Mugi Rukio woke up in the sterile room.
The white ceiling greeted him as his head throbbed with a mild headache.
Did he collapse in the changing room?
Rukio looked around and realized he was inside the school infirmary.
The heat of fever inside his body was in contrast with the cool weather outside.
"Tsk..." Rukio clicked his tongue lightly.
It all happened because of his stupid father.
Yesterday wasn't pleasant.
It happened while they were having dinner.
"Ru-chan. How was your practice today?" her mother, Mugi Clara, asked casually.
"Not bad," Rukio's answer was curt.
Being the ex-coach for the all-female volleyball team, Clara was interested in her son's athletic activities. She didn't want her only son to be someone who just shut himself in the room and painted all day, just like his father.
Mugi Clara, English name—Clara Toren—was originally from Sweden. She had always been fond of Japanese culture, and she had stumbled upon the small gallery on her first visit to Japan. There she met an aspiring artist whose paintings she fell in love with. After a few visits and gallery dates, both of them knew that they were meant for each other. That artist was none other than Mugi Rentaro, the man sitting across the table with a stern look on his face. He had the thick brows, wide nose, and the square jaws that depicted his stubbornness. He had a pair of pure black eyes that made most people flinch at his presence.
He didn't give a comment about Rukio's practice. The dinner went quiet again.
Rukio always knew his father didn't like him playing basketball. Rentaro said that the artist's mind should be gentle, serene, and pure.
That's where the true art comes from, he would declare.
His father considered basketball a vulgar sport. To be exact, Mugi Rentaro considered all sports as something that artists shouldn't do. Rukio had already shown talent in painting. Back when they were living in Kyoto, he had snatched multiple awards in art competitions. Drawing was everything he used to do. After they moved here, Rukio spent most of his time at basketball club or near his computer. He consistently painted daily but just not as much as the time before. That upset his father. He thought an artist should dedicate all his free time to it. So, that was one reason.The other reason was that, for an artist, their hands were sacred. The very thought of hurting their hand was a nightmare for them. Basketball is a sport with heavy physical activities. It was only normal for Rentaro to fear for his son.
"Rukio, have you finished the final piece for the upcoming exhibition?" his father spoke for the first time.
Rukio didn't answer right away. He let out a sigh.
He knew he was lacking compared to when he was younger. He still had the undying passion for art, but the world is big. He also wanted to try other things.
"I haven't started it yet," he answered uneasily.
Rentaro's brow knitted into a frown. Anger and disappointment were evident on his face.
He turned his head toward his wife with a glare.
"It's all your fault, Clara," Rentaro said bitterly. "You are spoiling him too much."
His mother's mouth was agape at the sudden accusation. But before Rukio could even defend his mom...
"What did you say?" Clara's tone was sharp. As the volleyball coach who had carried the team of snarky college girls to the nationals, she wasn't someone who would easily tolerate such an accusation.
"Just like I said. You are ruining our son's life. Rukio shouldn't be doing such vulgar things," Rentaro declared. "He should only focus on the art. Thanks to you, he is spending time with good-for-nothings or playing on that stupid computer. All because you pamper him."
Rukio knew his parents well. His father didn't outburst like most dads, but he always made his mother upset with his passive-aggressive comments. On the other hand, his mother was...
"Then, what about you!? You are always spouting about art, art, art. Did you ever think about what Rukio truly wants?"
One thing led to another, and the quiet dinner led to an argument. The next thing he knew, they were shouting at each other.
He always hated when they fought.
Rukio wasn't feeling well. All he wanted was a quiet evening.
He just sat there quietly while his parents threw insults at each other.
Fuck this!
He suddenly stood up.
His parents stopped and looked at him.
"Ru-chan," his mother's voice was already cracking.
Rukio's hand trembled in anger. Rukio wanted to yell. Wanted to say things he didn't mean.
Despite his mother's pleas and his father's insults, he turned around, heading for the door. He grabbed his black hoodie on the rack, slammed the door, and stormed out.
He didn't know what he was thinking. Maybe he just wanted to be away from home. Away from his arguing parents.
He spent the whole night in a small court near the school, playing basketball by himself. Practicing shots. He kept playing despite the rising of his body heat. He played until he tired himself out.The night was cold. And he fell asleep on the bench.
"Mugi-san. Are you okay?"
A sudden voice broke his thoughts. Rukio sat up to see Tachibana Yukari. The outgoing girl in the class. Talkative, confident, and loud, but always acted shy around him.
