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lovehotelreservation · 6 years

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The Get Laid Cafe [1/3]

Summary: With no more fake Olympic gold medals or fancy yakuza briefcases to sell, the disbandment of the Phantom Thieves has been tough on your wallet--and your heart. Thankfully, a gig at one of Tokyo's most popular maid cafe has helped to fill the void in both.

That is, until four of your former fellow Phantom Thieves return home to attempt to convince you to consider a different occupation, if not just different clients.

Namely them.

Rating: PG-13* (Rating will go up to NC-17)

Series Pairing: Akechi/Akira/Reader/Ryuji/Yusuke

Chapter Pairing: Ryuji/Reader/Yusuke

[Part 2]

HELLO EVERYONE.

AND WELCOME TO MY MAGNUM LEWDUS.

Upon returning from a trip to Japan (and getting to marvel at P5′s irl reference for Yongenjaya), needless to say I was feeling extremely inspired to do something for the Phantom Guys--even more than when I finished the game back in spring and wrote out my “Guilty As Charged” series. With all those things considered, I ended up with what would’ve been my longest one-shot at around 18k words, which is quite a feat for me ngl!!!

To make things easier on my best friend and beta-reader and to finally have this out to you all, I decided to split the one-shot up. The entirety of this work is done, but the rest needs to be properly looked over before I go about posting. That said, I absolutely cannot wait to reveal what’s in store for this fic, which I am honestly so proud of and pleased with.

And thus, as always, I sincerely do hope you enjoy this lewd tale of mine! ₍՞◌′ᵕ‵ू◌₎♡

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"If he wants to see you again, he better fork over the yen!"

Such was the company policy of the maid cafe Sheehk Me Out~! you had the utmost pleasure of working for, as per the vision of its owner and your boss Iyayo. Your workplace was notorious for imposing a charge on every single possible action that could be done within the restaurant and beyond. However, rather than this ruin any hopes of making a profit, your cafe had been ranked number 1 in Tokyo for 5 years now.

Surprisingly, this feat wasn't achieved through extra yakuza financial support, but the mere and simple fact that your cafe consistently had the cutest maids in the city and that men were willing to pay anything to even breathe the same air as them.

Your co-workers were utterly thrilled by this desperation, as it often led to receiving a one way ticket to a lap of luxury with every thirsty businessman that came crawling through the door. Though, more often than not, you heard all of the wild, kinky tales that other maids wound up getting into, often for the sake of siphoning every and any possible wallet dry.

Not that you were belittling them for doing so. If that was the choice of your fellow co-workers, then so be it.

You just had a different approach to your job, in that you took your boss's advice to a more extreme level as compared to the other maids: namely how you easily quadrupled your prices once customers got a little too handsy and attached. With the exception of one previous customer, this was your own little standard to work by, a safeguard that weeded out those who couldn't afford you, and those who get offended and storm off.

Aside from standard maid services--referring to clients as "master," preparing omurice, decorating Polaroid pictures of yourself--sweet talk, hugs, and kisses to the cheek were fine, but once you were getting requests for your phone number and offers to join your client in bed, you were then demanding mortgage and tuition payments.

Which, as noted in cutesy handwriting on the chalkboard sign that hung above the cashier area, was completely allowed by your cafe's policies.

In the scope of things, surely times have certainly changed since your Phantom Thief days, even if you were adamant to maintain and cherish the idea of being intimate with someone you loved most.

Though, for you, “someone” came in the form of four men who were no longer in Tokyo.

You were filled with a sense of contentment at the thought of a spiky-haired blonde running track at Osaka University with a cocky grin on his face while a blue-haired young man was aweing all the art professors at Kanazawa College of Art with his outlandishly elegant masterpieces. Without question, you knew the Japanese exchange student studying Western law at Oxford University was leaving everyone charmed, whereas the one who was attending Paris-Sorbonne University was exploring cafes and coffee shops during his breaks between classes.

While you missed each of them so much, the most important aspect of their absence was that they were left unaware of the job you had taken up since starting college, your tuition the main reason you decided to don the maid uniform.

And because you needed a distraction to keep your mind off of their absences.

You could already imagine their astonished uproar should they ever find about your new job. Yusuke would probably try to reason with you while Ryuji would come bursting through the cafe entrance and make a fuss to get you to quit. Not to say that Akechi and Akira wouldn’t also attempt to persuade you to take up another job, but knowing them, they'd have some elaborate form of sabotage up their sleeves.

The only ones who knew about and who you could confide in about your newfound employment were Ann, Makoto, Haru, and Futaba, with all of them still residing and studying in Tokyo.

For the most part, you received the support of the girls. Understandably so, however, Makoto was wary of your job at first, given with what happened with Eiko. However, when you told her how strict and uncompromising you were while remaining successful--even showing off the sizeable stack of tips that you earned over a single weekend--she was eventually put at ease.

Ann was proud of your hustle while Haru was pleased by the way you had your clients begging for the privilege to even eat out of your hand. Amidst working her way through high school, Futaba was eager to be your confidant, scoping out current trends in the maid cafe scene, from what kind of themes and actions were most popular to any fluctuations in target demographics among your customers.

Though your girls were happy to support you in any way they could--whether by acting as your customers when you were expecting some unruly regulars, or hearing you vent about the entitlement that some clients had towards you--it was Futaba who regularly assisted you with being a more effective and profitable maid.

However.

Unfortunately so.

Futaba was also the person who accidentally revealed your maid gig to Akira while he was confirming his return flight back to Tokyo for summer break.

So it came to be when you were working through a slow shift that Ryuji and Yusuke came bursting through the entrance.

It was a miracle that your tray of dirty plates and glasses didn’t fall and shatter on the ground.

Since Akira--along with Akechi--wasn't due back in Japan for another couple days, there was little surprise that he would reach out to Ryuji and Yusuke to check on you, as both were a mere shinkansen ride away from Tokyo.

As horrified as you were to see them, you were quick to notice that the two's widened gazes--whether boldly intentional or shyly not--were lingering upon and ogling you while you remained fully dressed in your cutesy maid attire. Considering that it was summer and you spent most of early afternoon outside to hand out fliers, you weren't wearing your white stockings, leaving your legs exposed.

You could see redness blossom and spread across Yusuke's pale cheeks while Ryuji's mouth was agape with shock and a hint of drool.

However, remembering that they were both here on a mission that was involving you, the blonde immediately wiped at his mouth, preparing to finally demand some answers.

Which you took as the cue to request your lunch break.

Though your day up until now was slow--thus making it easier for you to suddenly step out from your shift--the way you grabbed onto both Yusuke's and Ryuji's arms to quickly drag them back outside to the quaint, little garden space that was meant to be a break area for all the maids was anything but. The cutesy decor of the patio seating seemed to emphasize the awkward tension that hung in the air, and you still wearing your uniform didn't help either.

You released their arms, taking a step ahead of them. Reluctant didn't even begin to describe how unwilling you were to face them. However, knowing they wouldn't leave without having a word with you, your heels spun as you feigned cheerful confidence.

"Ryuji, Yusuke! Long time no see!" You chirped while clasping your hands tightly together, else risk having them wring together out of nervousness. "Didn't expect to see you two so soon."

The solemn discomfort on Yusuke's face while Ryuji attempted to keep composure told you exactly how this conversation was going to proceed.

You watched as the latter's arms quickly shot out, waving around in a wild, over-the-top gesture towards your body, all while his cheeks became burning red--whether out of anger or embarrassment, you could not tell. "And we didn't expect to see you like this! What's-- What's up with the maid get-up?!"

Though you groaned internally, you sighed out loud with exasperation while you attempted to remain unfazed, even if this exact reaction was what you had been dreading to possibly face one day. "My work uniform, Ryuji. That's all."

"'That's all?!'" Ryuji repeated incredulously, his eyes wide while they stared at you with disbelief. "We leave Tokyo for a semester and suddenly you're a cutesy maid now?! And you didn't even tell us?!"

Yusuke cleared his throat, his eyebrow lifting while he shot the blonde a look. "Honestly, I'm rather surprised you're acting this way, considering how much I've heard about that--what was it--that maid stakeout you did with Akira and that Mishima fellow, no?"

Now Ryuji's ears were red while his head snapped towards Yusuke. "That was high school and with a… stranger. This is college, this is our friend--there's a lot more at stake here, dude!" Huffing, his arms immediately folded across his chest, all the while maintaining a defensive front. "And don't act like I'm being too over the top about this! You were the one who ditched the night bus to hop onto a goddamn shinkansen to get back to Tokyo! That shit ain't cheap neither!"

Yusuke's collectedness broke, soon fumbling for anything to say in response.

