The Villain of My Mental Issues

As if the sun was eternal despite the dying heat, Emma and I finally arrived at her family's business.

Perhaps in the most ironic sense I never once thought it was a clothing store. 

During her rambles, she brought up multiple restaurants with a variety of cuisine, a bicycle store, and an arcade. I would've presumed knowing that I carried a clothing line she'd reveal her grandfather's shop sells clothes to be relatable. 

"You didn't tell me he owns a clothing shop," I stared at the gigantic banner that hung from the ceiling. SUPER SALE: BUY ONE GET ONE 50% OFF, it stated in bold red letters. 

"I thought it would be a neat surprise," she ushered me in, "Take a look. Welcome to All Things Niche!"

She pointed at a section of the store, next to the changing rooms where a few single ladies held onto their selected choice of dresses firmly. My eyes scanned the area, flabbergasted that the store carried an assortment of very niche styles.

"Techwear, huh? Yeah, I don't see large corporations carrying that."

"A lot of teenagers and even adults love coming here, it's reminiscent of shops like Trend Topic, which for the longest time, carried the best Gothic fashion."

"And I see you have a section for that too."

"Yup! Handcrafted by the best artists, collaborators love to sell their merchandise at our store."

"Interesting."

Next to the aisles containing techwear were rows of a niche I didn't think were placed appropriately due to its outrageous colors. 

"Dreamcore fashion," I announced, cringing slightly, "reminds me of my cousin. She got into it not too long ago. Now all I see on her Instar page are selfies with her wardrobe of this aesthetic."

And then next to that was the second-best fashion style, probably my first if it wasn't difficult to put on. Especially those damned corsets.

"You guys even got steampunk huh?"

"See, pretty cool right!"

My heart started pounding.

There's no way Emma is who I'm thinking of.

There was an individual not too far from us carrying himself with confidence. I assumed was Emma's grandfather, a man of muscle despite his age. 

Next to him, a customer whose voice irritated my ears like the kinds I'd see in cringy cosplaying reels. Wearing an outfit a size too small, she was busy rambling about why steampunk was the best innovation fashion has ever done. It was said with such passion that I felt like I was listening to a motivational speaker's podcast.

In return for her compliments, the man bowed with a smile. The customer thanked the man for the showcase and went on her way to the checkout line. I let out a gasp as soon as I got a better view of this chunk of a guy. 

"Are you by any chance, MistaFukuyama on Instar?"

He stroked his beard. A mannerism all too familiar from the advertisements I had seen.

"Why yes," he grinned, "are you a fan of my works?"

"I- well-"

The man adjusted his reading glasses. Squinting at me, he suddenly jolted back, his eyes analyzing my face. 

He smirked. 

"Oh wow! Mr. Clover in the flesh, what brings you to our town?"

Busted. I had hoped he didn't recognize me, but this was another one of Emma's proclaimed very, very, VERY few people. 

"W-WOAH WAIT!"

Emma stomped in between, her arms out as if to tell me to halt whatever I was about to say. Signs of hyperventilation became visible; honestly, the next business practice should be in the pharmaceutical industry. This woman is in need of some anxiety medication!

"You meant to say," she rapidly breathed, "you guys know each other?"

"Sweetie, he was someone I offered a business partnership once," Mr. Fukuyama chuckled, "granted, I've never met him face to face. I see you two are acquainted. Friends?"

The slyness of this man. Wipe that smirk off your face, please, it's getting embarrassing.

"Yes, we're friends! Well, neighbors-" she tossed a look in my direction, "-to be precise."

"Oh! So you moved into our quaint town? Why, I am..."

Fukuyama leaned over, his muscular build towered over my presence. 

"...honored, Mr. Clover."

Had it not for our past encounters, I would've thought he was simply an old weirdo. Although, giving credit where it's due, this bastard's at retirement age looking not a day over 50! 

"Yeah," I glanced away, "nice meeting you."

Suffice to say, the unnerving feeling of being watched tripled when Fukuyama lowered his gaze. He took a step away, patted Emma on the back, and disappeared behind the aisles.

All of a sudden, it made sense.

The extensive selection of the craziest niche.

The messages I received on Instar about his vision.

"Hey Emma,"

She who remained oblivious to the whole interaction, seemed to have suddenly gained the skills to detect that something was wrong. I hadn't shift my tone to signal distress, but she noticed the change in demeanor. Quickly, Emma grasped onto my arm and pulled me outside.

"Alright Ace, spill it," she crossed her arms, "what's the matter?"

"I'm just astonished. That someone like you would be related to that buffoon."

"Excuse me?" and apparently insulting her grandfather screwed her mood, "You may be Ace Clover, but I do not let anyone talk about my family like that!"

"And that-" I raised my voice subconsciously, "-son of a bitch tried screwing me over!"

I felt my heart drop, feelings of regret immediately emerged upon seeing Emma's horrified face. She stood in absolute shock, perhaps realizing the reality of who I really am.

Pretty privilege gets you far, but people are ugly all the same.

Even celebrities get ugly when they have to. Even behind their fans, or their mothers, and fathers. 

But we live in a society where those who carried fame are embraced by the light of perfection; an image far too glorious to be tainted, and if one was, all hell broke loose.

"I'm sorry," I tried to reach for her, but when she stepped back I knew I messed up. Frustrated, I shook my head and began walking away.

Look at you. Leaving a girl alone to walk home by herself. You're an asshole barely clinging on the edge of being a good person. 

Against the inner voices begging me to turn back, I went straight home.