He had asked her to become manager for their basketball team, and he had already caused trouble on her day one.
"Sorry for the trouble, Tachibana-san," Rukio bowed his head.Yukari's brow knitted as she pouted slightly.
"Come on! What's with that formality? Just call me Yukari," her eyes rolled. It was as if her shy behavior suddenly disappeared.
"Sorry, Yukari-san... I—"
That only seemed to upset her more.
"What's with you! We've known each other for almost a year now. Just call me Yukari. Three words. Yu-Ka-Ri. Okay?"
Rukio couldn't help but chuckle.
"Anyway, how are you feeling? The nurse told you have to rest for three days."
Three days. Rukio's heart fell.
They had the upcoming practice with a famous basketball team the day after tomorrow. There was no way he could have made it in this condition.
He hated it. He always hated his body for giving up when it mattered the most.
At this rate...
"Umm... Mugi-san?"
Rukio looked up and saw Yukari looking at him with worried eyes. To be honest, it reminded him of how his mother looked at him when he was unwell.
Somehow, it felt warm.
"Thank you. I am feeling better now," Rukio said, standing up from the bed.
He was not feeling better, but he didn't want her to worry further.
It was already time to go home. Just how many hours was he sleeping?
"Thank you again for taking care of me, Tachi—uh, I mean Yukari."
Yukari smiled at his slip-out.
"You can also call me Rukio if you want," he continued, scratching his head awkwardly.
"Umm... uh. O-okay," a flash of pink shade ran across Yukari's cheek, getting shy again.
"Then, I will get going," Rukio said with a smile as he walked toward the door.
"W-wait!" Yukari called him.
Rukio turned around. Yukari's eyes were on the floor, avoiding his gaze.
"Yes?"
"I-if possible, do you want to walk home together? Since you collapsed, it is better to go together."Rukio noticed a slight tremble in her voice.
"Sure, why not?"
Yukari's face lit up and she smiled wholeheartedly.
The road was cold, a gentle winter breeze wafted through them.
Achoo
"Are you okay?" Yukari asked worriedly, looking at him. "Did you take the medicines?"
Rukio just nodded. He was not very fond of pills.
They walked in awkward silence. Rukio didn't have the energy to talk.
Yukari seemed aware of that and quietly accompanied him.
The walk was uneventful. Just quiet snow and occasional gentle breezes.
They arrived in front of Rukio's house, a big two-floor apartment adorned with abstract art. The one that stood out in the neighborhood.
"Wow," Yukari muttered. "These are really beautiful arts."
Rukio smiled and nodded.
Yukari looked at the house with admiration.
"My father drew them."
Yes, his father. His stern father who would be sitting in the main room.
Rukio ran a hand through his hair. As much as he wanted to invite her inside, Rukio knew his parents well. They wouldn't want to argue in front of his friends.
But it would be rude not to invite her inside, after she accompanied him all the way to his home.
"Oh... no! I need to help out at the store. Sorry, Rukio-kun. I need to go," Yukari said, looking down at her phone.
"Just Rukio is fine," Rukio said, smiling. "Anyway, thank you for accompanying me, Yukari. Take care on your way."
Rukio looked as Yukari walked past him.
He had to admit. Yukari was indeed beautiful. It would be a lie if he said he was not interested in her. But his heart already belonged to someone else, although she didn't deserve it.
With heavy steps, Rukio walked into the apartment. His body was still warm with fever.
As soon as he stepped into the room, his mother rushed toward him.
"Ru-chan! Where did you go last night!" she yelled, tears in her eyes. "You didn't pick up my calls. And..."
She noticed something abnormal with her son and quickly placed a hand on his forehead.
"My God! You've got a fever. What should we do?! Have you taken medicine? Have you eaten? Let's go to the hospital."
Rukio smiled faintly at his mom. She always worried about him.
He gently placed his hands on her shoulders to calm her down.
"Mom, I am fine. I just need to rest," Rukio assured his mom.
"But... you need to take medicine," the worried Clara tried to protest.
"The nurse already gave me the pill. Don't worry, Mom, I will be fine."
"I will make you warm soup. Drink it and rest, okay?"
Rukio nodded and smiled weakly.
He glanced around the living room. His dad, the famous artist Mugi Rentaro, was nowhere to be seen in the living room.
He didn't bother asking where he was. Probably holed up in his study, painting.
Every step through the spiral ladder was heavy.
The second he stepped into his room, he threw his body onto his bed.
His whole body ached. His brain didn't want to think of anything, but it seemed like his mind wanted him to suffer.
