SHORT AND SWEET.

I tilted my stiff neck, angling it at the perfect angle necessary to crack it. I'd been hunched over my laptop for hours, putting together the finishing touches of my latest article for the school paper. Tomorrow was Monday. On Mondays, Kanome High School's newspaper club printed and posted the weekly paper onto the main bulletin board for the entire school to behold.

My gossip column was, of course, going right on the front page. Not to brag—okay, I would do a little bragging—I had a gift. Ever since I took over the column as an anonymous writer, the school's newspaper blossomed with positive reviews. The readership skyrocketed. Students who would never be caught dead reading a book happily purchased every edition.

It was understandable, really. Gossip made the world go round. Celebrity gossip was one thing, but gossip about the students and staff members at your own school? Oh, the people ate it up.

Of course, since I wrote at length about people I sat beside in class or passed by in the halls, it was paramount I kept my identity a secret. If the truth got out, those I'd insulted would eat me alive. For the record, I didn't outright try to insult people. But, as a journalist, I took an oath to tell nothing but the truth.

And, sometimes, the truth hurt.

Nobody on the school paper knew who I was. Not even my best friends knew. Personally, I preferred to keep it that way. Every week, I submitted an anonymous email whereby the newspaper club gratefully posted it. I could avoid unnecessary drama or attention while indulging in a fun pastime. Simultaneously, I could kick back and watch the world around me burn.

Did that sound evil? That kind of sounded evil.

Oh, well.

Onto more important business.

Exiting my current tab, I switched over to the one beside it. The bright colours burned my eyelids. Maybe I shouldn't be sitting in my bedroom with all the lights off and my curtains closed. But, at this point, what was the worst that could happen? I already had awful vision.

Nudging my magnifying-glass-sized glasses to the bridge of my nose, I skimmed through the page.

Five handsome boys stared back at me.

They were from yet another dating game: Cherry Blossom Maiden. According to previous reviews, the average gameplay was supposed to take around fifty hours.

I'd blitzed through it in a humble thirty-five.

It was a solid four out of ten game. The beautiful music and art style carried the storyline. Aside from that, the romantic routes were bone dry. The love interests were one dimensional. Don't get me started on the main character, either. A beige wall had more of a personality than her.

You'd think, this being about ninjas in the warring periods of Japan, it'd be entertaining.

My fingers tapped across my keyboard.

As fond I was of reality—really, couldn't you already tell—dating games were the chocolate fudge on top of a sundae of my bland life. The perfect amount of sweetness that was required to brave a cold society. One of my best friends, Moe, introduced me to them back in middle school. And I never looked back since.

Why fall in love with mediocre real-life boys when fictional boys provided the perfect amount of joy and thrill?

Growing up, I'd listened the same romantic sob stories over and over.

Cheating? That was what got my parents divorced in the second grade.

Toxic relationships? My best friend, Saeki, was in an on-and-off one for five years now and I'd consoled him more times than I could count.

Unrequited love? Half the population at my school had that.

I had four older brothers and a promiscuous father. I played just about every dating game I could get my hands on. Fictional or otherwise, I knew boys, inside and out.

Massing my temple, I hastily jotted my review of this dating game for my blog. Although the feedback wasn't as monumental or instantaneous as my gossip column's, otakus on the web appreciated my thorough reviews and walkthroughs, and regularly thanked me in the comment sections. Occasionally, we chatted and shared opinions, too.

Living life through a screen was so, unbelievably comforting.

I couldn't wait to get this review posted so that I could move onto my next game.

AT A QUARTER PAST EIGHT, my stomach fired warning signals to my brain: either get up and eat, or it'd shut my brain down by force.

Two minutes later, when my hunger officially overpowered my thoughts, I adhered. Groaning, I hoisted my headphones off my head. My ears throbbed straightaway. I'd kept them on for way too long.

Tumbling out of bed, I snagged on a sweater, and padded across the cold, numbing floor. Our house's heating system wasn't working, which meant I had no choice but to keep warm with either multiple blankets or layers until Dad finally called a repairman. Fortunately, spring was around the corner. If it was right the middle of winter when our heat decided to fail on us, it'd have sucked.

In the living room, boisterous laughter hung in the air. On the couches were wild animals—aka, my older brothers, hooting about some baseball game they were watching on television. Normally, I'd ignore them. Interacting with them only caused me more of a headache. However, a certain sight stopped me dead in my tracks.

"You guys ordered pizza without me?"

"Not our fault you regularly choose to barricade yourself in your room every day," my oldest brother scoffed.

"We called for you," the second oldest mentioned, with a not-so-subtle eye roll. "Take your headphones off next time."

The third oldest chucked a half-eaten pizza crust at me.

It smacked me across the forehead.

"Dad's got another date, so he'll be back in the morning. Chew on that bone until then."

"Hey, turn the volume up higher." Per usual, the fourth oldest wasn't paying attention.

