I was done. I really, really was.
There I was, standing in the rain, staring at the stupid glowing blue screen like it was gonna pull some magic trick and make my life better. But nope. The damn thing just floated there, smug as ever, like it was my personal tormentor.
I crossed my arms and glared at it. "Not happening. I'm not going to Mrs. Luna's house. I'm not stalking her. I'm not doing any of that weird stuff."
But of course, the system wasn't gonna listen to me. It just sat there, glowing and waiting for me to cave in. Like some annoying little sibling who doesn't understand the meaning of the word "no."
[Objective: Go to Mrs. Luna's house. First mission: Make a lasting impression.]
I groaned. "I don't even know where she lives!"
And then, the screen flashed again, almost like it was waiting for me to catch up.
[Location Detected: Mrs. Luna's Residence. 263 Willow Creek Road, Apartment 12B.]
I stared at it. I blinked a few times. "You've got to be kidding me."
I wasn't even sure how the system knew where she lived. Did it hack into the phone book? Was there some kind of magical stalking feature I didn't know about? Either way, this wasn't normal.
I sighed. "Fine. I'll go. But I swear, if I end up on a police report or something, I'm suing you, system."
So, there I was, standing in front of her building—263 Willow Creek Road—with the most awkward, defeated look on my face. It wasn't a fancy building. In fact, it was one of those places where you wouldn't be shocked if someone left a pile of old newspapers in the hallway. Three floors, just the right amount of "meh" for an apartment complex.
I wasn't exactly strolling in like I had a purpose. Nope, I felt like an idiot on a wild goose chase, all because of a glowing screen and a weird system that wouldn't leave me alone.
Anyway, I had no choice but to keep moving forward. I walked through the entrance, up a flight of stairs, then stopped in front of the door to Apartment 12B.
This was it. The moment that would either make or break my life. (Probably break, though.)
But just as I was about to knock on the door and announce my presence like a weird, socially inept delivery guy, I saw her.
Mrs. Luna.
She was walking down the street, right in front of me. Grocery bags in hand, humming along to some song, completely unaware of the embarrassing mess I was about to make of myself.
I froze.
She had those headphones in, probably blaring music loud enough that she couldn't hear the fact that I was literally just standing behind her like a freak.
Okay, no big deal. Just follow her and do the thing.
I started walking, trying to stay cool. Real smooth, right? I was on a mission, after all. The mission of a lifetime. Or a really awkward evening. Whatever.
But then I made the mistake of mumbling to myself, like a total weirdo.
"Man, I don't even know what I'm doing. I just—"
SNAP.
I stepped on a twig.
Mrs. Luna's head snapped around, eyes wide. I quickly ducked behind a tree. I was hoping to blend in, like some kind of ninja. But there was no stealth in my flip-flops.
She glanced around, trying to figure out who was making all that noise. I froze. Like an idiot.
And then she spotted me.
Her eyes locked on mine for a split second before she immediately turned and started walking faster.
Okay, no biggie. I could still fix this, right?
Wrong.
I stumbled a little bit, tripping over the uneven sidewalk, and ended up kicking a trash can right into the street. It made a loud crash that echoed through the quiet evening.
"STALKER!"
She screamed it like she was being chased by a bear. My heart skipped a beat.
What the hell? Stalker?!
She wasn't even sticking around to hear my explanation. Nope, she was already bolting, full sprint through the alleyway. Grocery bags flying everywhere, her yoga pants practically in the wind.
"STALKER! GET AWAY FROM ME!" she yelled again, looking over her shoulder as she ran.
I stood there, dumbfounded. Did she seriously think I was a stalker?
I ran after her, but it was hopeless. I was a wet mess, trying to catch up with a woman who thought I was a freak.
"Wait! Mrs. Luna! I'm not a stalker!" I shouted. "I just... uh... wanted to say hi!"
But it was too late. She disappeared around the corner, completely gone.
I stopped, panting, trying to make sense of my life. The system had just made me the world's worst stalker. What was I supposed to do now? Apologize? Send her a fruit basket?
I looked up at the system's glowing screen, hoping for some guidance.
[Affection: Not Increased.]
No kidding, system. No kidding.
Look, I didn't mean to chase after her. It just kind of… happened.
She screamed "Stalker!" and bolted down the alley like a roadrunner on Red Bull, and my dumb caveman instincts kicked in. Instead of letting her go and pretending none of this happened, what did I do?
I chased her.
I. Freakin'. Chased. Her.
"Wait! It's not what you think! I'm not a creep! I'm just—uh—socially challenged!"
She didn't even flinch. Girl was running like she'd trained for this moment her whole life. Grocery bags bouncing, headphones flapping around her neck, she sprinted like the ghost of Usain Bolt had taken over her body.
Meanwhile, I was huffing and puffing, soaked from head to toe, gasping like a 90-year-old smoker after two stairs.
"C'mon," I wheezed. "I just wanna explain that I'm only kinda weird!"
She turned her head just slightly—mistake. Her foot caught the edge of a busted sidewalk tile, and next thing I knew:
BOOM.
She hit the pavement like a sack of potatoes, groceries flying everywhere—bananas, eggs, one suspiciously large eggplant—splattered across the alley like a food crime scene.
"AHHHHH!" she cried, clutching her ankle. "HELP! STALKER! HE GOT ME! HELP!!"
Oh God.
Oh no.
People started popping out of buildings like it was a neighborhood watch emergency drill. Old ladies. Buff dudes in tank tops. A chubby guy holding a frying pan like it was Thor's hammer.
"Heard a scream!"
"Who's messing with Luna?"
"YOU AGAIN?!" someone shouted like they'd met me before (they hadn't).
I didn't wait around to explain.
Nope.
I turned around and ran so fast, I surprised myself. My flip-flop flew off mid-sprint but I didn't care. One shoe? That's future me's problem.
I ran like rent was due, like the bathroom was occupied and Taco Tuesday hit wrong, like my life depended on it—which, frankly, it kinda did.
I didn't stop until I was back at my crap-stained, cockroach-colonized apartment, slammed the door, and collapsed onto the floor in a puddle of sweat, rainwater, and shame.
The system popped up again, glowing as innocently as a toddler with chocolate all over its face.
[Mission Status: Failed. Affection: Still 0.]
I flipped it off.
"Thanks for nothing, you glowing bastard."
I dragged myself to my lumpy mattress, curled up like a shrimp, and whispered into the void, "I chased a woman, she fell, the neighbors came out with weapons, and I lost a sandal. All for what? A failed quest?"
The system chimed in again.
[New Objective: Fix your image. Step 1: Stop acting like a freak.]
I stared at the screen.
"…Not helpful."