His hands opened the phone, navigated to the message app.
A single digital text amongst the dozens of messages was mocking him.
"Let's break up."
He still couldn't bring himself to reply to that message.
Part of him wanted to go to her. To talk. To beg. To stay with him. To make things right.
Part of him wanted her to suffer. To hate. To forget.
Teruhashi Hanako, the daughter of his father's disciple. A year younger than him. Small, petite, had the smile that could light up his darkest days.
His childhood sweetheart. The girl he loved. The girl who had seen him. Not as the son of a genius artist. Not as the model student. She had seen the true Mugi Rukio.
They had drifted apart when he moved to Tokyo. Now, she wanted to break up abruptly.
Yesterday was bad enough, until he received this message while he was practicing shots in the court.
Rukio's chest tightened.
He mustered enough strength to go to where his computer system was. It loaded up after a few seconds. His mother bought this for him after he became the ace of their basketball team.His cursor slowly dragged across the title that says, "League of Ancients."
Games had always been a big part of his life.
When his mother was busy with national competitions and his father went abroad for art exhibitions, he would spend his whole days playing retro gaming consoles that his grandmother bought for him.
They were always there for him.
After seeing the window that appeared in front of him, Rukio held the urge to just smash the monitor.
Server Maintenance
Why does it have to be today? Of all days. He sighed.
Then he noticed the flash of green light on the bottom corner.
Message from Rei
Yo, Saru. The server under maintenance. They are adding some new events.
I see, he replied.
Wanna pull all-nighter to farm?
Depends
K
Rukio stared at the screen. Rei was his gaming buddy. They didn't even know each other's real names. The reason Rei called him Saru was that his in-game name was Monkey in English.It was just the nickname his mother used to call him since he used to play a lot as a kid. And his character was the Monkey Samurai.
Rukio stood up from the chair.
Sitting still would only worsen his mood.
He neither had the will to sleep nor paint.
Rukio changed out of his uniform and slipped into a hoodie.
Might as well hit the arcade.
He wasn't feeling well, but going to the arcade might lighten his heavy mind.
The arcade wasn't far away from his house. It was worn, small, but not dirty. The only reason it hadn't shut down was because the owner was a passionate hobbyist.
Some say this arcade used to be the most popular one but fell off after computers and game consoles became a thing.
But he liked it. He always liked the vibe the arcade gave. He would always come here with his basketball teammates.
When he entered the arcade, they were not there.
Still not finished with practice, I think.
The arcade was empty. The shopkeeper was smoking in front of the arcade. A guy with messy hair was scooped in the corner, playing a boring card game alone. As usual.
He sat down at the arcade machine near him.
The title "Hardcore Samurai" was displayed on the screen, while intense music played in the background.
This was the hardest game in the arcade. The rules were simple: parry the melee attacks and projectiles thrown at you without missing a split second. If you miss, you lose.
A game of reflex and accuracy.
He was the only one who played this game in this arcade. So the leaderboard was filled with his names and high scores. But he noticed something different today.
The machine only accepted five letters for a name.
Amongst his high scores with the name RUKIO, in second place, there was a different name. An odd one.
00000
Five zeroes. That was all. A CPU score? No.
The last digit ended in 7. All CPU scores end with 0. Did someone play?
He glanced at the guy who was scratching his head at an easy card game.
Yeah. No way.
Rukio cracked his knuckles to get ready and hit the play button.
But he wasn't at his best.
His parents' argument. Missing basketball practice. Hanako's breakup text.
They were on his mind.
The timing was off. And his score wouldn't even reach top 5.
Rukio was frustrated. To make things worse, a chuckle escaped every time he lost. Every time he missed a projectile.
At first, he paid no attention to it. Just ignore the haters.
After a while, he glanced around at the guy with messy hair standing behind him. The guy was watching him play, his hands in his pockets as if he were some pro.
He had seen him somewhere. Wasn't it the guy that's always bothering Yukari? What is he doing here?
He paid no attention and just continued playing. But it couldn't be denied that the constant mocking chuckles bothered him.
But Rukio soon hit the breaking point after a frustrating run.
He had lost to a level 1 boss that was too easy for an experienced player like him.
The guy behind him burst out laughing.
That was it.
Mugi Rukio turned around and grabbed the collar of the guy's shirt.
"What's your problem?!"
The guy looked at him, surprised.
Rukio stared at him, right at the eye.
"If you want to pick a fight, why don't we take it outside?"