I Want To Marry Her

Crow lounged outside a convenience store, stretched out in the afternoon heat. A patch of shade offered just enough relief to keep him from melting. The air was thick, steeped in asphalt, grilled street food, and the perfume of blooming trees.

Above, clouds drifted across the sky like they had nowhere better to be.

His mind wandered: guitar strings still too tight. The tuna he left for a stray outside his apartment. The guy who bought six packs of cotton swabs—for whatever reason.

He squinted at the little things—the rustle of leaves, sun glare on passing cars, chatter from people who didn’t notice him. Even the vending machine that had rejected his coins like it held a grudge.

All of it… small. Unimportant. But that was the charm. This kind of nothing suspended him in a cozy limbo—just quiet enough to keep his mind from spiraling too far.

He swirled his cheap iced coffee, the cold pressing against his palm like a relief.

He looked at his watch.

"Okay. Five more minutes."

Five minutes to finish his drink and go about his day.

Or

... a five-minute countdown to a beautiful disaster.

— • —

Last night was nothing special.

Crow’s gig for the night went well as always. The band played soft rock classics—laid-back melodies without the rockstar energy. Just chill and intimate.

With his guitar back on its stand, he trudged to the kitchen and tossed a half-priced convenience store meal and some decent soup into the microwave. He stared at the turntable as it rotated, his eyelids getting heavier by the second.

After a quick, stand-up meal and a warm shower, he slipped into a loose shirt and shorts, then rolled into bed with an exhausted sigh. That’s all he wanted—silence and darkness.

But he couldn't sleep. The caffeine he had burned like gasoline in his veins. He lay there, blinking at the ceiling while his brain kicked into overdrive, thoughts colliding in a tangled mess.

Crow gave up.

He rolled over, booted up his PC, and grabbed his old arcade controller. It still clicked perfectly—battle-tested for years.

Arena of Blood and Steel 3 loaded.

Start Game. Character Select.

His hands moved by muscle memory—jabs, kicks, parries, combos. The screen flickered as he steered his fighter through match after match.

His win rate crawled. Every round felt like a painful tug-of-war.

Finally, he clutched a victory. He rubbed his eyes as he navigated the game interface for his win/loss percentage.

35%. Just fine.

He groaned, launched his browser, and typed the same frustrated search he'd done a thousand times.

“Kanno Hinata tier list ABS3.”

His screen lit up with results: tier lists, forum debates, patch rankings that never seemed to settle.

She was at Tier D. B if the listing was generous. Low-tier.

His chair creaked as he leaned back. The listings pointed out her biggest flaw: her moves hadn’t improved much since the first game, and he’s aware of it.

“Seriously. Do the devs hate her this much?”

He streamed playthroughs for years, and the chat always had fun roasting him for his stubbornness.

Crow didn’t know when it started—this weird loyalty. He tried other characters. But in the end, he stuck with Kanno Hinata.

Maybe it was because she didn’t let you coast. She made you earn it.

Or the way she beamed with energy that made you keep trying—that even when losing hurts, it was still worth something.

He sat there a little longer, scrolling aimlessly through tier lists and fan ratings, before his mind slipped into something ridiculous.

“What if she’s real?”

What if she kicked down his door, told him to pack a bag, and dragged him into something loud, chaotic, and beautiful with a cheeky smirk? Stargazing at 2 A.M., unplanned road trips.

She’d punch his self-doubt in the gut and grin while doing it. They’d bicker over who pays for lunch, then split their meals, anyway.

And for once, they’d laugh at how the world only made sense when it’s crazy.

It was stupid, of course. He wasn’t delusional enough to think a video game character could spice up his mundane life.

"Ah, damn. Why not go out and make friends, you buffoon."

With a chuckle, he shut down the PC and glanced at the clock.

4:03 A.M.

The sky outside was softening—no longer black but a strange, pale shade of blue the world wore before its wheels finally turned.

And to the universe, he whispered:

“Guess I’ll just marry her in my dreams.”

— • —

A sharp HONK snapped him back into reality. A taxi sped past him, horns blaring.

Then—buzz. His phone vibrated.

“Hello?” he answered, casual and groggy.

“Dude! Don’t tell me you’re napping again,” came Dylan’s voice, warm and familiar.

Crow stretched with a groan. “It’s not even late. Soundcheck’s at six, right? It’s barely two.”

“Yeah, but you say that, and then you're back to power naps. Did you practice the new song?”

“If playing it a hundred times counts as practice, I’m overqualified.”

“Alright. Please don’t stress Mel again.”

“She won’t. Chill vibe tonight, I swear.”

“Great, you always pull off anyway. After that, let’s hit Arena. Blow off some steam,” Dylan said.

Crow grinned. “Sure, like always.”

“Just don’t be late.”

“I’ll be there.”

He ended the call and slipped the phone into his jacket pocket. The sun was still warm on his skin, and the world still slow and distant.

Then—

CRASH.

Glass exploded into countless shards. Crow shot upright, nearly spilling his drink.

He spun just in time to see someone fly out of the convenience store’s shattered panel, as if kicked by a titan. The figure twisted midair, skidding across the pavement before landing in a crouch—arms locked in a tight guard.

Her hood fell back. And as sunlight hit her face, Crow’s entire world flipped inside out.

The girl of his dreams.

Real. Cold. And furious.

"KANNO HINATA!?"

— • —

Hello, dear Reader!

This is a romcom-action story about a guy who fell for a low-tier fighting game character—

—who literally crashed into his real life. With a few twists.

If you enjoyed it, please leave a like, comment, or subscribe. Let me know what you think!

I hope you'll stick around. It gets crazier (or maybe sweeter) from here.

With love,
The Author