Your inner despair deepened. Knowing Yusuke's frugal ways, for him to be so impulsive as to buy a last minute shinkansen ticket spoke and declared volumes of how affected he was by the news of your maid gig.

If these two were worked up to this degree, you only dreaded to soon have to be confronted by Akechi and Akira.

Admittedly though, it felt nice to have them worry and be this concerned about you. It brought back memories of whenever you were injured or put in peril while in the Metaverse, with any and all of the four taking immediate action to keep you safe and protected.

"You..." Yusuke began with a sigh, while his hand pressed against the side of his face, his head lowering in defeat, "You're not wrong, Ryuji..." His voice trailed off, as did his eyes while he looked towards you once again. Your name was uttered, all while his expression was that of apprehension, "You know that, while I would usually refrain from being too invasive, I..." Eyes shutting, his eyebrows furrowed together while he recalled back to when he heard the news. "I...I must admit that I was rather taken aback to hear from Akira about your new occupation."

While it was clear that he was concerned, his eyes opened once more as he thought back to the other emotion that he felt upon that announcement, his tone admonishing yet slightly wounded, "Or rather, the occupation that you've apparently been keeping a secret since near the beginning of the school year."

The guilt currently weighing on your shoulders became more burdensome.

Still, you maintained your composure as you obliged him and Ryuji with an explanation regarding why and how you were led to this job. Your college tuition needed to be paid off in some way--while still granting you enough funds for other bills, rent, and necessities, as well as leisure purposes--and there just so happened to be a job opening at the already popular maid cafe. With the hushed, giggly murmurs you heard from female classmates who snagged a job, it seemed to be a worthwhile position to take up.

Though, by Yusuke's and Ryuji's expressions, neither looked to be at ease just yet. If anything, they--having heard similar stories from classmates from mere observation--only grew more concerned as the job testimonies they witnessed usually involved a fellow student delighting herself in unsavory activities for extra yen.

Hence was why you were quick to add and explain the benefits to working the maid cafe job, especially one with such a rigid pricing policy. With the same reasoning you provided to Makoto, you emphasized that not only were you making even more money, but you were doing so without literally getting your hands dirty--despite that you playing extremely hard to get made you more of a desired candidate.

However, you couldn't quite get yourself to confess--nor would you ever--how you took up the maid gig to fill in the void that you wished to have filled by the two of them, along with Akira and Akechi, one that only grew once the four departed Tokyo to their respective colleges.

For the time spent with them as Phantom Thieves, you were sure that you would have eventually developed a Palace. By focusing your attention and offering your affection--however feigned it may be--to others, you felt that doing so helped stave away your desires, as you were too busy being huffy and annoyed over strangers who received your 'love' rather than feel heartbroken over remaining undecided over who to give it to, let alone have it be reciprocated in the first place.

The goofball troublemaker with a wandering eye that could never settle on one person, the eccentric artist whose heart was taken by the arts, the charming Detective Prince and his army of ever devoted fans, and the quiet but mischievous former leader of the Phantom Thieves.

Somehow, you harbored an abundance of love for each of them to take, knowing fully well how foolish and greedy you were being.

It was better to simply cherish your Phantom Thief days rather than expect anything more beyond friendship.

Even if, by the end of your explanation, Ryuji and Yusuke had yet to ease their concerned expressions, both protective with one being fierce in nature while the other was anxiousness.

The former's arms were folded across his chest, his head tilted slightly to the side while his eyes squinted, still not quite convinced. "So...this is all a money thing, right? But in a totally safe way, right?" His voice became tight as he continued, the thought making his hands clench and blood boil. "There ain't any dudes that are being gross and crossing the boundaries with you, right? 'Cause I'm gonna need some fuckin' names and addresses if that's the case!"

You drew up your hands in a defensive gesture, motioning for him to calm down, matched by your reassuring tone, "Ryuji, it's fine." Cracking a reassuring smile, you added, "I intimidate too many guys with my prices anyway, especially if they're being creeps."

"But what about those fuckers that can't ever take no for an answer and have the money to back it up? What do you then?" He went on, teeth gritting the more he imagined some persistent customer trying his damnedest to have your time.

"Then I'll just keep upping the price until they think of me as too much of a hassle to have," you responded, conveying your sincerity as that usually was what occurred. However, neither Ryuji nor Yusuke looked convinced--with ease, they could foresee someone absolutely not caring about your prices and becoming more aggressive to buy you over.

With a sigh, you continued, "Listen, I...I find a way around it, okay?" Your shoulders lifted in a shrug. "I know I can't control what kind of paying customers I end up dealing with, but I still have quotas to meet every month, so I can't be denying every patron that weirds me out--not immediately, at least." A sheepish smile tugged at your mouth. "It is what it is."

The two shared a look before they processed your words on their own. Ryuji's hands fell to his hips, his eyes shutting close while he tapped his foot, his expression that of frustration. Yusuke looked far more perplexed and conflicted, his eyebrows furrowing while he rested a finger to his chin, wondering just how to go about this situation.

"I mean you're not wrong but...Can't you..." Ryuji sounded defeated as he sighed, eyes opening to stare at you pleadingly wearily, "Can't you just go for a job that pays just as well but doesn't put you in the spotlight for a bunch of gross fucks?"

You shook your head, offering him an apologetic smile. "There's nothing in Tokyo that is as flexible with my school schedule and pays off my tuition as well as this place."

"In that case, then why don't we be your customers then?"

Stunned, you and Ryuji immediately turned towards Yusuke.

"Dude, you for real?!" Ryuji exclaimed, his jaw slack for a moment before it tightened up as a wide, toothy grin broke onto his features. "That's...that's actually not the worst idea that your weird ass has ever brought up!"

Yusuke shot him a glare, the only thing he would note regarding his friend's words before he faced you with a softer and compassionate expression. "As you would know, I understand the severity of maintaining a decent livelihood with little money like nothing else. Still, I just cannot help but remain worried over you."

He breathed out your name, "I trust you, really, I do. And I cherish the bond that we've formed. However..." His gentle tone became tinged with apprehension, the look on his face twisting as he too thought of guests being unruly with you, "I cannot say the same for your patrons, however well-intentioned they may appear. If being your patron means you can still be paid while protected by someone such as myself or the others, then I will gladly oblige."

"Yu...Yusuke," you gasped, astonished by his and Ryuji's display of concern and protectiveness for you, your heart set aflutter. The sensation of desire--platonic, as you interpreted it--brought forth a sense of bliss.

And yet, you couldn't help but feel as though you must decline.

Though the smile on his face was warm and gentle, the glint that soon formed in his eyes becoming increasingly fiery with passion, his gaze emboldened as he looked you over. More than once, more than twice, as though to take in and imprint you in his memory as much as possible.

"To be quite honest with you, seeing you like this I...I feel so..." The hand on his chin moved, his fingers pressing over his lips while heat rushed to his face in dizzying excitement, "...so genuinely inspired to create a piece on sensuality--as if I could finish it in a day!"

Suddenly, the congratulatory look on Ryuji's face soured into one of exasperated annoyance. "Ugh, here we fuckin' go..."

One of your hands was taken into both of his with urgency. You wanted to admire feeling the warm softness that enveloped your skin, somehow resisting the callousness that only a life dedicated to art would cause.

Earnestly, Yusuke peered into your eyes with his, an eager yet hopeful look displayed on his features. "If you don't mind, then perhaps after your shift, you can come to my place and be my model--in your uniform, if you would. Honestly, the more I look at you, the more I feel so capable of finishing within a night--"

"Yusuke."

You found yourself uttering his name in such a quick, sharp tone that caught you and the two young men by surprise.

But considering and knowing what Yusuke was trying to propose, you had to decline.

After all, the point of your maid job was to have a means to preoccupy your thoughts in lieu of not having all four to yourself--both physically and emotionally. You spent months crafting this special 'affection' to give to your customers, based off of what you wished to freely offer to your crushes.

If the likes of Ryuji, Yusuke, Akechi, and/or Akira were to delve and interact with your other self, then you would have no remedy for the inevitable ache of them leaving again for school, a reminder of how the affection you shared was by transaction and by them supporting you as a friend.

You had to keep them at bay.

You had to keep them from seeing the secrets tucked away in your heart.

Though necessary for these reasons, your actions would be a mystifying moment in future recollection.

You didn't know if it was impulse from all the time spent working under Iyayo's money-gouging influence, or out of you trying to protect yourself from getting to attached to Yusuke while lamenting over your desires for Ryuji, Akira, and Akechi, but you soon found yourself looking directly into his eyes while blurting out the firm response of,

"Sorry Yusuke, I know we're friends and all, but if I'm going to be taking time to be posing for you, I have to get paid."

