It's already late. Yue covers her mouth with a loud yawn, blinking away the drowsiness. Horace, being the doting partner he is, instantly catches on.
"Yu, how about we head home now?" he suggests, his voice soft.
Yue nods, stretching her arms. "Yeah, I'm about to collapse. You know, from exhaustion... and possibly secondhand stupidity."
"Hey!" I protest. "Firsthand stupidity, thank you very much."
They both ignore me, naturally. Typical.
But just as they head toward the door, a curious thought wriggles into my brain, uninvited and absolutely refusing to leave. It's been bothering me for quite some time now.
"Wait, Yue," I call out, narrowing my eyes. "I've been meaning to ask... Did you accidentally swallow a watermelon whole? Or are you stockpiling snacks in there for emergencies? Or... wait... have you been eating double lately? Like, are you finishing Horace's share too?!"
The words leave my mouth, and even my dumbass brain immediately registers the danger. Yet it's too late. I watch in horrifying slow motion as Yue's expression shifts from amused to murderous.
"Shiwei," she says, her voice deceptively calm. "I'm. Pregnant. You. Stupid. Idiot!"
The force of her words hits me harder than a meteor strike. But just to make sure I really learn my lesson, Yue's hand swings through the air, delivering a slap so devastating that the very essence of my soul contemplates leaving my body.
"My ancestors... I see them, the old Wardens in the cosmos," I croak, clutching my face as my vision spins.
Horace pats my shoulder, trying and failing to hide his amusement. "Congrats. You're now the godfather of our baby."
"I'm not sure I'll survive to meet the kid," I mumble, still tasting my own humiliation.
Yue just glares. "You better. Or I'll haunt you myself."
With that, the devil couple departs, leaving me in the ruins of my poor decision-making skills.
***
The next few days pass by in what I can only describe as the repetitive hell loop of a man who has officially accepted defeat.
Morning? Wake up. Curse the gods. Contemplate why life is pain. Occasionally shake my fist at the ceiling for dramatic effect. The ceiling remains unmoved.
Daytime? Go to work at Fried Chicken Heaven and tolerate Mr. Mustache's death glares. That man breathes judgment. I swear he doesn't blink. Ever.
Lunch? Spy on Akari from across the street while pretending it's perfectly normal to be deeply invested in her existence. Not creepy. Totally normal. I like to think of myself as an Observation Specialist. Sounds fancy. Still creepy, though.
Afternoon? Heroically save Akari from her own stupidity. Because, naturally, she somehow manages to attract danger like a moth to an industrial-sized flame. Today it was nearly colliding with a tree. Yesterday? Trying to untangle a kite stuck on a power line. Who does that?!
Dinner? Shamelessly invite myself over to Akari's apartment under the pretense of "ensuring her safety" but really just for her divine cooking. Damn her and her criminally good stir-fries and ricebowls. And oh, don't get me started on that curry. It's unfair.
"You should learn to cook yourself," Akari says sometimes with a grin.
Sure. And I should also wrestle bears for a living. Same level of possibility.
Evening? Mentally note how Akari glows unnaturally every time she smiles. Highly suspicious. Possibly radioactive. No human should emit that much joy without consequences.
Before sleeping? Lie awake in my apartment, staring at the ceiling and regretting every single choice that led me to this point. Maybe check the smartphone and yell at it for cursing me with forbidden truths. Curse the smartphone. Blame it for my downfall. Wonder why it hasn't exploded from my resentment.
Repeat.
It's my life now. Some call it routine. I call it psychological warfare.
But as the weekend looms, a single question plagues me.
When am I supposed to start this so-called courtship?
My stomach churns at the thought. Yue and Horace's advice rings in my ears. Compliments. Dates. Singing. No, absolutely not singing. But it was written here so I have no choice. And also flowers and uhh... thoughtful gestures?
I groan into my pillow.
"Nope. Not today."
Maybe if I wait long enough, fate will do me a favor and take me out with a rogue pigeon or something.
A man can dream...
I should've stayed in bed.
But no. Here I am. Reluctantly peeling myself off the mattress like a cursed entity dragged from the depths of despair.
I have a mission to finish. A mission that might very well end my entire existence. Forget fighting eldritch horrors or stopping paradoxes — this is worse. The path to dating is diabolical. It's cursed. Probably made by an ancient evil. But I must. I must walk this doomed path.
Why? Because I really, really don't want to have to stop time just to punch a random guy in the guts for asking Akari out.
So, here I am. Resigned to my fate.
Dragging my feet, I stumble toward the bathroom. And by stumble, I mean I almost trip over my own damn foot. Again. Classic. Once inside, I stare at the shower like it's my mortal enemy.
