004. Explosions, Trauma, and Sticker Crimes: A Tuesday

The ramen was cold. The night was colder. The only thing keeping me warm was the trash fire two feet away and the slow, creeping dread of narrative structure.

Hana sat across from me, legs swinging like a child on a sugar high, notebook in her lap. The cover read:

> "Operation: Mild Menace 💥✨💖"

God help me, there were puff stickers.

"So," she chirped, "I was thinking—we start small. Like, cursed coupons."

I stared.

"Like, 'Buy One Get One Hexed'? Or we can sabotage the vending machines that sell hero stickers. You know, the sparkly ones with moral slogans. Total emotional damage."

I blinked slowly. "You want our villain debut to involve… counterfeiting loyalty merch."

"Well, yeah!" She beamed like someone whose neurons ran on glitter glue. "It's subversive!"

I slurped my noodles like I was trying to drown myself in broth. "I was a divine agent of reincarnation."

"Right!"

"And now I'm discussing sticker terrorism with a reincarnated magical girl who thanks me for vehicular manslaughter."

"Right! Also, they're not technically stickers. They're aura-encoded sympathy tokens."

"I hate everything."

> [SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]

Suggested Villainous Action: Disrupt Civic Order

New Target Unlocked: Department of Arcane Records & DMV (D.A.R.D.)

Quest Level: Low-Level Chaos, Medium-Level Paperwork

Reward: Plot Advancement. Probably.

I stopped mid-chew. "No. No no no. It's giving us a quest."

Hana squealed and clutched her notebook like it just proposed to her. "A heist! Oh my god. We're gonna rob the magical DMV!"

"That's not—" I began.

"—YES it is," she said, already standing. "We're going full cloak-and-dagger. Or maybe cape-and-hoodie. You wear black better anyway."

"I'm not robbing a bureaucratic crypt full of eldritch file clerks."

"You're not? But the System said—"

"I ignore the System all the time."

> [SYSTEM WARNING]

Narrative Resistance Detected

Plot Integrity: Fraying

Emotional Damage Risk: Rising

Recommended Countermeasure: Just Do the DMV Thing

I finished my soup like it was a final meal.

Hana tied her hair up. "You're going to need a fake name."

"I already have one. It's 'Please Let Me Die Quietly.'"

"Too long for the badge."

> [Optional Objective Added]

Retrieve: Stolen Hero ID

Bonus Reward: Existential Unraveling

"Great," I muttered. "We're breaking into the bureaucratic underworld."

"Illegal dreams, Sensei," Hana whispered, like that explained anything. "We're finally living them."

I stood up slowly. My knees made a sound like dying fax machines. "Fine. But if I see one sentient line queue, I'm setting something on fire."

"Yay!"

She skipped ahead.

I dragged myself after her, ramen carton in hand, wondering when exactly my life got hijacked by fanfiction written by a concussion.

---

The shortcut was a mistake.

It smelled like wet dog and capitalist failure. Cracked concrete. A wall of graffiti that said "LOVE IS A MYTH. PAY YOUR PARKING TICKETS." A rat stared at us with the dead eyes of someone who'd seen too much. Probably unionized.

Hana skipped ahead like we weren't sneaking into an arcane bureaucracy. "This is exciting, right? It's like urban recon! Except with fewer helicopters and more ambient mildew."

I muttered something about hepatitis.

Then the air shifted.

I didn't even hear the landing. Just thump. A shape dropped in front of us, hoodie flaring dramatically like he'd paid extra for wind physics.

Guy was tall, all elbows and scowl. Wore bitterness like it was tactical gear. Hoodie black, eyes darker, energy radiating pure I filed a complaint and I kept the receipt.

Hana gasped. "Wait—are you another isekai'd soul?!"

He stared at her. Then me.

Then me.

And he smiled. Slowly. The kind of smile you give just before turning off someone's life support.

"You," he said, voice low and venomous, "ran a red light."

I blinked. "I've run a lot of things, including from responsibility. You'll have to be more specific."

"You were chrome. Six wheels. There was a sticker on the bumper that said 'Reap Happens.'"

"…Ah."

He stepped closer. Limped. Subtly. Hip tilted just wrong.

"I was supposed to be someone," he said. "Had the classic setup. Dead-end job. Depression. Anime playlist."

He reached into his coat and pulled out… an x-ray.

Not a weapon.

An actual x-ray. Glossy. Annotated.

Pins. Screws. Something that looked like a paperclip where it shouldn't be.

"I didn't wake up in another world. I woke up in traction. With debt. And this."

From the other pocket: a parking ticket. Dated. Folded. Highlighted.

