ABOUT NOTHING

CHAPTER EIGHT

When Ethan stepped out of Doctor Elliot's office, he was greeted by the stares of the kids in the adjoining game room. Their expressions were oddly calm, tinged with faint hostility. As he met their gazes, a realization hit him—they all knew. Like conspirators bound by some unspoken pact, they were fully aware of everything: René's obsession with his e-reader, his plan to leap from the roof at the SUPER CONTROLLER's appointed time. And yet, they stood there, eerily composed, as if their friend's tragic death hadn't touched them at all. Worse, Ethan felt like an outsider among them—an extra, excluded from their strange, interconnected family, tied together by this bizarre encounter with an online lunatic promising "Another World" in exchange for being "erased" from this one.

He was six months late to their madness. But he wasn't foolish enough to throw his life away over an internet scam—no matter how omnipotent the scammer seemed, flaunting insane wealth. He wasn't one of these crazies. He wasn't suicidal. And he was smarter than the rest of them.

Locking eyes with each of them, Ethan shook his head, a silent signal that he'd figured it all out and now saw them as unhinged. Then he turned and headed down the corridor to his room. From now on, they'll shun me even more—or outright boycott me, he thought. Fine. Whatever. Sure, I wanted to step into the world of Fate. Sure, I fell for an anime character. But that doesn't mean I'm about to jump off a roof and splatter my brains on the pavement. Splattered brains weren't the answer. It could all be a trick. Where was the proof that anyone actually reached that other world? Had a single person returned to rave about how great it was among the elves after their skull cracked open on concrete?

Ethan was arguing with himself now, holding a mental debate with the game room crowd. His schizophrenia—or whatever syndrome fueled it—kicked into overdrive, conjuring entire conversations. He supplied their voices too, the dialogue flowing so fast he barely registered crafting it. His subconscious churned out responses that felt alien, as if someone else were speaking—words and ideas unlike his own, vivid and sharp. If he were a filmmaker, these exchanges would've earned him an Oscar. They pulsed with life, raw emotion cutting through the absurdity.

"Stop it, all of you! So some guy sent money. Where's the miracle in that? We're talking miracles here—not a sheikh wiring cash to an account. Where's the proof? It's just a wild coincidence, if it's even that!"

"It's no coincidence. Things like this don't just happen in our universe!"

"Even a broken clock's right twice a day."

"Don't dodge the point. Proverbs won't cut it. How'd they know to send exactly ten million? Not nine, not three—ten, spot on."

"It's a round number. We all think in decimals. It'd be weirder if Doc had said nine million and thirty-three cents. That would've raised eyebrows."

"Then what's the point? If it's not random, Doc's in on it. The sheikhs too. Why would sheikhs five thousand kilometers away care? It's nonsense!"

"How should I know? Doc can't be part of it. You showed him the site yourselves! He didn't even know it existed—at least, that's what he said."

"What, arguing with yourself now? That's a strike against you!"

"Not necessarily!"

"Totally is!"

"Yeah, screw you! You're all nuts!"

"Wow, there's the killer comeback. Leave him alone, guys. He's hopeless."

After an hour of this fevered, imaginary clash, Ethan collapsed into sleep, drained. In his dream, characters from Fate appeared—specifically the third part, his least favorite. He found himself talking to Sakura, the stunning purple-haired, purple-eyed friend of Emiya Shirou. He confessed his love for Saber and begged for her help. Sakura listened, nodding thoughtfully. She loved Shirou herself, and Ethan's feelings were a golden opportunity. Using him to pry Shirou away from Saber must've crossed her mind instantly. Though too noble for outright deceit, she couldn't resist the chance to nudge things her way—helping a lovesick boy was a good deed, after all. Before he knew it, Ethan was sobbing on her shoulder, spilling complaints about the clinic. "And these lunatics—like this damn love wasn't bad enough!" he groaned, feeling her hand gently stroke his head in comfort.

As Doctor Elliot had foreseen, he was pulled from working with the anime-obsessed teens. He showed up the next evening to say goodbye. Ethan was in his room, idly flipping through a book he'd grabbed from the rec room. By page ten, he'd dismissed it as "fantasy trash"—a dull, predictable slog with elves, dragons, and a Mary Sue lead that failed to spark any emotion. When Doc El poked his head through the half-open door, Ethan mistook him for an orderly and ignored him. But Elliot rapped on the frame and called out.

"Ethan, mind if I come in?"

Ethan bolted upright, tossing the book aside. "Of course, Doc! I didn't think you'd be back!"

Elliot stepped in, shutting the door behind him. He carried an orange folder stuffed with papers. "I won't be. Just here to say goodbye," he said evenly, betraying no hint of how much it stung—though Ethan could tell he hated leaving. Doc loved the job. Loved the kids.

He settled into the chair by the nightstand, setting the folder down. "How'd this happen?" Ethan asked. "They really fired you?"

"Afraid so. A mistake like that doesn't get overlooked."

"Why'd you admit it? You could've kept quiet about the e-reader."

"You mean lie?"

"Sometimes you have to—for the greater good."

Elliot shook his head. "In fifty years, I've lied maybe ten times, all before I was old enough to know better. I'm too set in my ways now. Lying might help short-term, but it always backfires eventually."

Ethan nodded, respect for Doc deepening. He already admired him, and this only added to it. "It sucks you're leaving. Really," he said, grasping for words as Elliot held his gaze, the silence stretching uncomfortably. It felt primal, like staring down a wild animal sizing him up.

"I brought you something," Doc said, breaking the tension. He handed over the folder. "Take it."

"What is it?"

Elliot paused, weighing his words. "It's a rundown of what'd happen if you actually landed in the world you're chasing. Part of my therapy approach. I did it with all the kids—spelled out how their medieval fantasies would be filthy, dangerous, full of terrible doctors, and how fast they'd beg to come back to the safe twenty-first century. We'd read it together, usually with a few laughs, then debate it. They'd fire back with some sharp points. I never got to do yours with you, but I finished it anyway. Helps a lot in therapy…" His voice faltered, face clouding. "Helped, anyway, until that damn…"

Ethan's eyes widened. "You wrote about me in Fate?" he asked, floored and intrigued.

"Sort of," Elliot said. "Call it my parting gift. Oh, and my phone number's in there too. If you ever get out—or just want to visit. We'll talk."(the end of chapter eitght).