Chapter 20: Introduction: The King of the Arcade

Friday.

It has been the worst week of my life.

Fuji Kenji has decided.

He has decided that we are friends.

He texts me. About stupid things.

("I saw a panda-shaped cloud. Thought of you.")

He sits at my table. At lunch.

(The entire cafeteria just stares.)

He talks to me. In class.

("PSST. Aoi. What's the answer to #4? I 'zoned out.'")

He is not "zoned out." He is Rank #2! He is annoying me.

And Toujo!

Toujo thinks this is the funniest thing in the history of the universe.

He has renamed our group chat.

"Aoi, Rika, and Aoi's Future Husband."

I have murdered him. Ten times. In my mind.

I need to de-stress.

I need my sanctuary.

The "Giga-Zone" Arcade.

Saturday morning. 10 AM. Sharp.

I am the first one there.

I bypass the "kiddie" floor.

I head straight to the "Pro-Zone."

My hands are itching.

I need to punch something.

Virtually.

I head to my throne.

"Street Fighter X: Ultra Hyper Omega Edition."

And...

I stop.

There is a sign.

Taped to my machine.

It’s a hand-written sign.

"OUT OF ORDER. (Some jerk spilled a 'Slushee' in the 'P-2' controls.)"

No.

No. No. No. No. No.

"NO!"

I actually say it out loud.

This- this is it. This is the end of my peaceful life.

My one place. My one machine.

It's gone.

Wait.

I look across the room.

There is one other "Street Fighter X" cabinet.

It’s the old one. The one with the sticky 'Heavy Punch' button.

But it’s something.

But someone is on it.

He's been on it.

I've been standing here for ten minutes.

And this guy has not moved.

He’s good.

Too good.

There is a crowd.

A crowd in the Pro-Zone. At 10 AM?

I hate crowds.

I stomp over.

I am full 'Bloody Twilight'.

"Move," I grunt.

The crowd doesn't move. They're mesmerized.

I push.

"I said-"

I get to the front.

And I see.

The guy is tall.

He’s wearing a black hoodie.

His hood is up.

He has headphones on.

And he is playing.

One-handed.

He is playing "Street Fighter" with one hand.

And winning.

His win-streak.

It says 74.

Seventy-four!

My record is 45.

This- this jerk.

He's better than me.

I am furious.

I am impressed.

No! Furious. Just furious.

"Hey!" I yell.

He doesn't hear me.

He finishes his match.

PERFECT.

He got a perfect.

One-handed.

"HEY!"

I tap his shoulder.

Hard.

"Ugh, what?"

He groans.

He pauses the game.

(The audacity!)

He slowly pulls his headphones down.

He slowly pulls his hood back.

He turns.

He has black hair.

He has dark, bored eyes.

He's handsome.

Stupidly handsome.

In that lazy, gamer-god kind of way.

He looks at me.

He blinks.

"Yo," he says, his voice deep. And tired.

"What? Can't you see I'm in the middle of..."

He stops.

He really looks at me.

His bored eyes.

Widen.

Just a little.

He's staring.

"What?" I snap, my "Bloody Twilight" mode kicking back in.

He blinks.

"You're on my machine," I say.

He looks at the machine.

He looks back at me.

A slow smirk spreads across his stupidly handsome face.

Oh, no.

It's another smirker.

"Your machine?" he asks, his voice amused.

He stands up.

He's tall.

Way taller than Fuji.

He leans against the cabinet.

"Prove it," he says.

"What?"

"Prove it's your machine."

He gestures at the player-two controls.

"1v1," he says, that stupid smirk growing.

"Right here. Right now."

He leans in.

I can smell his cologne?

It smells like energy drinks.

"You win," he whispers. "I'll leave."

He pauses.

"I win..."

He looks me up and down.

"You give me your number."

I stare at him.

This- this jerk.

He thinks he can beat me?

Me?

"Twilight"?

I crack my knuckles.

"You," I say, my voice ice.

"Are on."