Soap and shampoo — my lifelong nemeses.
Every day we wage war, me versus the slippery treachery that blinds and suffocates. But today... today they seem to pity me. Maybe they sense the monumental suffering that awaits. They cooperate. No sudden attacks. No shampoo in my eyes. Even the soap agrees to its role without attempting to send me sliding into oblivion.
For a brief moment, I feel victorious.
But it's a fleeting joy. I'm still doomed.
After surviving the treacherous bath, I begrudgingly dress myself in what Yue and Horace dramatically deemed my "finest outfit." A plain black t-shirt, some decent jeans, and a jacket that doesn't scream "man with no sense of fashion." I glance at my reflection.
"Not bad. I look... like someone who's about to make terrible decisions."
With misplaced confidence and the cursed notebook clutched tightly in my trembling hands, I embark on my journey. The journey of a man condemned.
Upon reaching Akari's door, I take a deep breath. My knuckles hover just above the wood. It's not too late to turn back. I could pretend I forgot, run away, and move to the mountains to live a peaceful, idiot-free life.
But no.
I knock.
And the door swings open.
There she is. The destroyer of my peace. The oblivious hazard magnet. Akari, with her ever-bubbly smile that could power an entire city.
"Shiwei! Morning!"
Ah, she's so cheerful. It's disgusting. But still cute...
Damn it, something must be wrong with me...
But wait. I've prepared for this. My notes! I quickly flip them open and read step one: Give her a compliment.
Simple, right?
Wrong.
I take a deep breath, channeling every ounce of confidence I don't have. Flashing what I hope is a charming grin, I give her a solid thumbs up.
"You're still alive today. Good job!"
...Oh no.
I fucked up.
Akari blinks. Her smile falters. She tilts her head like a confused puppy, the cogs in her brain desperately trying to process what just happened.
"Uh... Thanks?"
Yep. Absolutely nailed it. First step to courtship? Failure. Catastrophic failure.
This is going to be a long day.
"Anyways, why are you here?" Akari chirps, her bright smile practically radiating sunshine. Then, without giving me a chance to answer, her eyes light up in sudden realization. "Oh, of course! You're here for breakfast!"
...That's not the plan.
That's really, really not the plan.
But before I can correct her, my stomach growls, loud enough to summon spirits from the underworld. I glance down, horrified. Traitor...
Still, food is food. And this is Akari's cooking. Why would I hesitate?
"I mean," I cough, regaining some semblance of dignity, "if you insist."
Like the shameless creature I am, I march right in and claim my usual seat, which I might as well start calling my throne of questionable life choices. But something's different today. The air smells... richer, more intense. A divine scent wafts from the kitchen, promising both salvation and destruction.
"What in the name of time is this?" I blurt, squinting at the spread laid before me.
Akari, her hands proudly on her hips, beams at me. "It's a traditional Filipino breakfast! I saw it on YouTube!"
Oh no.
Oh. No.
The words 'traditional' and 'breakfast' rarely mix well in my experience. But curiosity is a deadly thing. I sneak a glance at my phone and type with lightning speed: Traditional Filipino Breakfast.
My screen floods with images of glorious chaos. Rice glistening with fried garlic. Eggs sunbathing in golden grease. Slices of meat unapologetically marinated in sweet and savory doom. And then there's the sausage—plump, crimson, suspiciously sinful. Some plates even feature dried fish, curled like ancient relics of the sea.
I stare.
My voice comes out in a whisper. "So it's basically... a heart attack on a plate?"
Akari giggles, clearly taking my impending doom as entertainment. "But it's delicious! Come on, try it!"
I sigh dramatically. This is how it ends, huh? A Time Warden, vanquished not by temporal paradoxes but by cholesterol.
But then I take a bite.
And ascend...
Oh. Oh, sweet merciful time.
The garlic rice dances on my tongue, an explosion of savory bliss. The tocino, or whatever in the name of time it is? A perfect balance of sweet and salty. The eggs are fluffy clouds of divinity. And the sausage—good gods, the sausage! It's like a forbidden fruit no one warned me about. Before I know it, I've devoured half the table like a beast released from its shackles.
Another victory for Akari's cooking. Another defeat for my dignity.
After what could only be described as a feeding frenzy, I finally regain enough sense to remember why I came here in the first place. Business. Serious business. I straighten up, attempting to summon what remains of my tattered pride.
"Akari," I declare, dramatically brushing imaginary dust off my shirt. "I'm here for a reason."
She blinks, genuinely curious. "Oh?"
