**CHAPTER 3: "The Love Life of an Otaku"**
**Daniel's POV**
They say life is short, so you have to make the most of it, finding joy in even the smallest moments to truly say you've lived a vibrant, fulfilling life. But what does it really mean to "make the most of it"?
Is it about going on lavish vacations, buying everything you desire, or achieving your dreams? Are those the markers of a life well-lived?
Money, love, fame, luxuries, and status—these are the things people chase, believing they'll earn admiration and respect. In today's world, those seem to be the standards of success. They're proof, people say, that you have something to be proud of, that you're living a good life. Maybe. But is that really what a successful life means?
If the essence of a "fulfilled life" lies in material comforts, then it feels painfully unfair to those who can't afford such things—people like me, born into poverty. For them, for us, is a meaningful life out of reach?
Why am I even thinking about this? Honestly, I don't know. Maybe it's because I, too, want to succeed, despite being just a poor guy. That's why I'm here now, working, trying to earn money to change my life's circumstances.
After searching for a job to turn things around, I landed in a massive canning factory. My work as a machine operator is hot, dangerous, and mind-numbingly repetitive—just pressing buttons over and over. It's exhausting and boring, made worse by supervisors who berate me for moving too slowly.
*"I can't take this anymore. I miss my PSP,"* I muttered under my breath, letting out a heavy sigh.
*"This isn't the change I wanted."*
This wasn't what I expected when I decided to transform my life. It's completely different from the stories of anime protagonists who, after resolving to change, rise to greatness. I wanted that kind of progress, that kind of triumph.
Money—lots of it—is what I need to stand on my own two feet and truly make a difference in my life.
Press, lift, press, place, press, remove, log—over and over, all day and night. No one to talk to, no music, no games, and worst of all, no anime. Sometimes, I feel like I've become a machine myself, just like the one I'm operating.
*"Tch, change? The only change is landing this boring factory job!"* I shouted, kicking the metal body of the machine in frustration.
---
Days of enduring this grueling work passed, and finally, payday arrived. I could collect the fruits of my labor, and I was determined to make use of it. It's ironic, though—the joy I felt holding that money should've hit me on my first paycheck, but reality didn't match my expectations.
I had debts from applying for this job, and most of my earnings went to daily expenses like transportation. Whatever was left, my parents took to help with household costs. When I thought about it, all my hard work amounted to nothing. The money just slipped through my fingers, and even though I wanted to spend it on something for myself, I had no choice but to let it go.
*"Reality is so disappointing,"* I whispered, sighing heavily.
---
Today was my day off, my chance to do what they call "enjoying life." Naturally, I planned to spend my hard-earned money on my passions—anime, manga, and games. All the exhaustion from that sweaty, metal-scented factory was for this moment.
*"Time to treat myself,"* I said with a grin.
As I tidied up the clutter on my desk and dusted off my PC chair, a knock came at my bedroom door. I paused, wondering who'd bother knocking without saying a word. I ignored it at first, determined not to let anything ruin my day off. But the knocking grew louder and faster, forcing me to open the door.
*"So annoying,"* I grumbled as I trudged over to answer it. *"That's not how you knock properly."*
When I opened the door, a cheerful greeting greeted me. A young woman stood there, smiling brightly, holding a small basket of fruit and waving at me. "Good morning, Didi!" she chirped.
I slammed the door shut and walked back to my chair, whistling as if I hadn't seen or heard anything. I had a bad feeling about this—she was a walking disaster, ready to ruin my perfect day off.
But she wasn't deterred. She knocked again, louder this time, shouting for me to open the door despite my clear rejection. "Hey, Didi! Open this door! We need to talk—it's an emergency!"
"Go away!" I yelled back.
She didn't stop, banging on the wooden walls of my room, making a racket. It was clear she wouldn't leave until I faced her.
"Can you just go home? I'm a busy person, and I don't have time to deal with you!" I shouted.
"Busy? Yeah, right! All you do is watch cartoons and listen to those Chinese songs. Stop acting like a kid!" she shot back.
Fuming, I stormed to the door and slammed my fist against it. "Get out of here! I don't want to see a witch like you! And for your information, it's not Chinese—it's Japanese! Most importantly, anime isn't for kids!" I roared.
She didn't flinch at my outburst. Instead, she mocked me, pointing out that I watched anime with "cute little girl characters" or lolis, as they're called in Japanese. I quickly denied it, explaining that while some of my favorite anime might lean toward comedy or lighter themes, I'm open to all genres. It doesn't matter if they're "childish" or not—as long as they entertain me, that's enough.
