I'm not him.
That bitter thought process echoed through Enel's mind as he stared at the glowing screen, his bloodshot eyes scanning through the secret message site he had posted the link to on his social media.
After getting hyped up, the crushing realization hit him like a sledgehammer—he found out that the app's bot had been messaging him. The automated responses mocked him with their generic enthusiasm.
Fuck, I'm pitiful. The metallic taste of disappointment filled his mouth. How am I going to save my social score? Joshua had to tell me about the app's tendencies.
Enel blew air through his lips as he groaned, the sound echoing in his cluttered bedroom. The weight of his social debacle pressed down on his shoulders like a lead blanket.
He had thought this was the year—with the text messages, he would finally get a girlfriend and experience that intoxicating love his friends constantly bragged about. Their stories of romance felt like fairy tales to him, distant and unattainable.
But the harsh truth had to come out.
Liam would be smiling now, the fucking Teen Wolf mantra has come to haunt me.
He smiled ruefully at his reference to a TV show that had molded his impressionable teenage years.
I've still got it. No need sulking—let's play eFootball, then watch anime. I haven't watched anime in a while. His internal pep talk carried the forced enthusiasm of someone trying to convince himself.
Yes, that was his life in all its monotonous glory. He never thought deeply about things—positive vibes only. That was his mantra, even when the vibes were anything but positive.
A mild otaku with no other meaningful existence beyond his screen and fantasies.
Ring.
Ring.
The jarring sound cut through the silence of his room like a knife.
Who knows me?
Enel thought. Phone calls were a rare occurrence in his isolated world—he hardly received any that weren't spam or his mother checking if he was still breathing.
Upon checking the caller ID, his screen displayed a WhatsApp call from one of his best friends, Joshua. The familiar contact photo showed Joshua's cocky grin, the same expression that usually preceded chaos in Enel's life.
"Yo, bitch," Enel said as he answered the call, his voice gravelly from disuse.
The first thing that assaulted his eardrums was the loud, obnoxious laughter erupting from the phone's speaker.
"Aish, this bitch," Enel said, holding the phone away from his ears.
I know this voice. Recognition hit him like a punch to the gut.
He yanked the phone from his ear to his face, squinting at the screen. The call showed multiple participants—Joshua had added him to a group call with the rest of their friend group, those beautiful bastards who thrived on his misery.
The one cackling like a hyena was another member of their tight-knit circle, Lucifer—at least that's what he demanded to be called. His birth name was too bland for his dramatic tastes, so he'd adopted the moniker of the fallen angel with the same theatrical flair he brought to everything else.
"Really, you had to tell the group?" Enel's voice carried the exhaustion of a man who'd been betrayed one too many times.
"C'mon, we share in your fortune and misfortune—well, mostly your misfortune. This year's been particularly rough for you," Lucifer jabbed with sadistic glee, his laughter continuing to ring through the speaker like nails on a chalkboard.
"Haha, funny." Enel's sarcasm could have cut glass.
"Is this why you fools called? I've received your well wishes. I'm gonna end the call now." The threat carried about as much weight as tissue paper, and they all knew it.
"Hey, hey, we have good news," Joshua interjected, his voice carrying that particular tone that usually preceded disaster for Enel.
"Yeah, I've gotten a job, bitch! Be happy for me—I get to move up in the human jungle called life!" The announcement came from the last member of their dysfunctional family, Michael. His real name was Mark, but 'Michael' served as his nickname in direct antithesis to Lucifer's dramatic persona.
The irony was perfect, especially since they fought more than professional wrestlers, their arguments providing endless entertainment for Joshua and Enel.
"What? This dumb fuck got a job? Who's desperate enough to hire you?" Enel's mock disbelief carried genuine surprise beneath the insults.
"Hmph, I'll have you know this young master here landed his dream job, all because of my marvelous dick," Michael announced with the smugness of a peacock displaying its feathers.
"The girl he took home last month is the daughter of a manager. Bro got his job through nepotism," Lucifer cut through Michael's pride like a surgeon's scalpel.
"Fuck, you completely wasted your hard work in uni," Enel laughed, the sound genuine for the first time that day.
The group had known each other since their awkward high school days, bonding over shared interests and mutual roasting. Regardless of the brutal jokes Enel regularly made about Michael's intelligence, the four of them were all reformed nerds who had somehow glowed up as they matured.
Though they had never outgrown their love for nerdy pursuits—hitting the gym didn't equate to abandoning their otaku lifestyle. Muscle and manga could coexist beautifully.
They had all graduated with GPAs of 3.7 and above, despite their constant goofing around.
