9:30 PM – The Shrine
The night air was cool. Refreshing, even. The kind that gently brushes your cheeks like a sleepy cat tail. Trees rustled softly in the wind, whispering secrets only nocturnal raccoons cared about. I climbed the old stone steps leading to that shrine—the one that's been haunting my dreams lately like an unpaid electricity bill.
The vending machine was still there. Still glowing like a low-effort cyberpunk prop. Still humming like a depressed refrigerator.
"Okay... here we go again," I muttered, brushing imaginary dust off my jacket like a protagonist with purpose. "Time to summon a deity with zero qualifications in customer service."
I stood in front of the shrine.
"Alright, god," I said, voice dramatic, full of self-importance. "Show yourself!"
…
Nothing.
Of course. Why would it be that easy?
"Aah... Seriously? Again?" I sighed, scratching my head. "Is this god running on appointment-only hours or what?"
I turned on my heel, stomped down to the vending machine, smacked the old clunker with just enough violence to communicate irritation—but not enough to get sued—and grabbed a soda.
"Fine," I grumbled, marching back up. "If this soda is your summoning incense, you greedy divine leech, here you go."
I opened the can.
PSSHH—
Wait. The psshh stopped. Mid-psshh.
A chill ran up my spine like someone just replaced my blood with carbonated water.
"You're here," came a voice behind me, casually. Too casually. "Thanks for the drink."
I froze. Not because I was scared. No, of course not. I was just... startled. That's different. Manly startled.
Turning slowly—so slowly—I came face to face with him.
The God of Love, who looked like he moonlighted as an indie band vocalist and part-time barista. Same glowy eyes. Same lazy smile. Same vibe of someone who owned more hoodies than moral boundaries.
"Why me?" I whispered. "Why this?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he cracked open the soda like it was a divine ritual, took a sip, and looked satisfied enough to start writing haikus about it.
Seriously? No thunder? No halos? Just soda and awkward silence?
"As I said before, you look bored," he said, eyes drifting lazily like a cloud that skipped work.
"What? Wait—that's your divine metric? Boredom?!" I barked. "Do I look like a middle-aged office worker to you?!"
"And what's up with the summoning?!" I continued, voice rising in pitch. "Are you seriously telling me you're a soda addict? Like, are you powered by carbonation? Are you the vending machine god in disguise?!"
He blinked slowly.
"And why," I pointed at him dramatically, "did you give me a wish I never even asked for?! Couldn't you have at least made me rich? I would've settled for 'crazy rich', okay? I had plans!"
"But I am a love god," he replied, with the innocence of a raccoon who just got caught eating garbage.
Oh great. A love god. Why not? Next time maybe I'll get cursed by a god of unpaid taxes.
"Haa! Okay then," I threw my hands up, "undo this so-called blessing. It's not a blessing! It's a curse with marketing!"
"You just don't understand the blessing yet," he said, suddenly serious. A rare tone. "Once you understand, you'll acknowledge it for what it is."
He took the last sip of soda.
And just like that—
Poof.
Gone.
Silence.
Wind rustled the trees again, like nature itself was sighing at my misery.
"…That freaking soda hobo of a god," I muttered, staring at the can he left behind like it owed me rent. "Is there some divine condition where he can only appear for the duration of a soda can? Is his spiritual power tied to sugar content?"
I kicked a pebble down the steps. It bounced. My hopes did not.
With my dignity crumbling like expired rice crackers, I trudged home.
No answers. No clarity. Just the lingering aftertaste of orange soda and divine trolling.
And thus, the "blessing" begins.
God help me.
Or not.