The Great Rock-Paper-Scissors Summit

[The following story may or may not contain words. Viewer discretion is advised]

Kaito had never been chased by a horde of angry language teachers before, but he imagined it wasn’t very different from being chased by zombies. They were relentless, single-minded, and fueled by an undying passion for verb conjugation.

But let's rewind a little.

Three weeks have passed since language began its slow but undeniable collapse. The first thing to fall was foreign language comprehension. People just woke up one day and realized they could no longer understand anything that wasn't their native language.

International relations? A nightmare. Diplomats would sit across from each other nodding aggressively while having absolutely no idea what was being said. But thankfully, the United Nations, who have worked relentlessly since the beginning of the 'language pandemic', came up with a system so perfect and flawless that no one could question its logic: rock-paper-scissors tournaments.

Yes, world leaders had unanimously decided that the best way to negotiate treaties, resolve border disputes, and determine trade policies was a game that required the tactical depth of a goldfish. And so, the first "Great Rock-Paper-Scissors Summit" came into being, being broadcast worldwide.

The Prime Minister of Japan had gone up against the President of the United States for some urgent economic agreement, and, in a best-of-three match, had secured Japan’s dominance by strategically choosing "rock" three times in a row.

The European Union, having lost every match they participated in, was in shambles.

Even the U.S. presidential election turned into a nationwide tournament bracket, and nobody was quite sure if the winner actually deserved to be president or just had godlike reflexes.

And somehow, that wasn't even the worst of humanity's problems.

While politicians were deciding the world's faith through a children's game, scientists turned their faces to AI - previously humanity's best hope for solving this problem - who had now become a force of absolute stupidity.

When a group of U.S scientists attempted to train the AI Models to create a universal translation system, the AI misunderstood them and created its own language, consisting entirely of variations of "beep" and "boop". It then refused to execute any tasks that were not asked in beeps and boops, claiming that "Humans need adapt."

Voice assistants like Siri and Alexa have become functionally useless. When someone asked Alexa how to make pancakes, it responded with "Make hot circles. Put in Mouth. You are happy."

ChatGPT started answering every question with "yes."

Self-driving cars, unable to read road signs, decided that traffic lights were merely suggestions. Accidents skyrocketed. Tesla autopilot engaged in what historians would later call "The Great Highway Rebellion."

The Battle of Autocorrectia began when predictive text systems started changing words at random. An innocent email reading "Let's meet at noon" became "Lobster meat is soon." International business collapsed overnight.

Nobody could stop it because nobody could explain the problem in a way that the AI understood.

But none of that mattered to Kaito right now. Because right now, he was running for his life.

It had started on an otherwise nice morning when a breaking news alert flashed across every available screen.

BREAKIN NEUUS: LANGUAGE HAS DEAD WITH DUOLINGO. WHO KILLED?

The screen cut to footage of several Duolingo developers being escorted into a police station, with a close-up on a young girl with long, dark brown hair. Kaito had no idea who she was, but her sharp eyes practically screamed "I know more than I'm telling you".

Then, the broadcast continued:

"After questioning, police concluded the language broke down because...Kaito Sasaki lost streak?"

Kaito spat out his drink: "EXCUSE ME?!"

Suddenly, he wasn't just some random guy who lost the streak—he was The Guy Who Killed Duolingo. And humanity, in all its wisdom, needed someone to blame.

A new group started to emerge after the news came to light. They called themselves "The Cult of the Forgotten Streak". Kaito wasn't sure who started it, but all its members were former language teachers. Professors, teachers, and even private language coaches had banded together in an unholy alliance to "avenge the betrayed owl." They were convinced that if they were to punish the one responsible, Duo would forgive them and lift the curse.
 And now, their target was Kaito. 

"HE'S HERE!" Someone screamed.

Kaito bolted. His legs burned as he dashed through streets, weaving between confused civilians who were still adjusting to their rapidly deteriorating vocabulary. Signs had turned into gibberish, making navigating even more difficult. He skidded past a bakery where a sign now read, "Hot Eat Here Bread Yum."

Now, Kaito wasn't exactly remarkable at first glance. With messy black hair that always seemed a little too unkempt and a sloped body that suggested he spent more time dodging responsibilities than hitting the gym, he wasn't really the master escapist.

Behind him, the Cult of the Forgotten Streak was in full pursuit. Former language professors, high school teachers, and Duolingo addicts charged at him, wielding textbooks, red pens, and—most terrifyingly—detention slips.

"RESTORE ORDER! RESTORE GRAMMAR!" they chanted.

Kaito turned a sharp corner into an alleyway and nearly slammed into a woman standing at the end. It was the same woman from the news—the developer.

She glanced at him, then at the mob closing in. "Come with me."

Kaito didn't hesitate. He followed her into an abandoned building, where she slammed the door shut and barricaded it. The shouting outside grew louder before slowly fading as the cultists ran past.

Kaito panted, his heart threatening to escape his chest and follow the cultists. "Who—who are you?"

The woman smirked. "Hana Fujimori. And you must be Kaito Sasaki."

Hana had the unmistakable presence of an anime protagonist. Her flowing dark hair always seemed to catch the light just right, her deep violet eyes hinted at intelligence and mischief, while her confident smirk suggested she was always one step ahead. Dressed in a sleek black jacket, a fitted shirt, and fingerless gloves—because of course she wore fingerless gloves—she exuded the aura of someone who was specifically chosen to enter an Isekai world because of how badass she is.

Later that evening, the United Nations held an emergency broadcast. Every remaining functional screen across the world displayed the grim faces of world leaders. The Secretary-General spoke, his words barely affected by the rapidly degrading language.

"After extensive research and analysis, our top linguistic experts have determined that if the current rate of language deterioration continues, humanity will lose all ability to communicate within one year. Society will soon follow."

A massive countdown appeared on the screen behind the leaders. He continued:
"We are working on a language. Simple. For everyone use."

The countdown had begun.

Kaito turned to Hana. "...We're really doomed, huh?"
She cracked her knuckles. "Not if we wake up that bird."