The air abruptly grew tense, with the stunned gasp let out by Yusuke and the aghast "Ooooo!" from Ryuji, whose eyes grew wide while he covered his open mouth with his fist.

While you wished to have not incited such a reaction, you refused to let yourself lose momentum. Much like you did in the Metaverse, once you exploited a weakness in your foe, you would seize the opportunity to keep forward without hesitation.

Even while your heart raced anxiously amidst your rebuttal, you lifted your shoulders in a shrug, an attempt to play off your refusal. "Not to say that I don't want to hang out, but I know at least 6 neets who'd give me their life savings if I just batted my eyelashes at them while wearing my maid outfit. My maid gig is what's keeping me going, but I prefer to keep my job and personal life separate--I just can't be doing special favors like that."

Yusuke looked paler than usual, his statuesque composure crumbling by the weighted swing of rejection. "But...my inspiration...!" He took a shaky step back, his arm half-raised in anguished disbelief.

There was suddenly a hand on his shoulder, which turn to a grinning Ryuji slinking an arm around his neck. "Yeah dude, but don't you know that money talks?"

While Yusuke's posture became slumped while sulking, Ryuji boasted a sudden air of confidence after seeing the opportunity here stood to be beneficial for both you and himself. Sweetly chirping out your name, he remarked, "Listen, help me help you, alright? Gimme a nice, little discount and I'll be happy to give you some spending money--"

"Sorry Ryuji. No discounts."

You shrugged.

Yusuke was released.

Ryuji was literally up in arms. Again.

Arms flailing about dramatically, he squawked with wide eyes, "No discounts?! Not even for friendship, former high school classmates, or old Phantom Thieves?! None?! I thought we were close!"

Smiling sheepishly, you reassured in a soft coo, "Of course we're close, Ryuji. But I just really like the money I've been getting, okay? I have at least four regulars who actually beg me to charge them more. It's quite fascinating to see."

"B-But...! That's...! All for one and one for all and that shit...!" Ryuji was at an utter loss for words, stumbling over his words more than he did on hurdles back during his track days when he and his teammates purposefully made themselves dizzy before running drills for their own stupid teenaged amusement.

Yusuke didn't have anything to say in response, still much too defeated from your rejection to even find comfort in witnessing Ryuji get denied.

As for you, your chest was still feeling tight with anxiousness, as everything seemed to be going your way, as painful as it was. However, not to fall back now, a hand moved to your hips as you hummed, "Now that I've explained everything, if you and Yusuke are done here, go along now and shoo." You gestured this with your fingers as you smiled teasingly. "Haru and Ann are planning an Ibiza trip for later this summer, and I need to get back to work and get some souvenir money!"

Ryuji wasn't having it.

"Why...Why the hell're you pushing us away all of a sudden?!" His words were bombastic, thundering in tone. As upset as he appeared, his voice also held a wounded edge. "We're just trying to help you out since you're so set on working this job! Did we do something to you because--shit...!" You noticed one of his hands curl up into a fist, which in turn moved to suddenly wipe at his flushed cheek. "And here I was all excited to see you again!"

You felt something within you twist painfully. Did you actually rile him up to the point that he was tearing up?

"That's enough, Ryuji."

So sudden, so smooth, like the blade of his katana during battle, Yusuke finally spoke up at last. Placing a hand on Ryuji's shoulder, he looked at him warningly, his eyes narrowed as though to admonish. "We must respect the decision of our friend..." Though having regained his composure, he sighed while his gaze softened with disappointment as they shifted back to you, "...even if we cannot fully comprehend the reasoning."

Your ache furthered.

"If you would excuse us," Yusuke murmured out your name while lowering his head slightly. As his eyes looked into yours yet again, he smiled gently, even if you could tell it was strained. "Until next time. I insist that we spend time together during this summer--truly, what I anticipated most upon my return was spending time with you once more."

Ryuji rubbed the back of his head, his gaze glancing to the side as he mumbled, "Yeah...see ya' around..." Ruffling his short, choppy blonde hair, he sighed before huffing, "I meant what I said, okay? I really wanna hang out with you." His lips fixing into a pout, he added, "Don't be too busy that we can't do just that, alright? Or I'm soliciting here-- Dude, wha--?!"

With Yusuke's hand clawing into his shoulder, Ryuji flailed as he was dragged along, scolded with the hushed grumble of "Do not make things worse for us! How else will we...?" Their voices trailed off as they left, leaving you alone.

Again.

Even if it was self-imposed.

Though you remained steadfast in your actions just now, it wasn't as though you felt better. But you kept Yusuke and Ryuji from getting tangled in your escapism, which was necessary for your own continued emotional wellbeing.

Albeit, it came at the cost of a reunion that left a bitter taste on your mouth. Though it had been a plausible outcome that you once thought over, it didn’t lessen the ache of actually experiencing it.

In consideration of that however...

You slumped onto one of the cutesy ornate benches, your face in your hands.

You'd certainly end up having a repeat of this once Akechi and Akira inevitably come to confront you.

And unsurprisingly, it did not take long for that to occur.

#yusuke kitagawa #ryuji sakamoto #persona 5 #reader insert #the get laid cafe #fic #management will return in a queue minutes

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gabriel-gabdiel · 4 years

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【Draft】 Fantasy of Evolution Chapter 2: The Dream Journal of a Wimpy Kid

Second chapter draft of my original work. Having no line breaks suck.

Florante walked outside the gates of Fatima School, his head in the clouds. Dark, nimbus clouds with scattered rain showers and thunderstorms followed him.

He must've blacked out earlier. What had just happened?

Everything was quiet. The whole school was a wreck. Did he get caught in a typhoon and only woke up just now to realize it, when everyone else had already evacuated?

His gut felt like it was on fire. His head, or perhaps his brain, throbbed like a second palpitating heart that beat in conjunction with his actual heart.

He hadn't the foggiest idea.

He looked at his hands. They were stained with blood.

Shit. What happened?! Was it his blood that...?

He then heard a voice say, "I found you. You naughty little devil."

The apparition of a beautiful girl with long, flowing hair and immaculate blue wings emerged from the rain and mist. He asked her, "Who are you?!"

As she stared at Florante with an unreadable expression, she whispered, "Archangel Raphael," which made him remember the comic books he drew about the four archangels.

Who was she? Why was her face familiar? She was so gorgeous.

She reminded him of Laura Reyes.

"This is the end of the line for you. I won't let you hurt anyone else, Flor."

Wait. She knew him?

Also, Laura. She looked like Laura! The same Laura that he had just... had just...!

Damn it.

"Prepare to die," she said.

It all came back to him in an instant.

***

Fantasy of Evolution

An Urban Fantasy Story by Abdiel

When dreams became nightmares.

Disclaimer: This work may reference copyrighted material, the use of which has not always been specifically authorized by the copyright owner. It is believed that this constitutes a fair use of any such copyrighted material as provided for in section 107 of the US Copyright Law. All copyrighted material referred to in this work belongs to their respective owners. All rights reserved.

***

Chapter 2: The Dream Journal of a Wimpy Kid

***

The summer before his first day at Fatima High School, Florante Galang actually read through the book, "How to Win Friends and Influence People" by Dale Carnegie after making a pariah of himself back in his old school.

His high school days were going to be much different from his lonely grade school days, when no one his age would talk to him and only people a year or two younger than him tolerated his presence.

The night before, he tried remembering the advice given to him by the book that included tip such as "Don't criticize, condemn or complain," "Give honest and sincere appreciation," and "Arouse in the other person an eager want."

He tried some of the tips on his own family, like his mother, but he must've missed a chapter or two. It didn't work. Or rather, his attempts at "Get the other person saying 'yes, yes' immediately," and "Ask questions instead of direct orders," led to yet another misunderstanding that led to him getting punished. Again.

A flying footwear to the head, to be exact. She also said something about him talking back to his parents and being disrespectful.

Or maybe he should consider the self-help book's advice less as a surefire way to manipulate his mother to say yes to her increasing his allowance and more like helpful tips to make himself more appealing to people.

If used correctly, of course.

He did his memorization and "studying" of the self-help book in his bedroom located on the east portion of their abode, with the facade and front yard of their bungalow facing north and his parents' bedroom at the southwest portion.

He used to share his room with his two older sisters but they soon moved to their own rooms as they got enough money to expand their home.

It was a familiar room that belonged to him exclusively around Grade 5 to 7. He couldn't remember. The linoleum floor, the cream walls, the gray ceiling with discolored tiled patterns on it where the beams supporting them were supposed to be, and the red curtains were all part of his childhood.

The Galangs' humble abode originally had two bedrooms, one bathroom, a kitchen, and barely a garden plus a plot of undeveloped land with pebbles and other smooth stones over it.

