Nine o'clock at night. The clock hands on the wall seemed to deliberately crawl, mocking every second of life I surrendered to this hell called overtime. The lamp above my head buzzed incessantly, a monotonous sound that became the overture to the slow death of my soul. My eyes were stinging, my back was stiff, and the smell of coffee from this morning still wafted through the stuffy office air.
"Good work today, Tanaka-san!" Ayumi called out from the next cubicle, her smile as fake as the sales report I had just finished.
"You too," I replied briefly, without even turning my head. The energy to even pretend to be friendly had been depleted, God knows when.
'Fuck the small talk,' I cursed internally. 'We all know we'd rather die than come back to this prison tomorrow morning.'
Finally, I shut down my computer. The blackened screen reflected the face of a man I no longer recognized. Thick bags under his eyes, slightly messy hair, and an empty stare. That was me, Kenshin Tanaka, 30 years old, a corporate slave whose soul had been pawned for a salary that wasn't even enough to buy happiness.
The journey to the station was a torture in itself. The humid Tokyo night air clung to my skin, feeling sticky and suffocating. I merged into the ocean of other suit-wearing humans, thousands of nameless, tired faces, all walking with the same pace, the pace of zombies.
Inside the train car, I was squeezed between an ugly bastard's armpit and a high school girl's bag. The smell of sweat mixed with cheap perfume assaulted my nose. I closed my eyes, trying to find just a little private space inside my head. This was my life. An endless cycle of waking up, cramming onto a train, working, cramming onto a train again, then sleeping only to repeat it. A clogged life.
Ddrrtt... Ddrrtt...
A vibration in my pocket startled me. I reached for it with difficulty. The name "Clara" shone on the screen. My girlfriend. The only splash of color in the gray canvas of my life. A little warmth appeared in my chest as I slid the green button.
"Hello?"
"Kenshin," her voice on the other end sounded strange. Cold and distant. None of the affectionate tones I was used to hearing. "We need to talk."
My stomach immediately twisted. A bad premonition, cold as ice, crawled up my spine.
"What's wrong?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
A moment of silence. I could hear the faint sound of a car horn from her side.
"Let's just break up."
Three words. Three words that hit me like a hammer from Thor. The previously noisy train car suddenly felt silent. My breath caught in my throat.
"W-what? Why?"
"I've found someone else," she said, this time without pause. As if she had rehearsed this sentence countless times.
The world seemed to stop turning. I could feel the stares of a few people around me, perhaps because of the sudden pallor of my face.
"Wh-who?" I whispered, the dumbest question that could come out of the mouth of a man whose world had just shattered.
"A co-worker at my new office," she replied, her tone flat, emotionless. "He understands me better. And, honestly, Kenshin... he's more established and better looking than you."
Click.
The call ended.
She didn't even give me a chance to respond. To curse. To beg. She just took my life over the phone, then moved on with hers.
I lowered my phone slowly. My right hand was trembling. More established. Better looking. Two cliché reasons that felt like a thousand knives stabbing my pride.
All this time, I worked like a dog, saving every single yen, all for a future with her. And all of that was ruined just because some other bastard was born with a better face and a thicker wallet.
I don't remember the rest of my commute. Everything was a blur. I only came to my senses when I was standing in front of my dingy apartment door, fumbling for my key with still-trembling hands. A cold, stabbing emptiness now filled every cell of my body, replacing the fatigue I had felt earlier. Tonight, I wasn't just tired. I was broken.
Klak.
My apartment door opened and closed with a hollow sound, as if swallowing me into the silent darkness. I didn't even bother to turn on the lights. The dim light from the street that filtered through the thin window was enough to guide me.
This apartment felt colder and more alien than usual. A pile of dirty instant noodle bowls in the sink, yesterday's work shirt draped over a chair, and a thick smell of loneliness welcomed me home.
I just tossed my bag onto the floor.
Bruk!
I didn't care about its scattered contents documents, pens, and a power bank. I slumped onto the only sofa in the room; the worn fabric felt rough against my cheek as I rested my head. Silence. Only the ticking sound of a cheap wall clock and the faint hum of the old refrigerator filled the void.
In that silence, my mind started screaming.
Clara. Her face, her smile, the way she laughed when I told a stupid joke... it all spun in my head like a broken film reel. Was it all a lie? Our two years together, was it all just an act until she found a better option?
'More established and better looking.'
That sentence kept echoing, stabbing my pride like hot needles. I knew I was nobody. I knew my face was average and my salary was only enough to survive month to month. But I thought... I thought she was sincere. I thought what we had could last.
Foolish and naive.
I clenched my hands tightly. A hot anger began to burn in my empty stomach, but it quickly died out, replaced by an overwhelming sense of defeat. Who should I blame? Clara, for choosing a better life? The handsome, rich bastard who took her? Or myself, for being born a loser?
This world is indeed unfair. From the start, some people begin at the finish line while the rest of us, people like me, have to crawl through the mud just to see the starting line from a distance. I was just a small screw in the giant machine of society, unimportant and easily replaceable, both at the office and in my love life.
I needed an escape. I had to get out of my own head before I went insane.
With the last bit of energy I had, I got up and stumbled toward my computer desk. This was my only sanctuary. The only portal to a world where I could be someone else. I pressed the power button, and the gentle hum of the CPU fan began to fill the room, a sound that strangely felt comforting.