I knew she wouldn't understand, no matter how much I explained. Her perspective on anime was completely different. She was just a normie—a term we otakus use for people like her who don't get our world.
"Listen, normie, stop causing trouble in my house. If you're bored, go be quiet at your own place!" I snapped.
"That's exactly why I'm here—I'm bored at home! Now hurry up and open this door, or I'll eat all the chocolate in your fridge!" she threatened.
She grew more insistent, acting as if she had the right to order me around in my own home. The audacity of this girl was infuriating.
"Why don't you want me to come in? Shouldn't a geek like you be thrilled to have a childhood friend visit, like in those cartoons you watch?" she teased.
"First, you're just my childhood acquaintance, not my friend. Second, I'm not a geek. And third, I know you're just here to mess with me and mock my otaku life!" I retorted, banging the door again.
She didn't back down, growing bolder with her threats. She warned that if I didn't let her in, she'd spread rumors around the neighborhood that I watched inappropriate anime videos in my room.
"W-what? That's not true!" I stammered. "And even if you told people, it wouldn't matter—I'm a guy!"
She wasn't done. She brought up how I used to act like a superhero with imaginary powers to impress kids. That wasn't a big deal to me—I had my reasons back then—so I dared her to go ahead and spread her rumors, hoping she'd leave.
"I'll also tell everyone you wear women's clothes and pose in front of the mirror!" she added.
Her words hit me like a punch. I remembered the time she caught me trying on a girl's uniform from my cousin. It was mortifying, and though it was true I'd experimented once, hearing her say it out loud made my face burn with shame. Of all the days and times she could've shown up, it had to be when I was cross-dressing. I wanted to disappear.
"What, Didi? Want the whole neighborhood to know your secrets?" she taunted.
Her threats left me no choice. I reluctantly opened the door to let her in, not wanting her to ruin my reputation.
Her smug reaction as she stepped inside only made me angrier. She grinned like she knew she had me under her thumb because of my past.
*"As long as she remembers that, she's got me by the throat,"* I thought bitterly. *"What if I pushed her down the stairs to give her amnesia?"*
"Why are you even here, you witch?" I snapped.
"I don't have classes today, so I thought I'd visit your sister. But she's still asleep, so I figured I'd hang out here and read," she replied casually.
She strolled into my room, still carrying her basket of apples, and plopped it down on my PC desk—right on top of my precious keyboard. I couldn't tell if she didn't notice or was deliberately trying to annoy me further.
"Don't you have any new comics? Your old ones are so lame," she said, rummaging through my stuff.
"Nobody asked you to read them! If you don't like the themes, you're free to leave my room," I shot back.
This woman with long black hair and a slender figure was Elisa Sandoval, my infuriating neighbor. She's 22, a rich kid, though you wouldn't guess it from her casual t-shirt and ridiculously short shorts that made it seem like her family couldn't afford proper clothes.
She's friends with my siblings, which is why she feels entitled to barge into our house. My parents let her come and go, probably because her family's wealthy, and they think there's something to gain from her. It's maddening.
I quickly moved the basket off my keyboard and placed it on a table by the window. My brow furrowed as I watched her carelessly flip through my manga collection, tossing books onto my bed while eating an apple. I cringed at the thought of juice dripping onto my precious manga.
"Hey, if you're going to read my manga, put down that apple! You'll get juice on them!" I scolded.
"Oh, come on, they're just comics. Besides, these are so old you should throw them out or give them to kids instead of hoarding them," she replied dismissively.
"They're called a collection for a reason—they're meant to be kept! And please, stop scattering my stuff!" I shouted.
She didn't care about my anger. Instead, she offered me an apple, which I promptly refused, glaring to make it clear I didn't want her here.
"Don't bring food to my room again. I can go downstairs myself," I told her.
"Actually, I didn't bring this for you. It's for me to snack on while I read. But you can have one if you want," she said with a smirk.
I froze, embarrassed for assuming the apples were for me. Instead of backing down, I doubled down on my pride. "I don't want anything from you. I might end up owing you something," I snapped.
"Oh, relax, Didi. These aren't even mine. I just saw them on your kitchen table downstairs," she said nonchalantly.
I was stunned. She had the nerve to eat our apples and offer me one like she'd bought them herself. "You're unbelievable," I muttered, grabbing a towel from my closet.
I tossed the towel at her face, telling her to use it to keep my manga clean. Surprisingly, she didn't complain and accepted it to wipe her hands.
I gave up trying to control her mess. Scolding her would only stress me out more. I needed to enjoy my day off, so I headed to my chair to start my otaku day, determined to ignore her.