This below sea level part of their property was then slowly filled up with land so that the whole house would rise above the street, leading the construction of a second part of the home with two more bedrooms and an extra bathroom as well as a garage for the family car.

With the money his mother earned from their short-lived stint with selling goods through a "sari-sari" store and she got from her parents (his grandparents) on top of the ones she saved from his father's engineer work, they were able to invest in half a house and turn it into a full house, so to speak.

The most notable changes on the bedroom was how it once had two beds but now it only had one bed. The mirror still had the "Santo Niño" statue there, which he never looked at directly because it gave him the creeps. However, he would never admit it to his prayerful family.

Regardless, he attempted memorizing and taking to heart many of the lessons the book could offer him, but like any other 14-year-old boy his short attention span ended up his downfall.

He skipped, scanned, and skimmed through many of the pages of anecdotes and stories in order to find something he could use. He only really wanted the book to help him with his social anxiety and to turn a new leaf.

All of that was for naught, of course. His nightmarish bullying in grade school only got worse in high school.

One morning in Fatima High, chaos ensued. All hell broke loose.

His head in the clouds, Florante Galang "sleepwalked" into the school, his every step practically gliding through the road, swift as the gale wind, his fingertips emanating sparks and crackles of electrical might.

It was like something out of a movie.

He maneuvered through the heavy traffic jam of the road like a motorcycle delivery man in a hurry, moving through every nook and cranny with the grace of a swan and the aggressiveness of a duck. Unnoticed by the cars, vans, jeepneys, and trucks around him.

For whatever reason, he ended up with superpowers right off of a superhero comic.

It was just a dream, after all.

In this dream, anything is possible, including gaining powers like those of angels, demons, and gods, thus allowing him to wreak havoc on his most hated high school.

Instead of stopping crime or saving people, he did the exact opposite upon his discovery of his abilities. He instead committed crime and damned everyone in his path.

He idly wondered why in comics and manga, the hero with superpowers almost always ended up becoming vigilantes or supernatural policemen. It was more realistic for them to do what he was doing now, as though he'd just won the lottery and he was about to splurge on the nearest sports car or mansion.

His list of bullies remained fresh in his mind. His nightmare scenario had become their nightmare scenario. The resident timid freak, "quiet kid", and communal punching bag could now punch back.

One thing came to his mind as he approached Fatima High.

'I have been abused all my life to the point where I don't trust humans.'

Unbeknownst to the people inside the school, he'd been testing his powers elsewhere, with him appearing like some sort of cyclone or tornado as he blasted through rivers and old buildings with his newfound abilities.

He couldn't wait to test them out on actual humans. Fragile, squishy humans.

Because of how unbelievable everything was, he presumed it was all a dream. A blurry fantasy borne out of his frustration from being rejected by his classmates and seemingly the entire school campus.

He stopped mid-stride. Before him was a familiar face.

It was the face of Jennifer "Jenny" Tolentino. She was a petite, small-breasted, intelligent, talkative, and capable girl who was one of the first students to befriend Florante.

The only girl who was kind to him.

"'Sup, Flor. You're here early. Whatcha up to?" the bespectacled girl asked with an inquisitive head tilt. "You look like you're in a hurry."

Florante smiled and chuckled. Although he still hated that girly nickname his classmates gave him, he nevertheless told her, "You're an okay gal, Jenny. Don't go to school today. For your own good."

"W-What do you mean by tha...? HEY!" she asked, but in the blink of an eye he was gone.

His power fantasy was about to begin.

Beyond the entrance gates of Fatima School, past the concrete quadrangle and basketball courts of the grade school campus and right into the high school one stood the girl of his dreams who turned his life into a nightmare.

Her hair danced from the gale wind he himself produced, like a proud brunette flag at full mast. Her slim arms showed some muscle definition but not in a bodybuilder type of way.

The beautiful girl who rejected him over a misunderstanding. The gorgeous young woman who ruined his social life in Fatima High.

Her perfectly symmetrical face had a gentle look to it. Or it did until she saw him.

There she was. Laura Reyes.

His first crush in high school. The one who ultimately rejected him.

She was a fit girl with sturdy legs and a wide, unabashed smile as she talked to several of their classmates. Her hourglass figure created the perfect feminine silhouette as she turned towards him.

He intended to spare her from his power fantasy rampage since he really did like her a lot. Before their friendship crumbled to dust with his accidental social suicide, they got along fine.

They weren't close friends but they could talk to each other.

Just as he was about to move past her though, she flinched at him and gave her a look of contempt.

"Stay away from me, you creep."

Florante snapped then and there, his body surging with electrical might that coursed through his crush's veins, electrocuting her to death.

He didn't go so far as to fry her to toast because it'd be a shame to see such a cute girl turn to ash or dust, but his angry outburst of power did kill her.

He hesitated after seeing the girl with fair skin and an angelic body wilt like a flower and fall like velvet unto the grassy ground of the soccer field, unmoving.

Beautiful in death as she was in life. She fell with the same grace as Evelyn Francis McHale did. The depressed woman who jumped from the Empire State Building on May 1, 1947, landing on a car roof.

Both appeared like they were resting or napping instead of dead, stuck in an idle daydream.

The boy beside her, a friend of hers from another section whose name eluded Florante, screamed and attacked him on instinct, even though he himself had trouble recognizing what had just happened.

Galang reacted thusly, shooting his attacker with twice the amount of electricity than he shot Laura, intending to fry him to ash.

The kid crumpled into a ball after Florante moved forward and punched him on the side, breaking his ribs. Perhaps also his spine. He soon lay motionless on the grass beside Laura.

Before he could finish him off, he heard gasps, screams, and murmurs from everyone who witnessed his crime.

What was he doing? Should he be doing this? Wasn't this wrong of him to do this? Should he stop? Turn himself in?

He gulped, exhaled, and heard a whistle from his breath. His asthma was acting up again. How ironic for an asthmatic like him to suddenly have wind powers.

He reassured himself that it was just a dream. Perhaps a lucid dream, but still just a dream. An illusion or perhaps delusion. A fantasy of him evolving and maturing.

His power fantasy.

His felt his body feel grow warmer and warmer, reaching a fever pitch as a cyclone or tornado formed around him. The clouds darkened above, the winds blowing seemingly from around him reshaping the sky, turning morning to seeming midnight.

A boy suddenly gaining superpowers from out of the blue to take revenge on his bullies? Surely this was the dream of an idle mind, regardless of whether he made it up during nighttime slumber or while daydreaming in his boring math class.

With that in mind, he indulged, laughing as he experimented upon the nearest of the students with his crackling lighting bolts and energy projectiles.

When he took control of the energy flowing though him, he could make his electrical powers shock the nervous systems of the surrounding students to the point of making them jump back like frightened cats or spooked frogs.

It was amusing in a darkly humorous sort of way.

He kept on moving forward, recalling his list of bullies in his mind.

Starting with the kids Laura was hanging out with. The popular kids.

Like Danny Malicdem. Florante chanced upon him walking down the stairs to where the first floor classrooms were.

Galang remembered Malicdem as his classmate who first teased him about his obvious crush with Laura right in front of her in the lunchroom, which led to her to talk to him less, thinking their every encounter had a hidden agenda on his part.

He was also the guy who suggested Florante draw Laura then lied to her about him drawing her in the nude. He was drawing her body first before putting on her clothes, dammit!

Florante wasn't as careful with using his powers on Danny as he was with Laura. He shot him full force with his energy bolt full of presumably millions of volts of electricity, turning him into a shadow on the pavement while the rest of the projectile exploded right through one of the nearby pillars like a bomb.

Like one of the victims of the Atomic Bomb, in fact.

Galang kept walking towards the inside of the building while various students ran away from him, not understanding how he was doing what he was doing.

In the hallway, as he walked with murderous intent, he then saw Mr. Neil Nepomuceno. Their social studies teacher who humiliated him in front of the class, shouting, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"

The teacher cried out pretty much the same thing before hollering out his catchphrase of, "Caramba!" and turning into a grotesque splatter of guts, gore, and giblets on the wall care of a careless yet supernaturally strong backhand.

Damn. He didn't know his own strength.

Galang couldn't even look at the mess that used to be Mr. Nepomuceno.

The school was in a panic. They had kids under the table. Screaming teachers. Security guards with guns shooting at Florante, but he blew them (literally) away without a second thought.

It was frighteningly easy to kill people his dream. He had to hold back a little bit. Savor the moment.

'Susmaryosep, I sure am screwed up.'

He went up the stairs, sparing several of his classmates he recognized but had no quarrel over. Forgiving them for laughing at the jokes of his bullies and targeting his bullies instead.

Was he not a Merciful God? An Angel of Mercy and Divine Retribution?