The monitor lit up, bathing my face in cold, blue light. I clicked the only important shortcut icon on my desktop.
"Arcane Hearts"
The majestic, heroic opening music immediately swelled from the cheap speakers. On the screen, the giant gates of Valerius Grand Academy were displayed against a beautiful sunset sky. The main heroines of the game appeared one by one, each drawn with incredible detail.
There was Isolde von Brandt, the fiery red-haired tsundere noble. Her tight uniform could barely contain the two divine mounds of flesh that defied gravity on her chest.
Then Lyra Valeriana, the shy Elf mage with emerald green hair and gentle eyes. Her loose robe couldn't entirely hide the silhouette of her perfectly round butt.
There was also Kira, the tomboyish Beastkin senior with a muscular, voluptuous body that radiated wild energy.
In this world, I wasn't Kenshin Tanaka the corporate slave. I could be the hero surrounded by beautiful women. I could wield a magic sword, defeat monsters, and become someone important. This was my power fantasy. My ultimate escape.
I loaded my game data and started playing. I completed a few quests, fought some monsters in the training dungeon, and chose the right dialogue options to increase the affection points with Isolde.
But tonight... everything felt hollow. The sweet, programmed dialogues, the limited facial expressions of the characters—it all felt fake. This fantasy wasn't strong enough to kill the real pain in my heart.
After an hour, I gave up. I closed the game. The screen returned to my empty desktop. The silence of the apartment swallowed me again. The pain of betrayal and the feeling of worthlessness returned with full force.
I needed something stronger. Something more primal. Something that could completely turn off my brain, even for just a few minutes.
I opened my browser and went straight to my subscription site. The homepage greeted me with a sea of vulgar thumbnails, each promising a different pleasure. My eyes skimmed the various tags: tsundere, loli, elf, succubus... Nothing caught my attention. I needed something... mature. Something far removed from Clara's image that was still stuck in my mind.
My choice fell on a title with the tags "MILF" and "Private Tutor." The thumbnail featured a woman in her 30s with glasses, long black hair neatly tied up, and a pair of giant breasts that looked ready to burst out of her tightly buttoned shirt. Perfect. A pure and uncomplicated fantasy.
I clicked the video and maximized it to fill the screen. Soft piano music began to play, typical opening music for this genre, before the scene shifted to a study room.
There she was, "Sensei Arisa," explaining a math formula to her visibly tense male student. Of course, the camera's focus was not on the whiteboard, but on how her incredibly large boobs jiggled every time she moved.
'A true work of art,' I thought cynically. 'Breasts even bigger than her head. Who cares about physics when the view is this good?'
I leaned back in my chair, allowing myself to sink into this cheap fantasy. I didn't care about the thin plot. I was only here for one thing.
With a trembling hand, whether from anger or anticipation, I lowered the zipper of my pants. The sound was deafening in my silent apartment. I held my cock, which was already starting to get hard a pathetic biological reaction to a 2D image on a screen. This was my ritual. A loser's ritual.
On the screen, the scene started to heat up. The student "accidentally" knocked an eraser under the table. And naturally, the kind Sensei Arisa bent over to pick it up, presenting a view of her round, firm butt, encased in a tight pencil skirt, right in front of the student's face. Cliché, but effective.
I started moving my hand, trying to match my rhythm to the moans starting to come from the speakers. I closed my eyes, trying to focus. But damn it, that's when Clara's image appeared. Her face, her smile...
'Bastard! Get out of my head!' I cursed inwardly.
I opened my eyes, forcing myself to focus on the screen. Focus on Sensei Arisa, who was now on the table, her shirt open, revealing her magnificent breasts with pink nipples. Focus on her fake facial expressions. Focus on anything but the pain in my heart.
This hollow release was better than feeling nothing at all.
My heart began to pound faster, not just from arousal, but from the chaotic mix of emotions inside me. Stress, exhaustion, heartbreak, and lust all became a toxic cocktail coursing through my veins.
I felt a strange sensation in my chest. A slight tightness. 'Must just be a cold,' I thought, ignoring it. I was too close to climax to stop now.
My hand moved faster. On the screen, the scene reached its peak. I could feel it. The wave of pleasure was on the verge, ready to explode.
"A little more..." I whispered to myself.
That's when the tightness in my chest turned into a sharp, brutal pain. It felt as if my heart was being squeezed by a giant hand, then simultaneously stabbed by a thousand hot nails.
"ARRGGHH!"
A grunt of pain escaped my throat. My vision blurred instantly. I couldn't breathe. The agonizing pain spread from my chest to my left arm, causing my entire body to convulse violently. I tried to reach for the desk, tried to hold onto something, but my hand wouldn't obey.
I slumped in my chair. My half-open eyes could still see the monitor screen. The hentai scene was still playing, the pleasurable moans from the speakers now an ironic and horrifying soundtrack to my death. I could see my pathetic reflection in the dark part of the screen—pale face, gaping mouth, and eyes filled with terror.
This... is the end? Is this the end of my useless life?
Not on a battlefield. Not in bed with the woman I loved. Not dying peacefully of old age.
I, Kenshin Tanaka, was going to die with my pants down, in front of a computer screen playing an anime porn video.
'Shit...'
The thought flashed through my darkening mind.
'Dying while jerking off? Truly the most dog-shit ending.'
And then, the darkness swallowed me whole.