "But if you only knew how much we argue every single day and how broke we are right now... But seriously, man, it doesn't matter if you're poor as long as you help each other get through the day and wait for the kids to grow up. It gives the work a reason, you know?"
Tsk. His outlook was so blunt, so... grounded. To me, it sounded exhausting—a life without personal dreams or high-score ambitions. But could I really call him wrong? Most people never "make it" to the big leagues. We're factory workers. We're poor.
Even if I stay here for fifty years, I'll never own a fleet of black luxury cars. That's just the reality of the 3D world.
"Look, it also depends," Lucas added, snapping a toothpick. "Even if your wife isn't a beauty, as long as you're comfortable with each other and you both get something out of the arrangement, it works."
"Get something out of it? That makes it sound like a business deal."
"Let's be real, Daniel. If you aren't gaining anything or getting any support from a spouse, why get married at all? Why take on the stress?"
"Because you love them, obviously. That's what every story says."
"Love? Can you eat love? Hahaha," Lucas laughed, shaking his head. "It's just an emotion, like fear or anger. It fades depending on how much money is in the bank or how loud the kids are crying."
Lucas argued that love is just a fleeting chemical reaction that shifts with time. He pointed out that feelings aren't permanent—even the most paralyzing fear vanishes once you get used to the danger.
"My point is, everything a person feels disappears one day, especially if life gives you a reason to let it go."
"Listen to you talk big when you don't even have a girlfriend," Pako teased, slapping him on the shoulder. "That's why you're so bitter. Your heart is like a dried-up squid."
The two of them started bickering, trading insults over their lunch trays, while I sank back into my own thoughts. This wasn't just about the weird dream or Lea; it was about the realization that I wasn't a teenager anymore. I couldn't just "reset" my life like a game character.
I thought about the "Hikikomori" in Japan who lost interest in society and grew old alone in their rooms. What were they thinking now? Did they regret the silence? Back when I was a NEET, I was fully prepared to accept a life of solitude. Now, I wasn't so sure.
"That's right, Daniel. Don't get married and don't have kids," Lucas joked, noticing my quietness. "One day, your kid will just look at you and say, 'Why did you even have me if we're this poor?'"
"You're way too bitter, Lucas. Seriously."
Their conversation devolved into the usual nonsense and insults. I knew that would happen, but I'd asked anyway. Their cynicism was effectively dissolving the romanticized versions of love I saw in anime—the true, selfless, happy endings.
But then a thought hit me: if I were marrying someone like Rem—not the dream-monster version, but the real Rem—would I even be questioning this?
If my waifu were a real person, would the responsibility feel like a burden or a privilege? Would I hesitate to face the struggles of a poor life if she was the one waiting at home?
"Hmm... I guess facing those problems would be worth it if it was someone like her by my side," I sighed to myself, the clatter of the canteen tray sounding loud in the humid room. "But I know she's just a fantasy."
"What was that?" Pako asked, leaning in.
"Nothing," I said, standing up as the break-end buzzer wailed. "Just thinking that between the 'real' world and the '2D' world... the 2D one is much less likely to leave you at the altar for a manga book."