He then caught up with Kyle Hernandez inside the computer room, who sat on a chair across a long table. The same guy who had been tag-teaming with Geronimo "Gerry" Jacinto to jeer and humiliate him at every turn.

This culminated to him playing a practical joke on Florante during the flag ceremony. The sections were lined up by height in front of the Philippine flag every Monday.

One Monday, Hernandez and many of Florante's classmates lined up from only one line, leaving the line where Galang was much shorter and only about 5-6 people long.

"Hey, Flor. What's going on outside? Is there a storm? Are classes canceled?" Kyle asked Florante, who didn't respond as he approached him with malice.

Bristling in remembrance of that humiliating prank, Florante turned a lightning bolt into a laser sword and cut Kyle in half by the chest down, with one half of him shorter than the other like the lines he made that day.

He moved further down the second floor hallway right into the middle stairs. He heard more screams and the stampede of leather shoes. He silenced them by firing more bolts of energy across the open yard right on the balcony of the second floor hallway.

He then fired off missiles of light from all ten of his fingertips into the classrooms to his left, resulting in debris, pieces of plaster and concrete, and flaming wooden shards to shower all over him.

As the smoke cleared, he made a beeline to the final flight of stairs to get to the third floor library.

He practically flew through the steps, remembering how one of his bullies actually fell back and hit him with his buttocks to the face while the rest of his posse yucked it up.

Those bastards. Make a fool of him, would they? He'd show them. He'd show them all!

He burst through the library's double doors so hard they flew right off of their hinges.

He targeted more of his freshmen classmates, specifically the ones who teased and bullied him while he mostly shocked and flung like rag dolls anyone else that got in his way.

Many of the students were wise enough to stay back, hide, or run away from him.

Alas, the more his power grew the more he couldn't control it. There was bound to be some collateral damage here and there. He honestly didn't know his own strength. Not at this point.

There they were. The people who regularly appeared on his "snitch list" to teachers so that they'd stop bothering him but they found ways to mess with him regardless.

Steven Catimbang. Sheila Bernal. Isaiah Cuevas. Matthew Lim. Regina Mariano.

Florante spotted them before they went and hid in the computer section of the library or tried to blend in with the rest of the fleeing crowd of students.

Steven was the one who pulled the butt-to-the-face prank on him.

He found Steven at the computer table as he was about to hide under it. Galang shot Catimbang in time with a bolt to the posterior, destroying the lower half of his body and leaving the upper half crawling in the floor, crying blood and begging for his life (even though it was too late for him).

This was seriously fucked up. Goddamn.

As for Sheila, he found her under another table of the library. She was the girl from another section who, as his section of boys packed up from their swimming class for P.E. (gender separated), jeered at him and his lack of a bulge on his swimming trunks.

He was jeered relentlessly by his classmates for months after that remark regarding his manhood.

He asked Bernal if she remembered the swimming pool incident, and she just stared blankly at him. "W-Who are you...? Pl-Please, don't kill me! I'll do anything...!"

She didn't even remember him.

Seeing how big of mouth she had, he decided to suck the air from out of her, vacuuming it right out of her mouth until she suffocated. He instantly regretted it after seeing the horrified face she made and the purple tinge of her whole body.

He moved on, his head throbbing and his finger twitching with static and sparks.

As for Isaiah Pascual, he tried scampering towards the window, but Galang caught him by the collar. "I don't know how you're doing this, bro, but we're friends, right? I always talked to you!"

Florante replied, "You abandoned me when I needed you the most. I tried to fit in with you and your group, but you were always so distant."

Pascual kicked Galang by the groin and attempted to run away, jeering, "Yeah, right! Like I'd ever be friends with...!" only to be cut off with his head exploding from one of Florante's light bullets.

"...Yeah. Why'd I ever delude myself into thinking you were my friend?" Florante felt something warm drip on his face. It was Pascual's blood.

He resisted the urge to hurl, looking away at the mess he made of his traitor of a friend.

Matthew Lim even cried out, "Leave me alone! I never did anything to you, Flor!" before Florante reminded him, "You made fun of my accent when speaking English. You told people about how when I talked to them, I couldn't stare them in the eye."

"Th-That's it? Dude, we barely even talk or interact! It was Jacinto! Gerry's the one who's always messing with you, man...!"

He turned Lim into a mangled mess by shooting the ceiling and letting debris fall on him. He turned away before the smoke from the wreckage cleared as soon as he the blood pool from underneath the rubble.

Then there was Regina Mariano. She once compared him to a boy with fetal alcohol syndrome found on their pamphlet about how drugs and alcohol could affect people's lives.

He hated the teasing she caused then. But he could barely look her in the eyes now, and it wasn't because of his social anxiety.

No. Right now, she looked up at him with tears in her eyes, saying over and over, "I'm sorry. Please don't hurt me."

He then asked, "Do you believe in God?"

This made her cry harder, not knowing what to say except, "I'm so sorry!" over and over.

He decided to give her a quicker, painless death than the rest, ramping up his gathered chi energy or whatever and releasing a beam of light that turned her to ash. The entire building shuddered from the impact of his forceful will.

...At least it was all a dream. Right?

A fantasy he could use to vent in a harmless way, with him not actually hurting anyone.

Not recognizing the rest of the faces hiding under the tables and the rubble, he walked out of the library (or what was left of it) in a daze.

He stared back at his cracked reflection on the glass divider of the computer section of the library. All he could see was a shadowy silhouette of a man with shining blue eyes, like a cornered animal at dusk.

Was that everyone? No, wait. He still had a few more people to scratch off of his list of bullies.

He walked across the soccer field straight to the gym where they had their P.E. classes.

From the roar of the winds, he could idly hear what he surmised as Mrs. Mancenido, crying out for him to stop. Recognizing who he was.

'Sorry, ma'am,' he apologized to her in his mind. It was too late for him.

Good thing this was all a dream though.

He jumped and crashed right into the third floor basketball court that doubled as a volleyball court.

It was mostly empty. The students probably caught wind of what he was doing, even though it was hard to believe or imagine him having the otherworldly powers necessary for this massacre to take place.

As the winds parted and the smoke cleared, he was greeted by a metal pipe to the back of his skull from out of nowhere.

He turned to see John Uson put up his dukes at him. "You son of a bitch. Did you kill her, Flor?"

"...Who?" he dared ask even though he knew who he was talking about.

"Laura, you asshole! Why'd you kill her?! How the hell did you turn into... this?"

Florante caught the pipe and used it to conduct millions of volts of electricity at John before answering the convulsing student's question with, "Because she was a bitch to me."

Ah. John Uson. He remembered him. They were being ferried around by the same school service.

Instead of spending gas money driving the kids to school, their parents opted to save money by paying a jeepney driver to fetch them and other kids around their village from house to house in order to drive them straight to Fatima.

They weren't neighbors but they lived in the same suburb.

He remembered Uson pranking him, putting cockroaches in his bag like an asshole. He was also one of the guys who encouraged him to draw Laura in the nude when he was just making a sketch.

The nerve of him, acting the hero now when he was nothing but a villain to him all this time.

"This is pranking me with those cockroaches."

Uson spat blood all over Florante's face despite his body writhing in agony. "Really? You're going kill me just for that, you psycho? Like you killed Laura? God damn, you're a petty son of a...!"

Galang then slammed John to the ground with a sickening crunch. Squashed like a bug.

How appropriate.

He looked at his wristwatch, amazed that it still functioned after all his effort and use of thunderbolts and electrical shocks.

This really was a dream, then, or else his watch would've ended up busted long ago.

Regardless, he'd been at it with his rampage for almost 40 to 45 minutes. The whole school was in bedlam thanks to the pacific storm that was him.

Someone soft and sweet-smelling yet hard-bodied grabbed Florante from behind in a Full-Nelson hold, arms interlocked from under his armpits and hands clasped behind his neck.

"I always knew you were a little psycho," said someone from behind him. Someone... female. Her words were full of venom but her melodic voice was music to his ears.

Shamed as he was to admit it, this was the closest to female contact he ever had in his life. Probably to no one's surprise in Fatima, given his bad reputation.

Wait, he recognized that voice. It was Laura's other best friend aside from Jenny. Kelly Mendoza. A promising freshman volleyball player rising in the ranks of their team. One of Laura's best friends.

He then felt something sharp pierce through his uniform. For the first time, he felt pain. Searing, gnawing pain.

He doubled over in time to realize who had stabbed him with a pocket knife.

It was Mark Silva. Gerry Jacinto's second-in-command. Or best friend. Whichever.

The other tough guy of First Year St. Francis of Assisi charged at Florante while he was distracted by Kelly grabbing hold of him so tightly, her breasts pressing close to his back.

