Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.
Each press came faster than the last, as if the answers might appear quicker that way.
On the dimly lit phone screen, a sentence took shape one tap at a time:
"Will... there... be... a... season... three... of... The... Daggers... in... My... Heart"
A beat passed.
"..No... way..."
Emptiness pooled in his chest. It was reflected in his eyes too—blank, staring, unwilling to believe what he saw.
"T-This can't be it. I refuse to accept it."
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Back to searching. Back to hoping.
After twenty minutes of obsessive scrolling, a sigh escaped his lips.
"So... if eleven more chapters are released in time, that might be enough for the studio to greenlight season three. But right now, there's not enough source material. The author's on a biweekly schedule... so that's at least five more months."
He paused.
"..But does the author need funds? Or is it the studio? Both?"
He wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed. But then again, not everyone knew this stuff. He could research it... but laziness stood right beside his ignorance like an old friend.
Either way, as long as the money was there, and the studio was willing...
"..Then it's basically guaranteed."
He's one interesting kid though.
Now that I think about it... a few years ago—maybe one or two—I remember seeing a clip of this anime. Maybe it was a trailer by Soggyroll or someone else, and I made fun of it. Called it another dumb romance show with an overdeveloped heroine with weird proportions and a scrawny-looking main character.
He winced inwardly at the memory.
I couldn't have been more wrong. I shame myself for such a transgression... to a degree no human could fathom.
And yet, it was true. The anime had been far better than expected.
Ichi was weird, but he grew on me. Sometimes, I even found him relatable. A loner surrounded by unique people... and the heroine—Yama. Someone he could trust and someone who helped him change. I couldn't help but keep looking forward to the next episode.
It only took him three days to finish the entire thing.
Tsk.
I knew I should've slowed down. "Chew slow if you want to savor your food," or so they say.
It was hard to make out his face. Not just because of the room's darkness, but because of his dark skin—blending into it like nature's camouflage. Honestly, he preferred it that way. Darkness brought comfort. It was like fog, thick and purposeful, shrouding him from sight.
Paired with the hoodie drawn over his head, he might've looked like the Grim Reaper himself—if not for the glowing screen of his phone.
The rhythmic whir of the ceiling fan filled the silence.
The longing I felt after watching that anime... I haven't felt this way in so long. I used to watch romance animes all the time. Even when I was around seven, the time when my brother first introduced me to anime. I'm no stranger to this strange mix of feelings I have now.
The fan kept turning. The thoughts kept coming.
..So why can't I stop feeling this way..?
He spaced out.
Again.
It happened often.
But this time, like many times before, it was for good reason.
There was only one word to describe the anime.
Beautiful.
He had no expectations going in. Just wanted a break from action genres—he needed something familiar, something that made him feel.
Romance.
He barely understood it, yet longed for it. Longed for it, yet hated it. Hated it, but saw it and envied it.
...Will I ever find a girl like that? I know there are kind girls out there. Some talk to quiet people without treating them differently. But Yama... Yama was something else.
She wasn't overly friendly with everyone. She treated Ichi differently. That's what separated her from the girls he'd met. Kind, yeah... but not the same kind of kind.
At least not with boys. She didn't lead anyone on using acts of kindness. She only did so with Ichi and treated him in a way the audience could tell was unique only to him.
That's what made her different. That's what makes her unreal. And that's why I panicked when I thought there might not be a season three.
For him, the anime wasn't just entertainment. It was an escape.
His days were simple. Chores. One specific light novel. Some manhwas. Games, on rare occasion. But even those had lost their magic.
So, he turned to anime.
And what he found changed him.
He had never bothered remembering women. Had no reason to. Didn't talk to them. Didn't want to talk to them.
The internet was his only window to others. And from that window, all he saw was hatred.
Hatred aimed at people like him.
Screw them too.
He knew gender wars were dumb. Still, it often felt like one side was stuck in the past, angry about things long buried—while the other side was left to deal with the guilt.
It didn't matter that the old misogynists were dead or dying. New men were still blamed.
Without realizing when or how... he had developed a quiet resentment.
But... some women really do deserve admiration. Not because they're "girl bosses" or whatever. But because they're just decent people. The kind you want to become. Yama was like that. Even if she wasn't real, she meant something. Ichi's lucky. I can't forget about him either. He reminds me of me... except I never met my Yama. So I'm still the same as he was in his loner arc. Maybe even worse.
The thoughts lingered and carried him all the way to the edge of sleep.
I might never meet a girl like that. But being able to read a story about someone who stays pure—untainted by the filth of this world—is like breathing fresh air on a blood-soaked battlefield.
A battlefield that never ends.
Everyone's evil. Some more obvious than others. Some more clever. But evil just the same.
Some wielded it openly. Others used innocence as a mask.
Be born as one, everyone and the entire world fawns over you and you're told that you're the prize people should be striving to achieve.
Be born as another, and you're shown how to be a brute. Strong, but incredibly lonely. Full of emotion, but unable to show it to anyone.
Hardly ever taught to value yourself but taught to value the former—without recognition of value in return.
Maybe the media poison is getting to my head, but I see an incredibly unfair pattern here. This isn't equality. This is destruction in its purest form, if I've ever seen it.
Society says men are worse, but it's not that simple. One side uses strength for cruelty. The other... hides cruelty behind kindness.
Neither side is innocent. And when you try to speak up, it goes out the other ear.
That was how the world worked.
That was why...
"...I might just be the worst of them all."
This world was filthy.
Evil.
Insane.
"So... I wish—"
He turned off his phone. Set it on the charger.
Laid back on his bed.
A sigh escaped.
Eyes slowly closing. Both hands behind his head. His leg crossing over the other.
And in a voice barely above a whisper, he finished:
"...I wish I didn't have to be a part of it anymore."