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You got those days where you do a 10-pull and feel your stomach drop as you see 5 gold casts, already knowing deep in your heart that they will all be initial SR cards you already own?
Imagine that happening five times consecutively. Imagine doing a total of one hundred (100) pulls and getting nothing but duplicates. Or maybe the gacha gods take pity on you and give you one (1) event card. The R one. Of the character you don’t even like.
Itaru is having a day as terrible as that.
Fridays can easily be hell on a usual week with the workload that will be dumped on him because of sudden changes required by the clients, but it’s even worse today because of his workmates that didn’t do a single shit until the last minute. It doesn’t help that he had to accompany the team leader in a contract signing that morning; the muscles he needs to smile have been working hard for too long that his face feels like it’s being ripped apart.
Ugh.
He gets up from his desk to prepare a cup of terrible office coffee (you’d think the company will invest in a good coffee maker, but no, they’d rather use their money on copy machines that break down every other day), lamenting the fact that he is normally on his way back to the dorm by now and not stuck looking at numbers unrelated to EXPs and stats.
Making sure that his charming expression is on, he greets the others also taking a break in the pantry (what right do they think they have to stand here and do nothing while he is cleaning up their mess?) with a nod—
“Hahaha, yeah. Even my son is really into it, always singing praises about his favorite gamers, and— whoah, Chigasaki, are you all right?”
—only to stub his toe on the coffee table.
Itaru raises his head, muscles working on autopilot to plaster a smile on his face.
“I’m okay,” he says, because he’s a grown-ass man that won’t cry just because he stubbed his toe. Totally.
Heading to the coffee machine, he bites back the urge to scream no, of course not, you fucking dipshit how did you mistake 11,000 with 100,100. Instead, making sure to keep his voice light, he asks, “You were talking about KniRoun, right?”
Saito and Usami exchange looks. Usami, the one with a kid (a teenager that always gives him problems, as he keeps on complaining about whenever they go out for a drink), nods. “Yeah. Kids these days are all about it, so I wanted to give it a try. Saito here apparently plays it though.”
Saito grins. “It’s really great! I’m sure you’ll strengthen your bond with your son if you play even just one installment. I’m surprised you know about it though, Chigasaki.”
Itaru chuckles and brings the mug to his lips—
“Next thing you’d say is that you’re a legendary gamer or something.”
—only to cringe because holy shit the coffee is even worse today. That was even possible?
He just wants to go to the dorm now, beg for Tsumugi to prepare him something, anything that isn’t food poison in disguise. Tsumugi’s a nice guy, but Itaru’s pretty sure he will snap too once he takes a sip of this pathetic excuse of a coffee. Somebody needs to tell the company they need ground beans. With the beans part, not just ground. They have to stop taking the phrase eat dirt to another level.
Okay. He’s okay. He can do this. It’s the weekend tomorrow. Just a few more hours. Hang in there.
“Like that taruchi? Chigasaki, a gamer? Pfft, no way.”
Okay, no, he’s taking it back. He’s not okay. Using that condescending tone on him is not okay.
Itaru turns to them, grip on the mug tightening. “Taruchi is me.”
Saito and Usami exchange looks again, and Itaru thinks he should be alarmed by his confession—by the fact that he’s this close to having an out-of-body experience, which may or may not be caused by the liquified shit in his mug—until they both laugh.
They are laughing?
They are laughing.
“Good one, Chigasaki!” Usami says, grinning. “You know, you should really go home if you’re not feeling well. You’ve been working overtime every day recently. Stress must’ve been piling up, huh?”
Itaru carefully sets the mug on the counter and tilts his head, smiling back. Whose fault is it, dipshit? “But I’m really taruchi.”
“Hey, I play a few mobage with that guy, too,” Saito chimes in. “What, are you gonna say that you often take breaks to play during events and stuff? That the reason you go to the bathroom, like during the meeting earlier, is to use your SP?” A snort. “That’s just impossible.”
Itaru blinks. “That’s exactly what I do though?”
Usami approaches him and pats his shoulder. “There, there. I know you’re stressed, and our awful coffee probably didn’t help, huh? You can go home now. Sorry about the mistake, by the way.”
Saito stands on his other side. “You’re double-checking the catalog and proofing it, right? I can help, too. Go get some rest.”
Itaru shrugs the hand on his shoulder and crosses his arms to stop himself from flailing about. “I’m really taruchi! Why don’t you check my proposals, like the one I just did earlier on my own because you are all—” Whoah, wait, calm down, self. Can’t be super rude. Can’t get fired. Can’t not get your paycheck and buy diamonds for the upcoming birthday banner of your waifu.
Inhale. Exhale. Flash a blinding smile. “Anyway. You can check my signature. It literally says taruchi.”
