Rumination

For three days after the duel, Tanuki didn’t log in.

The Deck of Echoes sat dormant in his inventory, but he couldn’t bring himself to touch it. Every time he thought about logging back into the MMO, his chest tightened. The chat notifications piled up; Atlas’s frantic encouragement, NV’s clipped tactical notes, Celeste’s quiet pings. But he didn’t answer.

He muted the alerts. Then he muted everything.

The world outside the screen felt heavier, quieter. He told himself he was just taking a break, but the truth was simpler: he couldn’t face it. Not the whispers, not the blame, not the knowledge that Arsenyx now carried the “???” Tarot while his own name was cursed in forums and guild halls alike.

He wandered the town’s streets, past the corner store where kids clustered around tower defense games with cute anime girls that were cleverly disguised gacha kiosks, past the ramen shop with its steam‑fogged windows, past the arcade where the neon lights buzzed faintly even in daylight.

He didn’t go inside anywhere. He just walked.

His reflection followed him in shop windows, tired eyes, slouched shoulders, hands shoved deep in his hoodie pocket. He looked like a ghost haunting his own life. His fate wasn’t his to change, it was his to observe. And it’d always been that way.

Sometimes he thought about logging in again, just to try to prove to himself that he wasn’t broken. But then he’d remember the way the world had glitched, the way the aurora fractured, the way Arsenyx had claimed the nameless card. And the thought would dissolve.

Atlas’s messages stacked up first:

“Tanuki you were amazing. You did the best you could. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
“Hey, how'd you like to grab something to eat with us again? Things don’t feel the same without you.”
“Are you all right? Please just answer. Just once.”

NV’s were fewer, sharper:

“You’re spiraling. Stop hiding.”
“We can’t fix this without you.”

Celeste’s were the hardest to ignore. She didn’t send many. Just one, the night after the duel:

“I’m sorry.”

He read it once. Then he closed the app and didn’t open it again.

On the fourth night, his wandering took him somewhere he hadn’t been since he first met up with Atlas and NV.

That strange auditorium near the arcade. He entered through the double doors and gazed into the long hallway. That feeling of dread, of terror, that feeling was gone. He walked past the coin-operated dispensers, past the windows, without even looking at the curtain, made it to the end of the hallway, and descended the stairs.
The air smelled of dust and wood polish, faintly sweet and stale. Rows of empty seats stretched into the dark, the stage looming at the far end. He remembered being here before. Sitting with his parents, watching his sister perform in a school play, her voice carrying across the hall with a confidence he’d never had. It was so clear in his mind that he could have imagined the play being performed by ghosts before his very eyes.

Now, the silence pressed down on him.

He walked down the aisle, his footsteps echoing. He didn’t know why he’d come here. Maybe because it was quiet. Maybe because it was forgotten. He stopped at the edge of the stage, staring up at it. And for the first time since the duel, he let himself feel the weight of it all. The shame, the exhaustion, the hollowness. He sat down in the front row, head in his hands. And there, in the empty auditorium, Tanuki finally let himself break.

“Oh I didn’t realize there was anyone here.”
A voice came from behind him, which startled Tanuki so much he jumped out of his seat. A man who was decently dressed in a polo and slacks was casually walking through the aisle of the auditorium. His head was shiny as if he just had it spit-shined.
“I like to sit in here sometimes. It’s quiet, almost eerie. But I kind of like that. It’s good sometimes to just sit in complete silence.”
Tanuki didn’t say anything.
“I’m not bothering you, am I? I’ll just sit over here then, you won’t even notice me.”
The man sat in a seat across from Tanuki, facing the stage. Neither said a word for about 5 minutes. The bald man shattered the silence.
“You know, I used to bring my son to see plays here. I’d always cheer whenever a background character would do something. Tree #5, that’s always my favorite kind of actor. Someone who plays completely throwaway and forgettable roles. But they play them because they’re necessary. You might not be able to tell when they’re there, but you can tell when they’re not. I think that’s how people are. We take for granted until we get taken for granted. Then suddenly it hurts.”
He chuckled lightly.
“I don’t mean to bore you with a tangent. But something tells me you came here for a similar reason that I did. Just to get away from all the noise and pollution of the real world. Of course, here I am, polluting the room now.”
He chuckled again and sighed.
“Sometimes I think about all the people that came and went on that stage. They’re the center of the world for about an hour, then everyone leaves and the stage remains empty. The seats are empty. It’s as if no one had ever been in this room. But I keep those plays here. In my mind.”
He tapped his temple.

