Chapter 1:
The Panda's deal.
My BEAUTIFUL DOOM'S DAY
Chapter 1: The Panda's Deal
To whoever finds this notebook: don't judge. No one writes diaries anymore. That's the point. This is the only way I know to hold onto the world I lost.
This is the story of the day my boring life became a fantasy novel — whether I wanted it to or not.
---
My college entrance test results were out. I failed again.
I let out a long groan and smacked my forehead against the laptop keyboard. The keys dug into my skin. Fuck my life.
Six years. Six fucking years of failing.
I'm not dumb — I'm a genius when I'm motivated. The problem is I'm never motivated. Intelligent but moody. A Gemini to the core. When I don't care, I fuck up. And I've been fucking up for six years.
I hope my parents don't marry me off now.
---
My room was a disaster. Books everywhere — stacked on the desk, piled on the floor, stuffed between bedposts. Some with bookmarks halfway through. Some with sticky notes on pages I'd never revisit. Clothes draped over the chair, hanging off the closet door, tangled in the bedsheets. A jacket I put on and took off three times this morning. A notebook I started last week, abandoned after two pages.
I can't decide on anything. I change my mind like other people change socks.
Maybe that's why I keep failing.
---
That's when I heard it. A soft, sweet sound, like a baby cooing.
I turned my head.
My panda plushie was walking.
Fuck.
What would you do? Run? Scream? Not me. I freeze. Can't speak. Can't breathe. Can't hear anything but my own heartbeat.
The panda hopped onto my desk. It grabbed a pen with its tiny paws — don't ask me how — and scribbled on my notebook. Then it pushed the paper toward me.
"Let's sign a deal," it said.
---
I wanted to punch it. But I was too scared. So instead, I said what I always say when someone asks for my help.
"What will I get in return?"
What the fuck? Did I just say that?
The panda looked at me like I was a fly buzzing around its ear. Then it spoke in that soft, sweet, terrifying voice:
"I will send you to another world on a mission. If you succeed, you come back — and your results will be better."
It scowled at my laptop screen. My rank was too low for a college seat. Not a fail, technically. But close enough.
He needs me, I realized. My fear faded. A slow smile crept across my face.
"Nah. I'm good. I'll try again next year. I don't need your mission, cotton brain."
---
The panda's button eyes went dark. It hopped closer, and before I could react, its tiny paw pressed against my throat. Not hard. But enough.
"Either complete the mission," it whispered, "or your family is..."
My heart stopped. For a few seconds, I couldn't breathe. Sweat rolled down my forehead. I wanted to grab the plushie and rip its cotton head off — but what if the thing possessing it came out? What if it jumped into something worse? My parents? My brother?
I swallowed the rage. The fear.
It pulled back and smiled.
---
"You think," it said slowly, "that I asked?"
"I didn't ask, you absolute potato. I informed." It hopped onto my knee. "You already signed."
My blood went cold. "I did not."
"Check your left hand."
I looked down. My thumb was bleeding. A tiny, perfect cut I didn't feel. And on the notebook, right where my hand had been trembling, was a thumbprint in red.
"You're lying," I whispered.
"Am I a liar?"
"Yes. You're a demon panda."
"Fair." It shrugged. "But I'm also correct. The contract activated on contact. You touched the paper while in emotional distress — your default state — and now the deal is sealed."
"No no no—"
"Yes yes yes." It patted my finger. "Congratulations. You're going to another world. Try not to die immediately. It would make me look bad."
---
"At least tell me the mission, you bamboo-eating devil!"
The notebook yawned open — wider than physics allowed. The pages stretched like a throat, swallowing the air, swallowing the light. And I was falling. Not down. In.
My laptop flew off the bed. The last thing I saw was the panda waving.
"A BLACK HOLE?" I screamed. "Since when do black holes appear for ONE SPECIFIC PERSON?"
The void did not answer. Rude.
---
I was falling. Tumbling. Spinning like a sock in a dryer.
The void tasted like static electricity and regret.
Then — distant, fading — the panda's voice. Still smug.
"Oh, by the way, your mission!"
"WHAT?"
"DESTROY THE WORLD!"
"...WHAT?"
"THE WORLD YOU'RE ABOUT TO LAND IN! DESTROY IT! EVERYTHING GONE! ASHES! RUBBLE! DRAMATIC SUNSET!"
My brain — my supposedly genius brain — got stuck on the fact that a panda plushie was asking me to commit fantasy war crimes.
"WHY WOULD I DO THAT?"
"BECAUSE YOU SIGNED THE DEAL!"
"I DIDN'T READ THE FINE PRINT!"
"THAT'S ON YOU!"
His voice was barely a whisper now.
"GOOD LUCK! DON'T DIE! WELL, ACTUALLY, DIE IF YOU HAVE TO — JUST FINISH THE JOB FIRST! BYEEEEEE—"
And then he was gone.
And I was still falling.
Toward a world I was supposed to destroy.
Great.
