"I know I'm screwed! Fine! I already gave up, okay?! I've fallen for the idiot! Now what the hell am I supposed to do? Hold a press conference? Announce it to the universe? Sacrifice my dignity at the Altar of Morons?!" I scream into the phone, pacing around like a lunatic who just discovered that gravity is, in fact, a thing.
Silence.
Then, finally, Horace's voice crackles through. "...We're on our way."
Click.
What? That's it? No wisdom from the love guru? No dramatic monologue about the meaning of love? Just a vague "We're on our way" like he's about to pull off a bank heist? I stare at my phone like it personally betrayed me.
"Dammit," I grumble. "I hope I live to regret this."
With a defeated sigh, I slump onto the sofa. Every inch of me regrets that phone call, but what's done is done. Maybe this is it. Maybe I'll finally gain enlightenment—or die trying.
But until the Lovey-Dovey Duo arrives, I need answers. And who better to consult than the ancient oracle of our generation? Wait... I'm as old as time, right? damn, forget it!
"Alright, you smug little brick," I mutter, unlocking my phone. " Out of all the lies you've fed me, why was this the one that turned out to be true?!"
It doesn't respond, obviously, because it's a phone. But I swear I can hear it laughing. Bastard.
But still, I need answers!
"What happens when a guy accepts he likes the idiot girl?" I type aggressively.
Search: What happens when a guy accepts he likes an idiot girl
The results load.
"Congratulations! You're now in the 'Simp Era'!"
Oh, fantastic.
"Common symptoms include excessive smiling, spontaneous daydreaming, and the sudden urge to write poetry about her eyes."
WHAT.
"Beware! You may experience irrational jealousy towards inanimate objects that your crush shows affection to—such as her cat, her houseplant, or her favorite pen."
Her spatula... I gasp. That spatula does get suspiciously high praise.
I scroll further.
"Side effects include buying her unnecessary snacks, awkward stammering, and the overwhelming desire to impress her with feats of stupidity."
Great. Just great. As if I wasn't already a walking embarrassment.
But I'm not done. Curiosity—and a significant lack of self-preservation—wins over.
Search: What happens to guys after they fall in love, especially to an idiot with unexplainable skills in cooking?
"1. You will simp. There's no escaping it. Resistance is futile."
"2. Expect your IQ to drop by approximately 47%. Enjoy your new hobby of nodding and agreeing."
"3. Congratulations! You are now your girlfriend's official human coat rack and designated bag holder."
"4. Kiss your sleep schedule goodbye. You will now stay up until 3 AM talking about the weird cloud that looked like a giraffe."
"5. Expect to experience bursts of poetry at the most inconvenient times. It's incurable."
"This can't be real," I mumble. "No way..."
But the internet doesn't lie. Except when it does. But still.
"Wait. What's this?" My thumb hovers over a forum titled, "HELP: I THINK I LIKE MY BEST FRIEND (AND SHE'S AN IDIOT)".
"...Am I famous?" I whisper in horror.
The comments section is a battlefield.
User123: Bro, you're screwed.
LoverBoy69: Congrats, you're the main character of a rom-com. Enjoy the ride!
SenseiHeartbreak: The idiot girls are the most dangerous. Prepare for battle.
I slam the phone down.
"Nope. Not happening. This is unacceptable. I refuse to be a stereotype."
And yet, as I sit there, still hearing Akari's laugh echo in my mind, I know it's too late.
Horace and Yue finally arrive. I'm not ready.
But then again, is anyone ever ready for Yue?
"Gods save me," I mutter under my breath. "Or at least, let me live long enough to regret this."
I open the door and there they are — the Grim Reapers of my doomed existence. Yue and Horace step in like they're about to perform an exorcism, except the only demon here is my stupidity. Yue takes one look at me, and the sigh she lets out is the kind that could fuel a thousand pity parties. I know that sigh. I am that sigh.
"You look like a guy who's about to get crucified," she says, arms crossed.
"I might as well be," I groan, flopping onto the couch like a defeated vegetable. "The court has reached its verdict. I am guilty of idiocy in the first degree."
Horace snorts. "And here I thought you finally grew a brain."
"Oh, I did. And then it betrayed me."
"So, what now?" he asks, arms crossed. "Why the sudden distress?"
"Because I realized," I say, gesturing to the heavens, "that the universe is cruel, and I—" My voice drops to a horrified whisper. "—like the idiot girl."
"And?" Yue prompts, completely unimpressed. "That's not exactly a catastrophe."
"Not a catastrophe?" I throw my arms in the air. "Yue, I've seen her trip over air. She's a walking, talking safety hazard! Every time I'm near her, I'm risking my life!"