Regardless, Florante winced and wheezed from what Silva had wrought, gnashing his teeth in agony and indignation.

Another villain wanted to play the hero. Just like a bully who'd mess with you until you hit him back, so now he was the victim and you were the one who was in the wrong.

This guy. The audacity of this asshole. He remembered him.

Every time they had an oral exam or had to go in front of the board, he'd be there with Gerry to jeer and mock Florante about his crush with Laura until she herself stopped associating with him.

His body shivered and folded in on itself in hatred, fear, and anger as Mendoza let go of him, his blood pooling on the floor.

"Why are you snarling? You're actually angry? You li'l bitch!" screamed Kelly at Florante's ear as she kicked him where Mark stabbed him.

"How dare you. You killed Laura! Danny! Mr. Nepomuceno! John! Who knows how many others in the library and classrooms! You're a monster! You have no right to be this angry, asshole! Don't play the victim now!"

Mark stabbed him again, this time sticking his knife at Florante's back.

"As far as I'm concerned, he deserves to be bullied," said Silva. "Not only is he a snitch. He's also a psycho. We were bullying him in self-defense. We were protecting Laura from weirdo creeps like him."

Galang also remembered that one time, when he was alone in the mall, Silva chanced upon him with his own girlfriend, saying, "Aw, still no GF, Flor?" He overheard them make fun of him behind his back as an awkward virgin who was fated to be forever alone.

Come to think of it, the girl he was with probably was the same one holding him back with a wrestling move.

"You should've killed yourself instead, since no one would care if you died!" said Silva.

That was the last straw.

This fucking bastard. This bitch. This wasn't the first time Silva told him to kill himself. Even before Florante went on a murder spree, he already told him the same words.

It was amazing what monsters people ended up becoming when treating those they believe were monsters themselves.

First, he blew the volleyball varsity player away into the roof and the sky, with her shrieking like a banshee all the while. She ended up pretty high up before she came crashing back down.

Florante averted his eyes from the harsh and inevitable crash from the screaming Kelly. He'd seen enough gore for one day.

Instead, he focused his attention on Silva. His bully who stood a good few inches above him and several inches thicker in musculature than him seemed smaller somehow.

Galang didn't know what sort of face he was making, but it elicited a gape-mouthed, wide-eyed look of he presumed was awe on the part of one of his worst bullies in school.

It felt so good seeing the tables turned on him for once.

It felt anti-climatic shooting him with five bolts of energy from one hand when usually one or two was enough to blast entire classrooms into smithereens. It was still overkill nevertheless.

"FLORANTE!"

Florante heard his name echo across the wrecked basketball court with the torn roof from a familiar booming voice. A voice he'd heard countless times, mocking him. Haunting him like a resentful ghost. The voice of his biggest, most savage of bullies and critics.

Geronimo "Gerry" Jacinto.

Each and every one of his fingertips grew hot with building power and energy. Instead of five shots, he wanted to shoot his whole payload of pure light unto the bastard who made his time in Fatima a Living Hell.

Gerry wasn't seething with anger like Mark was. For someone who just saw the murder of his best friend and best friend's girlfriend, he had a pretty smug smirk on his face.

Florante breathed out a sigh of relief. This definitely was a dream, or else the real Gerry would've reacted more severely to what he had wrought.

He faced off with the huge and lanky bully who'd normally push him around with ease. Finally, he could push back. Finally, he could fight back and then some.

Florante fired off all ten bullets of light energy and plasma straight at Gerry, expecting it to turn him into ash or a shadow on the pavement, if not straight off

There was no kill like overkill, after all.

However, to Galang's surprise, Jacinto shrugged off the miniature comets like specks of water or rain, the bolts of power exploding behind him and giving his bullish rush an extra boost care of the resulting simultaneous shockwaves from ten blockbuster-tier explosions.

The tall basketball player charged and tackled the nerdy asthmatic, who could only stand there, jaw metaphorically unhinged in shock, before a meaty punch on the same jaw literally unhinged it from its socket.

"SHUSHMARYOSHEP!" Florante called out, wincing as he snapped his jaw back into place with hand. It looked so easy to do in the movies, but when you did it yourself, they never tell you about the toothache-like pain of attempting such a movie afterwards.

Meanwhile, the sneering Gerry mimicked and repeated his "catchphrase" to his face, mocking him. "'Susmaryosep'? What are you, an old lady attending mass in Quiapo Church?" He laughed his heart out.

Ooof. Even in his dreams, his nightmare of a bully still had the upper hand?!

Grinding his teeth in frustration, Galang willed lighting strikes to hit Jacinto over and over while at the same thing charging compressed pinpoint spheres of energy above each and every finger.

Hit two birds with one stone.

The problem was that his metaphor didn't work and he missed both birds by a mile when Jacinto did sledgehammer punches all over him, unable to retaliate or shoot any of his bullets that leveled most of the high school building earlier on.

"You really are a virgin with rage, aren't you? Mr. Sensitive. Mr. 'The whole world is against me. Oh woe is me.'"

Florante ended up curled into a ball, remembering his mother hitting him with the belt whenever he misbehaved. Still, for some reason he was still more afraid of his mom than this tall, beefy male turning him into a punching bag.

"You're blaming us for you ending up like an asshole? Let me guess, it's us not you. Everybody else is an asshole. You're the saint here! You psychotic murderer!"

He gritted his teeth as though afraid his jaw would get dislocated or altogether broken from Jacinto's hammer fists. Vaguely, he remembered hearing how his bully also trained in boxing as a hobby.

Throughout the haze of pain and what seemed like endless fists raining down upon him, he realized something.

Somehow, someway, Gerry gained the same special superpowers as he did, allowing him to keep up with him. Or even surpass him.

Jacinto beat and ground him to a pulp, breaking his right hand, cracking several of his ribs, punching his face until one of his eyes swelled shut, bending his leg at an awkward angle, and triggering his asthma to the point that the mere act of breathing felt like torture.

Once again, the popular kid at the center of everything was beating up the little guy that no one liked. As usual.

"Make the effort to change or face the consequences of your own bad behavior, moron! If everyone in society is laughing and condemning you, is it really society's fault? Or is there a chance you're just being a jerk?"

Gerry slammed Florante's face and body into the devastated basketball court, making the entire third floor of the building shudder from the impact. "Apologize now, and maybe I'll consider sparing your life."

'Apologize...?' he thought while on the brink of unconsciousness, the darkness seeping through the sides of his blurring vision.

Even in his dreams, Jacinto got the better of him. The charming bully you never saw in TV shows and movies who made you think you deserved being bullied by him.

He couldn't humiliate him with a joke that made the whole class laugh or embarrass him in front of Laura the way they did to him. Not in real life and not in his fantasy.

This was what he learned all throughout his stay in Fatima High.

People would torture you. People would outcast you. And when you were to retaliate, they'd declare you the bad guy.

He remembered punching the head of one of his bullies for messing with him for so long, only for him to get in trouble and end up in the principal's office because his bully dared claim to be the victim instead.

It was a good thing a teacher caught his bullies bullying him one time, allowing him to write down the names of those who teased him so that they'd cut it out.

This only ended up giving him the reputation of being a snitch.

He could never win. Damned if he did and damned if he didn't. It wasn't fair.

Well then, screw being fair. He had enough.

In reality, he couldn't take his revenge on him in a fair, reciprocal manner. Instead, Florante could only vent his frustrations at him or the "him" that existed in his mind this way.

His coping mechanism was having violent fantasies. Either that, or punching the wall again and getting scolded by his mother for breaking either the wall or his fist.

As Jacinto prepared to knock him out or worse, Florante saw his opening.

With his remaining healthy left hand flowing with pinpoint spheres of energy at each fingertip, Galang thrust his clawed hand and every single finger into Jacinto's broad chest, drawing blood.

"...Apologize? Yeah, sure. I'm sorry I ever met you. Go to Hell."

He dug deeper and deeper even as Jacinto kept punching his already broken face and body. He wouldn't let go.

"LET GO, FLOR! LET GO! I ain't joking! FUCK!" the punches became more rapid. Stronger. Harder. Faster. More panicked. There was actual fear in his eyes for once.

It felt so satisfying to see him like this.

Galang could feel Jacinto's heart pound at the same time as his own excited pulse. He gripped the heart tightly then pulled.

From inside Gerry, Galang shot his five energy bullets simultaneously, which fried his insides and made the entire top half of his body explode into electric fire, guts, muscles, tendons, blood, and giblets, the hint of ozone noticeable in the air along with the smell of burnt human flesh.

As what was left of Jacinto's lifeless corpse fell to the ground with a wet thud, Florante heaved a relieved sigh, the rain from the large gaping hole in the ceiling (practically a skylight) washing the blood, sweat, and tears from his beat-up body and face away.