Beautiful.
Doom's day, indeed.
---
End of Chapter 1
To whoever finds this notebook: don't judge. No one writes diaries anymore. That's the point. This is the only way I know to hold onto the world I lost.
This is the story of the day my boring life became a fantasy novel — whether I wanted it to or not.
---
My college entrance test results were out. I failed again.
I let out a long groan and smacked my forehead against the laptop keyboard. The keys dug into my skin. Fuck my life.
Six years. Six fucking years of failing.
I'm not dumb — I'm a genius when I'm motivated. The problem is I'm never motivated. Intelligent but moody. A Gemini to the core. When I don't care, I fuck up. And I've been fucking up for six years.
I hope my parents don't marry me off now.
---
My room was a disaster. Books everywhere — stacked on the desk, piled on the floor, stuffed between bedposts. Some with bookmarks halfway through. Some with sticky notes on pages I'd never revisit. Clothes draped over the chair, hanging off the closet door, tangled in the bedsheets. A jacket I put on and took off three times this morning. A notebook I started last week, abandoned after two pages.
I can't decide on anything. I change my mind like other people change socks.
Maybe that's why I keep failing.
---
That's when I heard it. A soft, sweet sound, like a baby cooing.
I turned my head.
My panda plushie was walking.
Fuck.
What would you do? Run? Scream? Not me. I freeze. Can't speak. Can't breathe. Can't hear anything but my own heartbeat.
The panda hopped onto my desk. It grabbed a pen with its tiny paws — don't ask me how — and scribbled on my notebook. Then it pushed the paper toward me.
"Let's sign a deal," it said.
---
I wanted to punch it. But I was too scared. So instead, I said what I always say when someone asks for my help.
"What will I get in return?"
What the fuck? Did I just say that?
The panda looked at me like I was a fly buzzing around its ear. Then it spoke in that soft, sweet, terrifying voice:
"I will send you to another world on a mission. If you succeed, you come back — and your results will be better."
It scowled at my laptop screen. My rank was too low for a college seat. Not a fail, technically. But close enough.
He needs me, I realized. My fear faded. A slow smile crept across my face.
"Nah. I'm good. I'll try again next year. I don't need your mission, cotton brain."
---
The panda's button eyes went dark. It hopped closer, and before I could react, its tiny paw pressed against my throat. Not hard. But enough.
"Either complete the mission," it whispered, "or your family is..."
My heart stopped. For a few seconds, I couldn't breathe. Sweat rolled down my forehead. I wanted to grab the plushie and rip its cotton head off — but what if the thing possessing it came out? What if it jumped into something worse? My parents? My brother?
I swallowed the rage. The fear.
It pulled back and smiled.
---
"You think," it said slowly, "that I asked?"
"I didn't ask, you absolute potato. I informed." It hopped onto my knee. "You already signed."
My blood went cold. "I did not."
"Check your left hand."
I looked down. My thumb was bleeding. A tiny, perfect cut I didn't feel. And on the notebook, right where my hand had been trembling, was a thumbprint in red.
"You're lying," I whispered.
"Am I a liar?"
"Yes. You're a demon panda."
"Fair." It shrugged. "But I'm also correct. The contract activated on contact. You touched the paper while in emotional distress — your default state — and now the deal is sealed."
"No no no—"
"Yes yes yes." It patted my finger. "Congratulations. You're going to another world. Try not to die immediately. It would make me look bad."
---
"At least tell me the mission, you bamboo-eating devil!"
The notebook yawned open — wider than physics allowed. The pages stretched like a throat, swallowing the air, swallowing the light. And I was falling. Not down. In.
My laptop flew off the bed. The last thing I saw was the panda waving.
"A BLACK HOLE?" I screamed. "Since when do black holes appear for ONE SPECIFIC PERSON?"
The void did not answer. Rude.
---
I was falling. Tumbling. Spinning like a sock in a dryer.
The void tasted like static electricity and regret.
Then — distant, fading — the panda's voice. Still smug.
"Oh, by the way, your mission!"
"WHAT?"
"DESTROY THE WORLD!"
"...WHAT?"
"THE WORLD YOU'RE ABOUT TO LAND IN! DESTROY IT! EVERYTHING GONE! ASHES! RUBBLE! DRAMATIC SUNSET!"
My brain — my supposedly genius brain — got stuck on the fact that a panda plushie was asking me to commit fantasy war crimes.
"WHY WOULD I DO THAT?"
"BECAUSE YOU SIGNED THE DEAL!"
"I DIDN'T READ THE FINE PRINT!"
"THAT'S ON YOU!"
His voice was barely a whisper now.
"GOOD LUCK! DON'T DIE! WELL, ACTUALLY, DIE IF YOU HAVE TO — JUST FINISH THE JOB FIRST! BYEEEEEE—"
And then he was gone.
And I was still falling.
Toward a world I was supposed to destroy.
Great.
Beautiful.
Doom's day, indeed.
---
End of Chapter 1
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