With no response from Tanuki other than mild discomfort, he sat in silence for a few seconds.
“Do you believe in fate?” Tanuki asked.
Looking mildly surprised by the response and amused by the question, the bald man thought it over for a moment.
“That’s tough to say. I don’t know if I’d say I believe in fate, but I would say that you were meant to meet everyone in your life. For instance, if two people decided at the same time to come to an empty auditorium next to a struggling arcade, I believe that whatever triggered that thought inexorably links these two together. Think about it: How often do you and another person share the exact same thought about the exact same thing at the exact same time, and the circumstances allow your paths to cross? I think that’s why every last person you meet can serve a purpose in your life. Even people like Tree #5.”
A man wearing a dress up shirt and slacks entered the auditorium. He looked like he was in a hurry. He motioned to the bald man, “Mr. Datsumo, the driver is waiting outside, and we’re running low on time. Not to rush you or anything sir, just letting you know the meter’s running.”
“All right-y. Tell him I’m coming outside right now.”
The man nodded, “Yes sir,” and left the room.
The bald man stood up, with a slight exasperated sigh. “Well, I better get going. I just wanted to see this place one last time. Lots of memories here. This whole plaza is going to go soon, we’re drafting up some plans to renovate this entire area. Hopefully it revitalizes some business here. It was nice meeting you, quiet young man.”
He turned to walk away, before turning back around. “Oh I forgot, here, have one of my business cards. They’re kind of like beacons to find me. But be warned, I only pick up my phone for important business matters.”
He laughed and then walked out of the auditorium.
Tanuki fiddled with the card and his hand. He looked at it carefully. “Akira Datsumo, President, Rainforest Technologies.”

Tanuki left the auditorium with the business card still warm in his hand. The night air outside was cool, the neon glow of the arcade buzzing faintly across the plaza. He slipped the card into his pocket, not sure if he’d ever use it, but unable to throw it away.

The walk home felt longer than usual. The streets were empty, the city humming with the low thrum of vending machines and distant traffic. He kept his hood up, his hands buried deep in his pockets, his thoughts circling the duel, the glitches, and the strange man who had spoken about Tree #5 as if it mattered more than anything else.

When he finally reached his apartment, the silence pressed in. He sat down at his desk, the glow of his monitor waiting. For the first time since the duel, he opened his messages.

They flooded the screen.

Atlas’s voice in text, loud even without sound:

“Bro, you can’t just vanish like that. We need you.”
“Please, just say something. I’ll never text again if that’s what you want.”

NV’s messages, clipped and precise:

“You’d better not hurt Atlas, he’s a big softie. At least let one of us know that you’re okay.”

And Celeste’s, the one he had read and ignored before:

“I’m sorry.”

Tanuki stared at the words until his eyes blurred. His fingers hovered over the keyboard. For a long moment, he couldn’t bring himself to type. Then, slowly, he began to write.

I’m okay. I just needed some time. I’ll be back soon. I’ll log in tomorrow.

He hit send.

Almost immediately, Atlas responded with a flood of relief. NV’s reply was shorter, but the sharp edge was gone. For the first time in days, Tanuki felt the faintest thread of connection pulling him back.

Then another message appeared. From Celeste.

“I need to talk to you. It’s important. Meet me on the other side of Geminus.”

Tanuki’s chest tightened. The far side of Geminus was a place he rarely went, a place of shadows and secrets.

He stared at the message, the cursor blinking in the reply box.

Outside his window, the city lights flickered, just for a moment, like the glitches in the Coliseum.

Tanuki closed his eyes, exhaled, and typed a single word.

“Okay.”