Within seconds, the rest of them weren't either. Benumbed, I stared listlessly at the baseball tournament unfolding on the screen. The bright green field. The fully loaded bleachers. The hot and sweaty players.

I scanned the two empty pizza boxes on the coffee table. Then, crouching, I scooped the crust off the ground and hurled it right back. It hit my brother on the back of the head, but, before he could return the favour, I escaped into the nearby kitchen.

As expected, the fridge was empty. A milk carton bordering on expiration. A stick of butter. One moulded cucumber. My brothers emptied out yesterday's leftovers, too. Great. Guess it was cup noodles again.

Promptly after boiling the water on the stovetop, and relishing in the minuscule warmth that followed, I prepared my noodles and strolled on back to my room. Per usual, there was little space for my belongings—my brothers got to the bigger rooms since they were sharing them. As the youngest (and as the only girl in the family), I was left with the leftovers.

Sighing, I tip-toed through the small crevice between my bed and window and plopped onto my bed. As I ate, I used my free hand to scroll through my blog that was open on my laptop.

Surprisingly, there was already a comment on the game review I'd posted thirty minutes ago.

Dear "Love, Anonymous"!

I've been a huge follower of your blog forever! In your reviews, you mention how easy it is for you to conquer every love interest, no matter the otome game. How is that possible? For me, it's the complete opposite! I get the bad endings all the time and always have to restart! Is it because of familiar patterns and tropes that makes it so easy for you to get through a game? Or is it because you can't enjoy a simplistic storyline for what it is?

I'm starting to believe it's the latter. Because, oh my god, your opinions fucking suck.

It took me a hot second to digest the sarcasm oozing through the comment.

Since you're such an expert at dating and romance, how about you get off the internet and try conquering real boys??? Seems like that'd be more interesting for you!!!

Agh! You ruined my day!!!

Same here.

What a killjoy.

I'd be jealous too if I weren't, well, me.

The corner of my lip quirked upwards. Resisting the urge to curse them out, or respond with equally passive-aggressive smiley faces, I deleted the comment, giving myself a peace of mind for several seconds. Engaging with internet trolls wasn't worth the effort. Likely, they were a die-hard fan of 'Cherry Blossom Maiden' and weren't too pleased by my negative review. Kudos to them for liking stale love interests and regurgitated plot lines. I preferred my fictional husbands with more nuance and flavour.

Still, conquering real boys?

You couldn't pay me to do that.

I didn't see boys in that light. Real boys, anyway. Moe and Saeki had called me weird for never having a crush on a real person before, but, it was what it was. While I adored fictional characters and cute, sweet romances, I never explicitly went out of my way to pursue a relationship in reality. Falling "in love" with someone? Having butterflies or being tongue-tied around them? Intimacy as a whole? What was that supposed to feel like, anyway? It'd be nice to finally experience it like any other teenage girl—purely from an educational standpoint, by the way—but I didn't have a particular interest to do so anytime soon.

To be honest, crushes in general sounded like a pain. So, no thank you. I'd gladly live vicariously through dating games and juicy gossip for the rest of my life.

Speaking of gossip, I should start brainstorming what to write for next week's school article. If I wasn't mistaken, there was a fight reported among the second years that resulted in a student being tossed off of the school roof. . . The student lived, albeit narrowly. He grappled the roof ledge and had to wait until teachers arrived on scene to hoist him back up.

The ding! of my phone signalling a newfound notification thwarted my roaming thoughts.

My eyebrows furrowed together.

A new follower, on my obscure social media account. The username consisted of an assortment of letters and numbers, and the display picture was blacked out. A bot account?

My phone dinged again. This time, a private message.

It's fun hiding behind a screen, isn't it?

A deep-seated uneasiness sunk over me.

I rescanned the text, but the longer I stared at it, the more ominous it grew. What was this? Another internet troll?

Spare me, please. They were everywhere.

I swiped, deleting the conversation, and set my phone face down.

It dinged again.

Seriously?

You can ruin somebody's life with the tap of your fingers and think absolutely nothing of it.

How do you sleep at night?

My lips formed into a thin line.

I exited out of the conversation and scrolled down to Moe's actual account.

Moe, I know it's you.
Stop trolling me.
I get it. You read my blog and don't agree with my review either.

Within seconds, my best friend responded.

What are you talking about, Anri???

I swallowed, hard. Hold on. . . It wasn't Moe? Saeki—another childhood friend of mine and Moe's boyfriend—didn't have any social media accounts, so it couldn't be him, either.

But, nobody else knew about my blog. Not even my brothers.

Did that person who left that passive-aggressive review manage to track down my social media accounts? That wasn't possible, though. Just like the school's gossip column, I didn't leave a trace where people could actually identify me. Nobody should be able to identify me. I didn't even use my real name for this account. Also, aside from Moe, all of my followers were bots.

Another notification pinged.

That same sketchy account.

Another sketchy text message.

My lungs collapsed on cue.

You ruined my life, Anri Hinomori.
I'm going to make you pay.