Yue pinches the bridge of her nose. "Shiwei, she's nice. Cute, even. What's the actual issue?"
"The issue is," I huff, "she's a disaster magnet, and now I'm emotionally compromised! My survival rate is plummeting!"
Horace, barely containing his laughter, steps forward. "So, what do you want to do about it?"
"Vent," I declare. "I want to vent. That's it. Then I'll go back to accepting my miserable existence."
"Vent?" Horace arches a brow. "You sure about that? You don't want to, oh, I don't know... be with her? Like, as a couple?"
My entire body recoils. The sheer disgust plastered on my face could rival someone witnessing a pineapple pizza massacre.
"A couple?" I gasp. "What are you saying, Horace? I don't want to do couple-y things! Like... like holding hands! And... and sharing drinks! And taking couple photos! Ugh, the horror!"
"You're literally describing my daily life," Horace points out.
"And I pity you."
Yue rubs her temples like I'm physically causing her pain. "Okay then, answer this," Yue hums thoughtfully. "But what if someone else asked Akari out? How would you feel?"
"... Huh?" My brain malfunctions.
"Imagine it. Some guy confesses to her. Maybe he buys her flowers, takes her on a romantic date—"
My eye twitches. Unacceptable.
"And?" Yue presses.
"Well, uh," I scratch the back of my neck. "I might, you know... Stop time for a second. Maybe punch the guy in the guts. A couple of times. You know, friendly punches to the point he'll collapse? Then snatch Akari, run like hell, and claim a temporary victory."
The silence that follows is deafening. Yue facepalms. Horace facepalms. I feel like facepalming too, but I've already done enough self-inflicted damage for one day.
"Shiwei," Yue says slowly, "That's jealousy."
"No!" I protest. "That's strategic interference! Tactical maneuvering! Heroic rescue!" I pause. "Okay, maybe a little jealousy."
"So," Horace drawls, rubbing his temples. "You want to date her."
I recoil like he just declared me the emperor of stupidity. "How dare you imply such—"
Yue crosses her arms. "Yes?"
"—such... Yes. Actually. Damn it."
It's official. I'm doomed.
"Okay," Yue clasps her hands like we're about to host a council of war. "Step one. Courtship."
I blink. "Courtship? Are we in the 1600s? Should I challenge her suitors to a duel at sunrise? Maybe write a ballad on a lute?"
Horace sighs. "No, dumbass. Courting. You know, actually getting to know her."
"Horrifying."
"Compliments," Yue continues, ignoring my very valid fear. "Start by telling her something nice. Like that she has a beautiful smile."
"But what if she asks why? Then I'll panic and say something like 'It reminds me of fried chicken' and then I'm dead."
"You're already dead," Horace states flatly.
"Fair point."
"Step two," Yue pushes on. "Thoughtful gestures. Buy her flowers."
"Flowers die. That's a terrible metaphor," I say, horrified.
"Shiwei!"
"Fine. No funeral flowers."
"Step three," Horace chimes in, "Ask her out."
"To where? The underworld?"
"Somewhere romantic, idiot."
"Romantic? What is this, a scripted K-drama?"
Yue glares. "Yes, and you're the dumbass male lead."
I groan dramatically, flopping back on the couch. "So you're telling me the only way to win her over is to willingly become a fool?"
"Exactly."
"Perfect. I shall prepare for my demise."
Yue smiles sweetly. "That's the spirit. Now, first things first... don't get yourself punched in the face."
"No promises."I say, still thinking of ways to somehow cheat death if things go south.
Yue, of course, is undeterred. "Alright, so here's what you should do—"
"Wait, wait, wait!" I interrupt, raising a hand like I'm about to say something smart. Spoiler alert: I'm not. "Can you guys give me more useful suggestions? Like something that could actually make an idiot love a Time Warden-"
"Idiot," Yue interrupts with a straight face. "How could you make an idiot love another idiot back?"
I blink. Pause. Process. And finally, I nod in defeat. "Okay, yeah. Fair point."
"Glad we're on the same page," she chirps.
Horace nods. "You could sing for her."
"Good job, 'Race. Now, step four!" Yue clasps her hands dramatically in agreement. "You could really sing for her!"
"Sing?" I grimace. "Like... unleash the catastrophic symphony of doom that is my voice? I wouldn't call that romantic. I'd call that attempted manslaughter."
"Not with that attitude," Horace chimes in, grinning. "Maybe she'll think it's endearing."
"Or maybe," I counter, "She'll think a dying walrus somehow crawled into her living room."
"Fine," Yue huffs. "Next suggestion, you could take her out on dates," Yue suggests, brushing off my sarcasm like the seasoned pro she is.
Dates.
The word alone sends a chill down my spine.
And then it hits me.
