Nathaniel's POV
I've never regretted choosing my hobbies. In the world of anime and drawing, I found joy—a rare sense of comfort. But no matter how much I cherished that escape, there was one truth I couldn't deny: no one ever truly gets used to the sting of loneliness.
Exhausted from endlessly tinkering with my computer, I decided to shut it down and rest. I rose from the worn-out sofa, my legs feeling heavy, as if my own body were dragging me down.
I shuffled toward the tiny kitchen, a cramped space cluttered with a few meager possessions—a small table, a handful of glasses, and plates I'd accumulated over time. The fluorescent light overhead flickered, casting a cold, sterile glow that only amplified the stillness of the night.
I'd gone straight to my computer the moment I got home from another fruitless day, and my throat was parched. I reached for the pitcher on the table and grabbed a glass.
As I poured, my eyes caught something peculiar: a small, neatly folded piece of paper resting on the edge of the table. It looked ordinary, but a jolt of alarm went through me. I had no memory of placing anything there. The table usually held nothing but the pitcher, a glass, and a fine layer of dust from days of neglect.
A thought crept into my mind. Could someone have entered my apartment? Impossible. The idea was absurd—who would bother leaving a scrap of paper in a place as mundane as my kitchen? Yet, as I stared at it, an eerie sensation wrapped around me, like invisible eyes watching from the shadows.
With a mix of curiosity and dread, I picked up the paper, my fingers trembling slightly. I unfolded it to reveal words scrawled across the white surface: "Do you want a new, exciting life? Come with me, and I'll grant your wishes."
Time seemed to freeze. What was this? A prank? A cruel joke? I wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of it, but instead, a sharp, bitter anger flared within me. The note felt like a taunt, mocking my misery.
"Seriously?" I muttered, crumpling the paper in my hand. "Probably Junior, the landlady's grandson, messing with me again."
I balled the paper up and tossed it toward the trash bin in the corner. But even that simple act failed—the paper missed, landing on the floor. My frustration spiked. "Are you kidding me? Am I really that useless and unlucky?" I shouted into the empty room, my voice thick with exasperation. It felt like the universe was conspiring to rub my worthlessness in my face.
I moved to the sink, turned on the faucet, and splashed cold water on my face. The icy sting offered a moment of relief, but it couldn't drown out the thoughts plaguing me—the weight of my failures, the relentless struggle against reality.
"Grant my wishes?" I whispered, shaking my head with a bitter smirk. I had so many dreams, but they felt impossibly distant. I was trying to move forward, yet there was no escape from this despair.
Anger surged—at the world, at the people around me, at fate itself. I felt cursed. I'd been a good person; why wasn't that enough to earn a bit of luck?
I'd chosen a path I thought was meant for me, but the truth was harsh: not every effort is rewarded. Sometimes, it's just a waste of time and energy. Reliving every moment of failure drove me to the edge.
If God had given me this fate, how could I ever break free? In my mind, I saw myself—a worthless, insignificant person, judged and scorned. I didn't want this life.
In the depths of my anxiety, a dark thought slithered into my mind: end it all. My gaze drifted to the shelf where I kept my utensils. As if guided by an unseen force, my feet carried me toward it. I opened the drawer, and there, among the forks and spoons, was a knife. My hand trembled as I picked it up, the cold metal chilling my palm. I pressed the blade against my wrist.
One cut. Just one, and it would all be over—the pain, the failures, the loneliness. I knew it would be terrifying. I knew it would hurt. But in that moment, it felt like the only way out.
My hands shook so violently I could barely hold the knife steady. Sweat and tears streamed down my face. "No turning back," I whispered to myself. "One cut, Nathaniel, and it's all over."
But even with my resolve hardened, something held me back—a faint, internal voice urging me to stop. I was scared, but why? What did I have left to fear?
As the knife's edge pressed against my skin, my hand continued to quiver. "Why am I hesitating? Help yourself, Nathaniel. Escape your reality."
But I didn't realize that I wasn't alone. A pair of eyes was watching, silently observing every move.
In the oppressive silence, a strange sound shattered my racing thoughts: a soft crunch, like someone chewing. Then, a clearer noise—the rustle of plastic, like someone pulling snacks from a bag.
A chill ran down my spine. I was certain there was someone—or something—behind me. My heart pounded, and my entire body quaked with fear. I wasn't brave, but I had to know. Mustering every ounce of courage, I slowly turned around.
I nearly crashed into the dish rack as I stumbled backward. Perched near the sink was a young girl, casually munching on junk food, her eyes fixed on me as if watching a show unfold.
She wore a black dress with intricate details, a tiny hat perched on her head like a doll's, and her hair was a striking shade of pink. Her large, beautiful eyes locked onto mine—she looked like a real-life gothic lolita, straight out of an anime.
Should I be afraid? Before I could think, my shock gave way to confusion. "Who are you?" I demanded, my voice a mix of unease and irritation.
She responded instantly, as if nothing about the situation were unusual. "Hi, I'm Koko," she said, her tone casual as she kept chewing. It was as if she didn't care that she was watching me with a knife pressed to my wrist, treating it like a scene from a drama.
"Have you made your decision? I'm here to grant your wishes," she added. I froze. What did she mean? Was she connected to that note?
The room fell silent. "Huh?" was all I managed, my mind a tangled mess.
She spoke again, this time with a hint of annoyance. "Are you deaf? Didn't you hear me?"
The insult snapped me out of my confusion, and I shot back, ready to argue. "I don't have time for your nonsense, kid. How did you get into my apartment?"
She remained utterly calm. "How? Well, some things can't be explained," she replied. "I don't know if you'll believe me, but the truth is, I have the power to appear and disappear wherever I want."
I gaped at her. "Power? Are you out of your mind?"
Her brow furrowed. "See? You didn't believe me," she said, sounding irritated.
In a flash, with a single snap of her fingers, she vanished—like smoke dissipating into the air. I whipped my head around, and there, near the kitchen door, she stood again, as if she hadn't exerted the slightest effort to move.
I couldn't believe it. It was impossible. This wasn't some carnival trick; there were no mirrors or hidden traps.
"How did you get there? What are you?" I shouted, my voice a mix of fear and awe.
She stepped toward me, and as she moved, a faint shimmer seemed to surround her, like threads of light dancing in sync with the sway of her skirt.
"I am one of the angels sent by the Creator God," she declared, her voice brimming with certainty. "I'm here to guide you, should you choose to use the sacred book."
"Mr. Muntingbato," she added, a smile curling her lips.