Certified nerds with diplomas to prove it.
"Yo, I don't know if you've switched teams, but I've planned a date with an old classmate of ours, 2 PM today," Joshua dropped the bombshell with the casual tone of someone discussing the weather.
The words hit Enel like a freight train loaded with social anxiety.
Joshua's announcement targeted Enel specifically—the only member of their group who struggled with romantic entanglements like a fish trying to climb a tree.
Can't get a girlfriend? Look in the mirror. The cruel irony wasn't lost on anyone.
Handsome features that could grace magazine covers, a six-pack that spoke of dedicated gym sessions hidden beneath carefully chosen clothing, and yet...
In a fantasy setting, Enel would be the equivalent of a dense protagonist—not in the traditional sense, but rather someone who chronically underestimated his own magnetic charm. His romantic success depended entirely on his fluctuating dopamine levels and the current charge of his social battery.
The secret message link he'd posted earlier was born purely from boredom, a desperate attempt to feel something, anything.
If those messages had been from real people instead of soulless bots, he still wouldn't have found the energy to reply. The thought of actual human interaction made his skin crawl with anticipated awkwardness.
That's how violently adverse to conversation and social settings he had become over the years.
This impending date would rank among the most excruciating experiences of his adult life, right up there with family gatherings.
"Hey, no backing out—you owe me a solid. I covered your ass from your mom, and you know how terrifying she is," Joshua added with finality before ending the call abruptly. He definitely didn't want to endure Enel's inevitable complaints and creative excuses.
Joshua knew Enel's tendency toward explosive anger, especially over things that seemed trivial to everyone else but felt monumental to him.
Fuck! That manipulative bastard.
Ding.
His phone's notification sound cut through his cursing like a bell tolling his doom. The message was from Joshua, naturally—detailed information about the venue for his social execution, complete with time, address, and probably a helpful reminder not to embarrass himself.
"Ahhrgh." The sound that emerged from Enel's throat was barely human.
He grabbed his phone, pressing the voice message button, and unleashed a stream of profanity so creative and vicious that it would have made a sailor blush and a poet weep. The curses flowed like verbal lava, too crass for delicate readers but perfectly expressing his current emotional state.
...
Fuck.
Why are you staring at me, man? Am I not dressed appropriately? Enel's internal monologue reached fever pitch as he walked toward the restaurant where his social doom awaited.
This paranoid self-consciousness was precisely why he despised leaving his sanctuary. Every pair of eyes felt like laser beams dissecting his appearance, his posture, his very existence. Fortunately for his sanity—or rather, according to Joshua's manipulative master plan—the restaurant wasn't far from his home.
The proximity was definitely intentional, designed so he could potentially bring his date back to his place for the evening's conclusion. That's how his friends orchestrated these romantic ambushes, with the strategic precision of military commanders.
I feel like they always find girls with the lowest standards so I can actually succeed in getting laid.
Tsk, tsk, you underestimate yourself, mortal. Contrary to his self-deprecating belief, the girls usually approached his friend group first, specifically requesting to be set up with him. When he found himself alone with a beautiful woman, some dormant confidence awakened, transforming him into a seasoned charmer whose facial features and mysterious aura proved irresistible.
Add his comfortable financial situation to the equation, and he was unknowingly living every man's dream.
In complete, blissful oblivion.
Why do I always have to walk at the edge of the sidewalk? Humans can't move fast enough in any semblance of order. Just leave enough space so I can weave through without having to acknowledge your existence.
He continued his reluctant journey, contorting his body to navigate through the flowing cluster of pedestrians like a salmon swimming upstream. The crowd moved with the chaotic unpredictability of rush hour traffic, each person absorbed in their own urgent missions.
One of the moving humans miscalculated their trajectory, using far too much force in their haste.
WHAM!
Argh, shit! I fell. Fuck, someone's definitely going to talk to me now.
Panic flooded his system as he hit the concrete.
As he struggled to regain his footing, his vision filled with concerned faces and moving mouths. The good Samaritans were clearly trying to help, but he couldn't hear their words through his AirPods, which had somehow remained lodged in his ears despite the impact.
Shit, why do you have to be so caring? Just let me handle myself.
Their kindness felt like sandpaper against his antisocial tendencies.
Wait, why does it seem like they're screaming?
Confusion replaced irritation as he noticed the terror in their expressions.
What's this blinding light?
The world suddenly blazed white-hot, brighter than a thousand suns.
BANG!
Oh shit, I'm dead.
That's it, guys—the journey of a thousand miles starts with a truck.
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