It was just a dream. A fantasy. A way for him to vent from all the stress of his real-life bullying.

Everything he had done so far were victimless crimes against, well, imaginary straw-men (and straw-women).

Right?

***

As Florante strode through the pure devastation of what was once Fatima that he left behind in his wake, he felt unsatisfied somehow. Empty. Hollow.

Was that it? He got his revenge against the people who wronged him. What now?

He looked at the consequences of his actions and cringed. The feeling was familiar. Like the aftermath of a storm. Or a temper tantrum when he was about 6 or 7 years old.

It felt cathartic to release all that pent-up anger and frustration he couldn't verbalize or express at his classmates normally, but now he felt a huge amount of guilt weigh him down.

Was any of this called for? What was he thinking?

Instead of relief, he felt like he did whenever he had a temper tantrum when he was a toddler, only to end up hurting those around him. He went too far. He overdid it.

This wasn't Even-Stevens. Well, some of them were, like how it felt satisfying to grind Silva into the ground like that. But for the most part, this wasn't fair. He made things worse instead of better.

This wasn't him. He was a good guy. Dealt a bad hand by fate. Born a social outcast with social anxiety and awkwardness around people.

He didn't really want to hurt anyone, but his temper always got the better of him, leading him to do things he wouldn't otherwise do.

Florante walked outside the entrance gates of Our Lady of Fatima School of Mandaluyong, his head in a daze. He could hear the wheeze and whistle of his asthma from under his breath after every exhale.

Everything was quiet. The whole school was a wreck. It felt like his brain was slamming itself right into his skull, demanding release.

He might've been in shock. For a minute or two, he didn't know where he was or what had happened.

He then heard a voice say, "I found you. You naughty little devil."

The apparition of a beautiful girl with long, flowing hair and immaculate blue wings emerged from the rain and mist. He asked her, "Who are you?!"

As she stared at Florante with an unreadable expression, she whispered, "Archangel Raphael," which made him remember the comic books he drew about the four archangels.

Who was she? Why was her face familiar? She was so gorgeous.

"This is the end of the line for you. I won't let you hurt anyone else."

She reminded him of Laura Reyes.

Wait. Laura? As in the girl he met on the first day of school that he had a crush on?

The same Laura that he had just... murdered?

Like a bolt out of the blue, he remembered everything he'd done an hour ago.

Laura had awakened to supernatural powers like he had and turned or transformed into the Archangel Raphael to avenge the deaths of all the people he just killed, including her.

She was there to take him away. Probably to kill him. Give him karmic justice for all that had transpired.

He felt the corners of his mouth quirk. This was all probably for the best. Let his crush finish him off and pay for his crimes. Let her become his Angel of Death.

Wait, so why was she Raphael instead of Azrael?

Faster than he could even fathom or wonder why she was named after the Angel of Healing instead of the Angel of Death, Raphael flew towards him with watery tendrils.

Everything became a blur from that point on when he and Archangel Raphael finally faced off.

His life then flashed before his eyes.

And then he finally woke up.

Thank God.

***

What a weird, horrible dream.

Yet another dream in a series of dreams. Perhaps nightmares, even.

Not night terrors, though. You didn't remember night terrors after waking up.

He rubbed the rheum from his eyes, took a pen and paper (notebook), and wrote down what had happened in his latest dream on his dream journal.

That one was a doozy.

What was wrong with him, dreaming up such scenarios? He told himself that he'd never do such a thing in real life. Not only because he didn't want to but because he couldn't.

No one developed superpowers like this except in fiction. This was obviously a dream. A dream a psycho would come up with but a dream nonetheless.

His crush who rejected him just killed him after he killed her first.

His dream was indeed just a manifestation of his longing to belong.

Apparently, it was all a fever dream of Florante's. He ended up not going to school that day because of how high of a fever he had, which was also compounded by his asthma.

The feverish asthmatic called in absent for three days until he recovered.

Ugh. At least he'd have a break from his bullying at Fatima High.

Three days after his fever dream, he went back to school. His prison.

For an introvert like him, home was freedom and the outside was maximum penitentiary.

It was in Fatima High School in Mandaluyong where he now found himself exiled. He was left in a prison city. Heaven for others and hell for him.

As usual, it rained hard. It was the rainy season during June in the tropical Philippines, after all.

On the plus side, because it was raining he didn't have to deal with the weekly morning flag ceremony every Monday, with everyone gathered around the concrete stadium under the hot sun.

He had his morning classes instead.

He didn't view the rain as an omen of things to come. Just something unavoidable and inconvenient given the season. He'd already said his goodbyes to the sun back in summer.

The only people he could hang out with were the Dead Kids, and even then he could only do so during lunchtime and through the Art Club. Most of the time, he was left to his own devices with the classmates he loathed.

He detested Fatima High School. He loved Pasig. For the most part, anyway.

He was not a big fan of the river of mud and vegetation known as the Pasig River. When it flooded, it had waters with the consistency of chocolate milk. The chocolate milk river.

'Don't drink from it, though,' he mused.

He didn't want to open up the can of worms of humiliation that happened to him day after day, in dreary weather at that.

He wished he could forget every day. Erase everything and end up with a clean slate every time.

If only. If only.

Most days were uneventful and boring anyway, if a bit awkward. He mostly had no one to talk to. People laughed behind his back. He felt extra conscious of himself, afraid of embarrassing himself or doing something cringe-worthy.

He'd actually improved from his grade school days because on top of being socially awkward, he was more than a bit of a crybaby to boot when he was younger.

Again, he was a spoiled brat who was a bit of a weirdo.

During nursery and kindergarten, he was particularly terrible. Almost like a toddler. He even embarrassed himself up on stage when he was assigned to memorize and recite a poem about picking up 50 pesos.

He must've been about 7 or 8 years old when it happened. Embarrassingly, he had the emotional maturity of a 2-3 year old at the time.

He didn't only cry back then. He bawled. He had a tantrum.

His tantrums at class got so bad that his mother had to be called in.

He was quick to anger, though. The smallest things could set him off. He wore his heart on his sleeve.

Naturally, his behavior wasn't conducive to getting friends. His only best friend at the time soon abandoned him for being such a crybaby weirdo.

In fairness to Florante, he somewhat improved and emotionally matured as he grew older. Instead of bawling, he'd only cry to himself. Soon, he'd only get misty eyed when his emotions got the better of him.

However, the fact that he was so sensitive made him a prime target for teasing and bullying.

What was worse was that when he was even younger he had no self-awareness, so by the time he got older, he could only scratch his head in puzzlement at why no one would be friends with him, why the girls in his school found him to be gross, or why he was bullied so often.

Hindsight was 20/20. A cringe-inducing 20/20.

He could only cringe in remembrance. He swore once he debuted in high school, he'd never again act like a huge... er... wimp.

Afterwards, from crying a lot to crying a little, he soon graduated to not crying at all but still feeling the blues whenever the popular kids and/or the bullies called him out on his... eccentricities.

This year's batch of Fatima High School freshmen had a total of 200 plus girls and boys occupying about 5 classrooms of about 40 or so students each.

It had its own grade school too, so many of the kids here had grown up together, give or take several students who were "accelerants" or those who moved from Grade 6 to high school without going through Grade 7 because of their good grades.

Regardless, he remained the new guy in town. In a new school. A curiosity. A freak. No one there was anyone he grew up with. He had to make friends quick or else he'd end up a pariah like in his last school.

However, for whatever reason though, his classmates were more distant to him than before. Usually, they took the time to mess with him.

Did something happen again? Like the time all the boys in his class noticed his undershirt was threadbare to the point of being see-through, so they teased him and called him a male stripper?

He briefly considered the chance of them having the same nightmare as him massacring students left and right before waving the thought off.

'As if that'd ever happen.'

On one hand, this was just par for the course with all the bullying he went through in high school. On the other hand, it was all somehow different. They were actually leaving him alone, which was kind of a refreshing change.

He was still the social pariah, but at least they weren't calling him names or making him the butt of the joke as usual.

That was on the plus side. On the "minus" side of things, he ate alone at lunch. None of the Dead Kids were available and he didn't have Art Club that day.

Where did they go? Did something happen? He hoped he wasn't kicked out of the group or anything, like what happened to Laura and Gerry after the nude drawing incident.

Maybe if he was better looking, he'd have more confidence? Like a sporty, tall kind of guy instead of a normal guy who was just there? However, no matter how good he looked, being a crybaby beyond the age of 4 years old was never a good look anyway.

If only he were manlier then perhaps girls would look his way without eyes of disdain, pity, or non-romantic attraction. Maybe. He didn't want to think about it. It made him cringe in embarrassment.