I sneak a glance at my notes. Step two. Singing.
A surge of misplaced confidence fills my veins. I stand up, chest puffed out. "I am here... to sing."
Silence.
Akari tilts her head, her lips twitching in amusement. "...Sing?"
"Yes. Sing."
She blinks again. Then she smiles, the embodiment of pure innocence. "Shiwei, if you want to sing, shouldn't you go to karaoke instead of my apartment?"
...Fair point.
"But now that you mention it," But before I can scrape together a counterargument, her eyes sparkle with excitement. "Oh! Let's go to karaoke together then! It'll be fun!"
My jaw drops. "Wait, what?"
She claps her hands. "We can do a duet! I'll even cheer you on!"
This wasn't supposed to happen.
This was supposed to be the part where I swoop in, impress her with my imaginary singing prowess, and somehow win her heart through sheer incompetence. But no. Akari, in all her bubbly glory, has twisted fate itself.
Mission. Failed. Successfully.
"Okay..." I mumble in resignation. "Karaoke it is."
Akari beams, already bouncing on her seat. "This is going to be so much fun!"
I sigh. The universe has betrayed me once again. And now, my voice—a weapon of catastrophic destruction—is about to be unleashed.
May time itself forgive me.
Akari claps her hands, practically bouncing on her heels. "Alright! I'll just get dressed! Wait here, okay?"
"Sure, take your time. It's not like I have a plan to execute or anything," I reply, slumping dramatically onto her couch. She giggles — the laugh of a girl who has no idea she's about to witness the utter downfall of a Time Warden.
As soon as she closes the door, I pull out The Notebook of Doom- or so I called it. I flip through its cursed pages. The next step glares at me in bright red ink: Flowers and Thoughtful Gestures.
"Great. Because nothing says 'romance' like the impending doom of societal expectations," I mutter.
But then, like a moth to a particularly idiotic flame, I turn to the one entity that has caused me the most distress in this mortal realm — my smartphone. It's been suspiciously helpful these days. Maybe, just maybe, it'll pull through once more.
Search: How to do thoughtful gestures for idiot girls without dying from embarrassment.
The search engine immediately returns chaos.
"Buy her 37 red roses and scream your love in the town square!"
Ah yes, instant arrest. Romantic.
"Craft a poem about her eyes using 12th-century Old English!"
The only thing I'd craft is a restraining order.
"Kidnap a stray cat, name it after her, and present it as a love sacrifice."
Wait, what? WHO WROTE THIS?
I scroll past more absurdity until something reasonably sane pops up.
"Offer to carry her bag."
Logical. Also, the least likely to result in death.
"Assist her from time to time."
Vague. Does this mean I have to physically assist her breathing? No, probably not.
"Ask if she needs anything."
Okay, that one I can manage. If she asks for the moon, though, we're negotiating.
"Fine," I sigh, jotting down the useful bits in my notebook. "This should keep me alive."
A few minutes later, Akari bursts out of her room like a star from a galaxy that specializes in pure cuteness. She's in a simple dress, nothing too fancy, yet somehow it glows. Suspicious. Extremely suspicious. I really must've been cursed. I'm under her idiot spell. And I have no way to break out of it.
My thoughts short-circuit. And, like a fool, I blurt out the first thing that crosses my mind.
"...Cute."
The word hangs in the air. Akari blinks. Then, she beams, her grin so bright I swear I feel my soul shrivel.
"Oh my gosh, Shiwei!" she exclaims, hands on her cheeks like she's starring in a rom-com. "Look at you, actually giving proper compliments!"
I freeze. Proper? No, no, no. That was accidental praise! A malfunction of the mouth. Abort mission. Abort!
"I-I didn't mean—" I stammer.
"Nope! Too late! You said it!" she sings, swaying triumphantly.
The shame. The unbearable shame. Yue and Horace are going to have a field day with this.
"A-Anyway!" I clear my throat aggressively. "We're going out. And no buses. No trains. Absolutely no public transportation."
Akari pouts. "But what's wrong with buses?"
"Everything."
I flash back to the hellish experience of humanity's questionable hygiene, aggressive elbows, and the existential dread of missing your stop. No. Never again.
"We're taking Silver Fang," I declare firmly.
Akari blinks. "Your Bike?"
"Precisely. No crowds. No stink. Just the open road and a 99% chance I won't end up emotionally scarred."
"Fine, fine," she giggles. "But only if I get to pick the music later first."
"Deal. As long as it's not another cursed bubblegum pop playlist."
And with that, I escort Akari out the door, my misplaced confidence somehow still intact.
Let the date disaster commence.