𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗳𝗶𝘃𝗲

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"Wait...Like the ads?"

The purple-haired guy flattened his expression, deflating slightly in the middle of the doorway. "Yes, like the ads," he mumbled.

"Oh, for real?" you responded, slightly surprised. You probably even saw the name 'Mikage' five times on your way here, advertisement billboards had their company plastered on the sides of every street. Hell, there were probably even campaigns hanging from the power lines. You raised yourself on your toes slightly, peering past his shoulders into the house.

"What're you doing?"

"If you're so loaded, aren't you supposed to leave like a trail of cash behind you or something?" Logical thinking. Rich people were like leprechauns, if you found them you should get a prize—like a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. "Myth busted. Can I have money, then?"

He managed to look even further unimpressed, sighing slightly under his breath. "That line's been used. Missed your chance," he uttered with pursed lips. 

"Don't be stin-"

"Just come inside," he cut you off and moved away from the door, allowing you space to walk in. 

You stepped in carefully after a moment of hesitation. I really should not be here. What if Mom thinks I died trying to get back from practice? Although maybe if she was relieved enough you hadn't ended up in a ditch, you'd get a free pass on chores. Odds were slim, however. You live life as a delinquent now. 

The house was pretty simplistic—a kitchen at the back, a living room to the left, and a hall to the right. You slipped off your shoes once you shut the door and placed your backpack down beside it, looking back up to meet Reo's eyes. "Right. Lead the way, Mikage."

He pocketed his hands and nodded toward the hall before taking a step, "You can just call me Reo, it gets too confusing," he offered boredly. 

"Got it, boss. I'm [l/n]," you said equally as absentmindedly, looking around at the different portraits that lined the walls. All you found so far were sentimental moments featuring a younger version of Mall Man with who you could only assume were his parents. It was hard to ignore the uneasy feeling, you literally just met this guy—equivalent to taking an infant swim class and proceeding to cannonball into the Mariana Trench.  

"Yeah, I know."

Your socks padded against the hardwood floor as you followed him down the hall until you had to brake abruptly to prevent yourself from slamming into his back. He glanced at you over his shoulder briefly before pushing open the door in front of him, stepping inside the room. 

Peering past the doorframe, you looked into the room to see Nagi staring back at you from his seat on a surprisingly comfortable-looking beanbag. "Yo," you greeted.

"Hi."

"..."

"..."

"Just come in, you can take a seat there," Reo interjected, throwing a spare controller on the middle seat.

With a harsh swallow and meek nod of understanding, you awkwardly lowered yourself down on the bag, suppressing a cringe at the loud sound of the beads shifting from the added weight. Reo followed suit, plopping down on your left with a bag of chips in his hand. 

"Have you played it at all yet?" you asked to neither in specific, simply choosing to stare at the 'Ready to match up!' screen plastered on the TV instead.  

"No, it took forever to load. Reo put it on the highest graphics," Nagi responded, passing a hard look to his friend in your peripheral. 

To be expected.

𝙅𝙐𝙎𝙏 𝙋𝙇𝘼𝙔𝙄𝙉𝙂 | nagi seishiroWhere stories live. Discover now