Kafka paused outside the living room door, closed his eyes, and whispered a quick, silent prayer.
"Alright, God." He muttered under his breath, clasping his hands dramatically. "It's me again. I know I've asked for a lot lately, but this time, I'm serious—please, please let whoever's inside say yes to what I'm about to ask. I don't care if you're my mother or not—divine mercy, divine pity, anything works right now."
He peeked one eye open toward the ceiling, sighed, then muttered.
"God...I hope this prayer works. I'm desperate"
With that, he pushed the door open and the scene that greeted him was a burst of color, sound, and laughter.
In the center of the room, three women were locked in a fierce battle—not of blades or spells, but of pixels and reflexes.