I remember. Oh, I remember. That cursed day when Akari had dragged me along on a so-called 'fun outing.' It wasn't a date, it was a death march. I, the mighty Time Warden, had been dragged through the doomed path of female consumerism. Store after store. A parade of pastel blouses, sparkly shoes, and glittery nonsense. My feet still ache at the memory.
"No way," I say, shuddering. "No. Way. In. Hell."
"What?" Horace frowns.
"I've seen the abyss," I declare, clutching my chest. "I've stared into the eyes of pure evil. And it wears black dress and asks 'Does this make me look cute?' I barely escaped with my soul. I'm not going back."
Yue snorts. "Oh, for the love of— That's not every date, you idiot."
"And yet," I whisper dramatically, "the risk remains."
Horace snorts. "You're impossible."
"And she's impossible too! That's why we get along!"
Yue's eye twitches. Without warning, she reaches into the void—or possibly just her purse—and flings a small notebook at me. It smacks me square in the forehead, an unfair sneak attack.
"Take notes," she demands.
I rub my forehead, glaring at the cursed notebook now on my lap. The cover literally says "Guide to Winning Over Your One True Love (Even if You're an Idiot)" with hearts and stick figures holding hands. Who prints this garbage?
"Fine," I grumble. "But if I perish in the line of duty, I'm haunting both of you."
"Noted," Horace smirks. "Now, where were we?"
I flip open the notebook dramatically, fully expecting it to burst into flames from the sheer ridiculousness of its existence. Alas, no such luck. Instead, I'm greeted by an aggressively cheerful title page that reads:
"Congratulations! You Have Entered the Battlefield of Love! May You Survive the Carnage."
Well, that's ominous.
"Alright, what's the next step?" I mumble, pretending like I'm invested while mentally preparing for my inevitable demise.
"You could cook for her!" Yue beams.
My pen halts mid-scribble. "Cook? As in, set a kitchen on fire while attempting to create something edible?"
"You're not that bad," Horace assures me.
"Tell that to the last chicken I incinerated. It still haunts the stove like a charred ghost of culinary failure."
"Then start simple," Yue says, rolling her eyes. "Maybe breakfast? Eggs, bacon, toast. You can't possibly ruin toast."
I squint. "You underestimate my destructive abilities. Mr. Mustache only allows me in the fryer when reheating something, and I even fucked some of it up."
"Fine, fine," Yue groans. "Plan B. Compliments. Girls like compliments."
"I already complimented her once. I said she's... capable. At not dying."
Yue's eye twitches. "That's not a compliment. That's barely a diagnosis."
"Hey, it's factual! And practical! I meant it in a heartfelt way."
"How about something a little sweeter? Like, 'Your smile brightens my day.'"
"Hmm. And what if she responds with, 'Why does my smile brighten your day?' Then I'll be trapped in a conversation where I have to explain my emotions, and before I know it, I'm sobbing into my fried chicken."
Horace grins. "That's the spirit. Vulnerability builds connection."
"No, vulnerability builds regret. Big difference."
Yue pinches the bridge of her nose. I can practically see the little patience meter above her head plummeting to zero.
"Okay, last idea," she huffs. "Surprise her. Do something she's not expecting."
I brighten. "Like pulling a coin from behind her ear? Classic."
"No, idiot. Like something thoughtful! Maybe bring her a small gift?"
"Oh, you mean like the limited-edition Fried Chicken Heaven keychain?"
"Shiwei," Horace says flatly, "if you show up with a fried chicken keychain, she might actually report you to local authorities."
"Well, that's a risk I'm willing to take."
"No, you're not."
"Fine," I grumble, adding "Avoid chicken-related gifts" to my notes. This is ridiculous. I should be out there manipulating time and reality, not getting lectured on romance by two smug lovebirds.
Yue claps her hands. "Alright, we're making progress. Next step! You need to make her laugh."
I blink. "But she already laughs. For no reason at all. Like an idiot. Oh, but sometimes when I fall while riding Silver Fang as well."
"Good start!"
"I don't think you understand how concerning that is."
"She thinks you're funny," Horace points out. "Leverage that."
"Great. So my strategy is... continue to exist and endure humiliation? Got it."
"Essentially," Yue nods, satisfied.
With my notebook now filled with absurd suggestions, I stare at the pages like they contain ancient prophecies of my downfall. But deep down, I know one terrible truth.
I'm actually considering all of this.
"Fine," I mutter. "I'll try your 'plans.' But if I end up embarrassing myself and become the laughingstock of Fried Chicken Heaven, I'm haunting both of you."
"Deal," Yue grins.
"Can't wait," Horace adds.
And just like that, I'm officially doomed. Time Warden? Nah. More like Time Idiot.