Mei couldn't believe it. Nemuri had made a move.
Her anger surged, and she started blabbering—talking about how disgraceful she was, how much of a slut she was, and how she should be ashamed of touching him.
But Nemuri was smiling at Mei's reaction because she knew she had won.
Nemuri then moaned and licked her lips. "Ahh~ It was big… and ahh~ h-he played with my body and treated me like his toy...Ahh~."
She teased her, watching every reaction carefully.
Mei just stared at her, then smiled and said, "Nemuri, you wish for this." She inhaled heavily, her cheeks puffing up like a chipmunk's.
Nemuri raised an eyebrow. She stood up and walked toward her, then lightly chopped her on the head. "Hey, Mei. You're in my office. What would happen if you melted this place?"
Mei was about to release her Lava Release, and Nemuri knew it, so she stopped her.
"Shut up, bitch! That was supposed to be me. I should be the one taking his first."
Nemuri crossed her arms and scoffed. "Like I would allow it."
Then they started their catfight again.
The man they were fighting over didn't know what was happening. He was checking his phone after posting the new cover song he did for Teenage Monalisa.
He had forgotten to check it.
After doing some experiments with his clone, he remembered the video and opened his phone to see if anything had happened.
He first checked his YouTube page. The views of him singing were already at 3 million. He stared at the number and muttered, "3M views… how much money is that?"
He started thinking about the exchange rate. He needed the money to pay Nemuri back.
He then read the comments, which were automatically being translated by the system intercepting his vision.
He saw many comments saying it was good. Some said they didn't like it.
Chaos_order8 commented that it was boring and that he didn't like how the it went.
Shut_up38 commented that it was a mess.
Like_iker01 commented that it was too blunt.
Void_walker_3303 wrote many words as if someone had asked for his opinion.
There were many more comments he didn't care about. He just scrolled past them. He didn't need to impress everyone. After all, there were many fish in the sea—why be bothered by seaweed?
He whispered, "It is truly a marvel of evolutionary stagnation to witness a human being mimic the social intelligence of a gasping lungfish. You seem to possess a vestigial ego that compels you to flap aimlessly on the shores of a conversation you weren't invited to, convinced that your rhythmic gasping for attention constitutes a meaningful contribution. It would be an act of profound intellectual charity if you could simply submerge yourself back into the depths of your own insignificance and leave the dry-land discourse to those of us with a functioning prefrontal cortex."
Then he sipped from his cup of coffee.
After that, he moved to his Hero-Net.
He pressed his profile, and on his feed he saw that the new video he had posted had easily reached 5 million views. Once again, he tried to calculate the income from it.
He scrolled to the comments section.
At the very top, he noticed a heart comment that had received many likes from viewers. Before, he wouldn't even read comments or check his page after posting—but now that he needed money, of course he had to pay attention.
The comment was just a red heart, but it had received many replies and 4 million likes.
He saw that the icon of the commenter was a pair of headphones.
He pressed the profile of the headphone icon. After he did, he was brought to a page named UTA. He read the name—it was definitely Uta, the singer.
He raised an eyebrow.
Uta's page looked normal: headphones as the profile picture and a wide stage with lots of lights as the background. Below her name, it said "Official Page," along with contact information for her agency.
He scrolled down.
And he saw it.
It was really Uta—many pictures and videos of her concerts, projects, and songs. The latest post on her feed said, "Rest for a while."
It had gained 1.8 billion likes in one day.
He stared at it. "Wow… really famous."
He stared at the picture of Uta—red and white hair—then touched his own hair and asked himself,
"Can I dye my hair?"
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
( ＾Д＾)