[WiseAdult: So bored.]
[WiseAdult poked you.]
[WiseAdult: Where you at?]
[WiseAdult shook the screen.]
[WiseAdult: Playing dead, huh?]
[WiseAdult shared a 3000-yen Yoshinoya voucher.]
[BullChief: Claimed the 3000-yen voucher 1s ago.]
[BullChief: Spill it. Sending cash? Kinda awkward.]
[WiseAdult: I'm BORED!]
[BullChief: Try the four-color theorem. Too dull? Tackle Goldbach's conjecture. With your smarts, you'll be busy this life and the next.]
[WiseAdult: Think you're funny?]
[BullChief: Finding joy in pain's my proudest trait.]
[WiseAdult: Come hang out.]
[BullChief: Can't. Swamped, prepping lines at home.]
[WiseAdult: Yeah, right. Get off the floor and turn off that raunchy TV show first.]
[BullChief: Heh, false accusations. I'm working hard.]
Takizawa sent the message, bolting upright from his futon. On the nearby TV, an underground idol danced provocatively, urged by the host, her legs catching eyes. He scanned the ceiling and corners, half-expecting a hidden camera.
[WiseAdult: C'mon, let's go out. What's to audition for? Another extra role?]
[BullChief: A true voice actor shines in simple parts.]
[WiseAdult: No use rushing. When stuck, stubbornness digs you deeper. Step back, find a new path.]
[BullChief: Weak logic, but for scatterbrained Sakura, it's a bold, shocking move.]
[WiseAdult: Heehee, get out here, I'm dying to deal with you. KitchenKnife.jpg]
[BullChief: What do you want?]
[WiseAdult: Got two VIP art exhibit tickets through my dad's connections—super rare, at the National Art Center. Your feed's all photos and sketches, you'll love it!]
[BullChief: I'm in, but for you, Sakura, it's like a guy dragged to a mall by his girlfriend—lost and empty. I'd hate to see you zombified in that high-class art vibe.]
[WiseAdult: Huh?! Who're you underestimating? I've dabbled in painting, piano, dance, singing, languages—steeped in culture since I was a kid.]
[BullChief: Oh, blowing hot air now? Didn't know you were a better liar than me. Depth's hard to fake, Sakura—you're better off sticking to cute and clueless.]
[WiseAdult: ARGH! Get out here NOW!]
[BullChief: Haha, my legs, my rules. You gonna drag me out through the internet? Laughable.]
Time to teach young Sakura a lesson—show her the might of the keyboard warrior, the undying digital ghost.
Takizawa's fingers flew, the phone lagging behind his typing. Imagining the teenage girl fuming helplessly brought a sly grin.
Knock, knock, knock.
"Who's there?" Takizawa yowled, annoyed at the interruption to his keyboard mastery.
"The 'scatterbrained' woman you mentioned," A cold, merciless voice replied.
Like a strangled duck, Takizawa froze, his sword-like wit vanishing. Chained like a soul caught by grim reapers, he lost speech and movement.
"Open the door," The voice commanded.
"Wrong place," Takizawa said, shifting his voice to a gruff, middle-aged tone. "I'm just foreigner who visiting my family, kid. Got the wrong apartment number?"
"Heh, then say something in your native tongue."
"Oi, mate, I can talk local, no problem, but you wouldn't get it," Takizawa said, mimicking a rural dialect.
The voice outside paused, thrown off by the unfamiliar, authentic-sounding slang, doubting herself.
"Kid, who you looking for? I might know," Takizawa pressed, sensing an opening.
"A guy in his twenties, college student, kinda handsome."
"Oh, yeah, I know him! Upstairs, 3-4. Saw him taking out trash this morning."
Actually, 3-4 was a shy student from the countryside, studying literature, who sometimes asked him for advice or shared homemade stews. A sweet, gentle girl who'd outshine this doorstep demon—and was likely at her ramen shop job now.
"Okay, I'll check upstairs. Sorry to bother you, sir."
"No problem, kid. With a voice that nice and manners so polite, you must be sharp and sweet. Lucky guy to have a girl like you visiting—blessed or cursed, haha."
"Thanks, bye, sir."
"See ya."
Holding his breath, Takizawa listened as footsteps faded upstairs. He dove into his futon, yanked on pants, shirt, belt, checked his wallet—like he'd signed a deal with doomsday, racing against oblivion.
Socks, shoes, out the door!
Free as a bird.
No clue how his address leaked, but he'd mislead Sakura later, drop false info to cover tracks. A keyboard warrior's real-world location was his Achilles' heel—care was key!
Takizawa glanced around, confirmed safety, and turned to lock up.
The door swung, revealing a figure behind it.
A chill shot from his heart, spreading to every limb, pores clamping shut. He flashed to horror movie protagonists, doomed to be chased by death.
Even investigators facing cosmic horrors felt no worse.
A man with poker-face mastery, Takizawa maintained a polite smile, his human pride intact, despite facing the unnamable.
"Fancy meeting you... Sakura-chan."
"Heard you don't live here," The soon-to-be high school sophomore said, arms crossed, smirking.
"How could that be? I hate liars. Who said that? I'll set 'em straight. People and their loose tongues, like giving wrong directions—how thoughtless," Takizawa said righteously.
"Where you rushing off to?" Sakura twirled her hair.
"Oh, nothing big. Just remembered the nursing home nearby's short-staffed today. Thought I'd lend a hand, do some good," He said, chest puffed.
"Not swamped with work?"
"I prioritize mind, body, and virtue before wealth. Even with riches, a flawed character just burdens society."
"Oh? You're a saint now?"
"Aiming for the UN's Outstanding Youth Award is my modest goal."
"Uh-huh. Done?" Sakura nodded, unfazed.
"What?" Takizawa blinked.
"Your last words." The girl's smile turned venomous.
"Nooo! I've got tons left! I know astronomy, geography—too much to cover! If the Big Bang to dinosaurs is too heavy, we can start with medieval Japan, like that warrior woman in white, Uesugi Kenshin—arghhh!"
An alien invader from distant stars tried to slay the torchbearer of civilization. The chronicler of humanity's culture, approved by tearful teachers, let out a desperate, anguished scream.
Somewhere, true keyboard masters felt a pang of sorrow.
A legendary keyboard warrior had fallen, his art extinguished.
***
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