Usami looks at him and closes his eyes, slightly shaking his head. “You’re almost like a son to me, too. I hate seeing you like this.”
Saito nods. “Come on, I’ll accompany you to your desk and call you a taxi.”
Oh god, what is this, sure, grandma, let’s get you to bed?
As he struggles to get away from Saito, who is acting like the young woman in that meme, Chikage enters the room and raises an eyebrow at the scene.
“Senpai! Good timing!” Allocating his remaining energy to SPD and STR, Itaru escapes Saito’s hold and runs toward Chikage, pointing at the men behind him with his thumb. “Tell them!” he says, not desperately but almost there. “I am taruchi, right?!”
Chikage stares at him for what felt like hours—but just a few seconds in reality—before he nods. “Yes.”
“See? I am—”
“Wow, Chigasaki, how did you get even Utsuki to joke with you?”
“They’re both in the same theater group, right? I guess they got closer.”
“Oh, I know! Is this part of your next play?”
Itaru slams his head on the door.
“Look, Chigasaki can’t even see where he’s going. Tsk, tsk. Are you going home now, Utsuki?”
“…Yes.”
“You live in the dorm of that theater company too, right? Bring Chigasaki with you.”
“The poor guy. He’s so exhausted to the point of being delusional.”
“I will, Usami-san,” Chikage says.
Itaru doesn’t need to turn around to know that Chikage has an amused expression on his face.
Chikage, like the liar he is, doesn’t really bring him home with him because he still has other places to go to, people to terrify, buildings to scale, or whatever Chikage Things he does whenever he goes out at night.
After they stepped out of the company, with Chikage teasing him nonstop about it (okay, he doesn’t, he didn’t say anything at all, but his smiling face already tells an entire story), Chikage heads in the opposite direction.
“Don’t be too stressed now or you’ll be delusional,” he says.
Outside, Itaru smiles and bows, waving a hand as Chikage walks away.
Inside, Itaru raises his middle finger at his senpai’s retreating back, at the company building, at the world.
Everything feels surreal. Did he unlock the State of Self-Actualization? Since his thoughts right now are like random symbols thrown together haphazardly, is this the point where he realizes that he’s a character in a simulation game?
In a blink, he’s in the dorm.
He doesn’t bother questioning how he got here. Nothing good comes out of it. Trust him, he watches a lot of anime.
Instead, he heads to the kitchen where the others are eating dinner.
“Itaru-san! I thought you won’t arrive until later. Do you want to eat dinner now, too?”
Ignoring Izumi, Itaru heads to the fridge and grabs a soda bottle. He points at Banri, who pauses with his spoonful of curry halfway to his mouth, and says, “Back up needed. ASAP.”
He spins on his heels and exits the kitchen, walks into the courtyard, and enters his room. After doing his usual competition-level quick-change routine, he opens his PC and fixes his webcam. The light turns on. He opens the site.
“Hey, Itaru-san, what’s up— what the fuck?” Thud, thud, thud. Banri stands next to him, peering at his screen. “Dude, the hell are ya doin’?”
“I’m streaming.”
“Yeah, I can see that? But your face is—”
You are now LIVE. “Hello, everyone,” Itaru greets, staring directly at the camera. “I am taruchi.”
The chats start pouring in, one after another, and the view count rises up exponentially. Itaru bounces his leg up and down, grinning as he waits for the validation—
nah man that can’t be real
too good-looking, fake
press x to doubt
www
that’s itaru chigasaki of spring troupe btw
spring troupe?
google mankai company
how do you know chigasaki-san, taruchi?
lol no need to force someone else
guess taruchi knows them both because of neo?
www
ITARY OMG PLEASE MARRY ME
imagine being a badass gamer while being a functioning member of society AND a theater actor
imagine having the time and energy for all that
you can't
exactly
UTARY*
NEO cant keep a straight face too wwwwww
wwwww
OTART*
will u be streaming tomorrow?
taruchi dw it’s ok even if u don't look as good as itaru-san!!!
yeah we watch u for ur gameplays anyway lololol
^^^^
wwwww
itARU*** GODDAMIT
—only to stop the stream and shut his PC down.
“Hey, Banri…” He raises a hand and touches the screen, staring at his muddy reflection in the black mirror. “I am taruchi, right?”
“Apparently not.”
“I am taruchi, right?”
Banri snorts. “I mean, if you think about it… err… wait, dude, we’re supposed to be laughin’ at this. Why do you look like you’re about to cry—”
“I am taruchi, right?”
“Oh shit. I ain’t equipped to handle this. Hey, Tasuku-san! Can ya fix that guy? He broke. Huh? The internet. No, seriously. The internet. Don’t look at me like that.”