Instead, he was a tan-skinned, brown-eyed, and stringy-haired kid with an almost bowl-cut hair parted in the middle. A total geek.

That Thursday, school sucked as usual. You'd think his impromptu three-day sabbatical would improve things, but they didn't.

On second thought, maybe it did.

Many of his classmates had thankfully gotten sick and tired of messing with him, with all those tough guy jocks and bullies focusing their attention on his other classmates and their... imperfections.

He felt their pain as they were made fun of because of things like being too quiet, having eyes that were unusually big, or alleging one of them had... mental issues.

No, the First Year St. Francis of Assisi bullies weren't exactly politically correct with their insults.

With that said, perhaps rather than a premonition, he should've been more worried about what had already happened. Like his fever dream he somehow couldn't forget.

Well, he kind of couldn't forget. As the day wore on, the details of the dream became hazy like in any other dream, but the summary of it remained fresh in his mind.

In order to vent, he gained superpowers in his dreams and killed his most of classmates, many of which were his staunchest of bullies.

A disturbing fantasy but a fantasy nonetheless. A victimless crime.

If only something unusual like that were to happen. Not necessarily him doing a mass murder of the scope of The Peoples Temple in Jonestown. Sure, that was a different kind of massacre he read from one of the library books during recess, but a massacre nonetheless.

Something more like an exciting new adventure. New horizons for him. Now that he'd released all his pent-up rage in his dreams, perhaps he could delve into something more positive.

Like doing some oil painting (too expensive, though). Or finishing his unfinished comic book, maybe by basing it on his dream journal (if only he had the time).

'Note to self: Never tell anyone from my class that I keep a dream journal,' Florante thought. He was bullied enough already. No need to add that cherry on top of his shit sundae of a life.

Or maybe something more fantastic, like him piloting a giant robot. Or him ending up with a harem of girls. Or him saving the world from the threat of annihilation by monsters.

Or something.

The dismissal bell rung.

As his classmates started milling towards the exit, he willed himself to ignore the stares he felt at his back. It was a familiar feeling of someone being watched for the tiniest clumsy mistake, weird behavior, or angry outburst.

He heard idle chatter from the different cliques and groups formed within their class across the months they'd been together in one classroom, talking about where they wanted to eat or wished to go.

The malls of Mandaluyong were walking distance from their school, after all.

Unlike in college or in high schools in the U.S., the Fatima private school had all the subjects taught in one classroom instead of students moving from one classroom to another.

They were more like schools in Japan, where one class full of students stayed in one classroom for the whole year. They didn't switch out and mingled with other sections in the same year except during club meetings, where students from different years and sections could join.

Nothing significant happened today. Nothing really changed. It was business as usual, even with his bullies letting him off the hook for today.

He heard the door slam on the classroom, making him realize he was all alone. His head turned. A savage movement. Like a deer realizing it had been trapped. Or headed on a collision course with a truck, the bright headlights mesmerizing it.

As he was about to go to his school service at the school parking lot, the "something" he wished would happen finally happened.

He should've been careful what he wished for, to be honest.

As an aside, it was like déjà vu all over again.

A huge boulder that looked like a piece of the Fatima Grade School building fell right on the jeepney that served as his school service, crushing it in its weight.

"Wha...?"

He turned around. The school he just exited was in ruins, students were running away screaming, and something supernatural was the cause of all this mayhem.

To be more specific, right above the school floated a monster with two gigantic eyeballs sitting atop a body made of a mountain of minced meat and long tangled tendrils that undulated and wrapped themselves around the buildings and people like a dense forest of guts and intestine.

Damn. To think, spaghetti was his favorite food too.

It was like he was losing his mind just looking at that incomprehensible thing, much less try to describe it.

His mind went a mile a minute, going from the horrible realization that his fellow school service students in Pasig had been crushed to death to Fatima High getting demolished by a giant monster.

Wait, did he fall asleep again? Was he indulging in another one of his secret "edgy" fantasies he'd never dare (nor could) do in real life?

That must've been what happened. None of this was real.

His fever dream still fresh in his mind, he moved forward instead of away from the tentacle monster even as students and teachers (as well as faculty members and staff) of all ages ran away from it.

The giant monster crawled like kudzu grass from one building to the next, crushing them under its weight. It didn't so much move around as grew so that its fleshy red membrane body with eyes could transfer itself from one position to the next, like a vine or flowering plant but sped up.

It flooded the streets of Shaw Boulevard and St. Francis Street with its endless, root-like tendrils and tentacles of varying sizes, resulting in a heavy traffic jam. It looked like it was headed towards the nearest mall. Why though?

He stopped after seeing the monster swallow up several students in its sea of viscera and intestinal entanglements. Some of them kids from the Fatima grade school who hung out after dismissal for too long.

Many of them were his fellow students from high school. Most unfamiliar or vaguely familiar faces. One in particular caught his eye.

A bespectacled, short-haired girl swinging and swimming towards the eye balls. Brave of her to do so, but her face looked familiar...

It was Jenny! Jennifer Tolentino. The girl he spared in his dream before he "massacred" his bullies.

The monster saw her just in time to wrap one of its tendrils around her neck, arms, and limbs.

The one girl in their class who was nice to him was about to die.

Before he knew it, Florante found himself running towards the monster instead of away from it.

Like in his dream, he shot out bolts of lightning and reverberating shockwaves of thunder at the living spaghetti creature, freeing up many of the students in its grasp.

He shot one of the creature's eyes and cut through its tendrils in time to get even Jenny loose, catching her right in his arms.

"...Flor!" she exclaimed as he landed on his feet while holding her in a bridal carry. "Y-You saved me!"

He felt his cheeks grow warm as he gently put her back to the ground on her own two feet. He then faced away from her in embarrassment, not knowing what else to say.

"Thank you!" he heard her say from behind him, which made him mutter, "Y-You're welcome," under his breath.

This was it. He didn't really want to kill all his classmates like in his other dream where he vented his frustration over his social awkwardness and their bullying of him.

He wanted to be accepted. Respected. Validated. Loved. Or at least tolerated and left alone instead of having every single quirk or action he did scrutinized and mocked.

He wanted his existence to be acknowledged at school. He wanted to be treated fairly like other students. He didn't want to hurt anyone, just stop them from hurting him.

Maybe he could get one or two close friends as well. That wouldn't hurt.

He charged at the monster wreaking havoc all over the street like mountains of spilled Italian food, intending to fry it into charcoal.

"Gabriel, watch out...!" Jenny screamed.

"Gabriel...?" he repeated, only to have tentacles shoot out from behind him, stabbing his back.

The monster did a sneak attack on him, he realized too late. It spread its noodle limbs into the nearest drain then shot it up where he couldn't see.

He then saw the world spin all around him, from sky to concrete to car to dirt to van to pillar to post and back again to the sky.

He got dragged and flung around until he felt the tendrils snap like lizard tails, hurling him to the roof of a Toyota Tamaraw FX utility vehicle.

Tears streamed down his eyes, his whole body throbbing except his legs, which horrified him. He suffocated in pain, unable to even groan as tears streamed down his eyes.

Had the spaghetti monster turned him to roadkill? What sort of nightmare was this? His powers from his previous dream failed him, and now he felt death creep in the edges of his blurry vision.

Hah. Served him right.

That was what he got thinking he could take on that nightmarish creature. Shooting helpless students with no superpowers was way different from dealing with a giant incomprehensible mess of a monster that could fight back.

He then gasped as a feeling of euphoric relief enveloped him. Then back to heart-rending pain as he finally felt his legs or what was left of them.

Or maybe they were fine after all, as he soon felt okay enough to move them around, from his thighs and knees to his ankles and toes. He dared peer at himself, only to see bloody, torn pants draped over perfectly healthy legs, a large laceration over his hamstring closing up like magic.

He then looked up to see Jenny Tolentino kneel over him in seeming prayer, a cool neon mist of light transferring from her body to his.

Wait. Was she... healing him? Was that what was happening? Man, this is one crazy dream.

The girl with the glasses said, "I'd hoped it wouldn't come to this."

"Jenny...?" Florante trailed off.

Jenny took a deep breath and said, "Listen up, Flor. You're an Ophanim."

"P-Pardon?" stuttered a flabbergasted Florante. "I'm a... what?"

"An angel. You're an angel without wings, Flor."

***

To Be Continued...

Fun fact: I actually made a Geocities site for this story once while considering turning it into a webcomic. Or at least I named the Geocities site after this work, which featured a Gabriel De Angeles protagonist instead of a Florante Galang at the time.

Farewell, Abdiel

#angels #demons #fantasy of evolution #ophanim #florante galang #laura reyes

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freefamilydigest · 4 years

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