> "This dude really printed his trauma and put it in a backpack like it was a PowerPoint."

Hana looked horrified. "Oh my god, you didn't get isekai'd?"

"No," he hissed. "I got insurance-denied."

The shadows coiled around him like plot relevance. A flicker of something at his back—maybe a cape, maybe a curtain he stole from a theater liquidation sale. The man was dramatic. And furious.

"You stole my narrative arc," he growled at me.

"I didn't even have an arc," I said. "I got yoinked into this meat suit like the worst Uber ride."

He pulled something else from his hoodie: a brick.

Stapled to it? His medical bills.

Line item: Emergency surgical pins — $14,872.09

Additional fee: "Isekai denial trauma counseling (out-of-network)"

I stared. "You... stapled your rage to masonry."

"I keep my receipts," he said, like a final boss in customer service hell.

> [SYSTEM WARNING]

New Threat Detected: Ezra Drake – "The Forgotten One"

Emotional Aura: Bitter +5

Combat Style: Righteous Lawsuit

Danger Level: TBD (Trauma-Based Damage Scaling)

Hana held up her hands, unsure whether to hug him or exorcise him. "Wait… you could still be chosen! Maybe the System just missed your application?"

Ezra's eyes burned holes through hope itself.

"I was chosen. Just not for anything cool. No magic sword. No tutorial. Just bumper trauma and a limp that tells the weather."

He turned to me again.

"But now? Now I've got a purpose. You've got fans. She's got delusions. And I've got nothing to lose."

> [NEW QUEST BRANCH UNLOCKED]

Ezra Drake: The Rejected Arc

Conflict Type: Collision Course

Complication: Emotional Accountability. Ew.

I looked at Hana.

She blinked. "Is he… single?"

I took a long, slow breath. "We need to commit a felony. Before someone turns this into a redemption arc."

---

We didn't walk far before the UI had a full-blown existential episode.

> [WARNING: Narrative Interference Detected] [Scanning: Ezra Drake – ???] [Status: Rejected Protagonist] [Threat Level: Narrative Contamination] [ERROR: This character was not supposed to persist] [ERROR: ERROR: Please reboot your expectations.]

The interface shimmered like a dying screensaver. Then glitched. Text blinked. A sad error tone played, somewhere between Windows XP shutdown and funeral kazoo.

> [Suggested Action: Avoid Eye Contact] [Suggested Backup Action: Run.]

"Okay," I muttered. "That's new."

Ezra leaned against a power pole like a discount Batman. Shadowy. Dramatic. Probably leaning to take weight off his bad hip.

"I've been tracking reincarnated heroes," he said, voice calm in the way that made you feel like knives might be alphabetical in his bag.

"I can smell your aura, Leo. Truck-kun. Metallic. Unnatural. Burnt rubber and misplaced purpose."

Hana blinked. "You can smell him?"

Ezra's eyes didn't leave mine. "Like a thunderstorm in a junkyard. With trauma."

"Accurate," I muttered.

The UI coughed again:

> [Alert: Narrative Conflict Reaching Unstable Threshold] Conflict Detected: "Delusional Fan vs. Failed Plotline vs. Regretful Vehicle."

Hana stepped forward, confused but trying to be helpful, because that's who she is. "Wait, but—Leo changed my life. He gave me purpose. He saved me."

Ezra tilted his head. Slowly. The kind of tilt you reserve for tax fraud or unsolicited guitar solos.

"He ended mine."

The silence that followed had a weight. The kind you usually reserve for funerals. Or awkward parent-teacher conferences.

Ezra pulled something from his pocket. It wasn't a weapon this time. It was a photo.

A younger him. In a hospital bed. Face pale. Expression hopeful.

Behind him? A poster of an anime protagonist. Sword raised. Eyes full of destiny.

"I was ready," he said softly. "I believed. The world said, maybe next time."

The UI glitched so hard it blue-screened for a second. A literal blue rectangle hovered in front of me.

> [404: Character Arc Not Found]

Hana's brows knit. "But… there's always hope. Maybe you just haven't awakened yet?"

Ezra met her gaze. "Some people don't awaken. Some people don't get the story. They get flattened by it."

He turned back to me.

"You caused pain. And the world applauded."

I stared at him.

"Yeah," I said slowly. "That… sounds about right."

For once, the UI didn't ding. No sarcastic tooltip. No badge. Just a blinking cursor. Waiting.

Ezra nodded once. Like he'd been testing something. Like a theory had just been confirmed.

"Good. Then we understand each other."

He stepped back. Shadows swallowed him like a fade-to-black. Not magical. Just good timing.

"You're not a villain, Leo. You're a symptom." he turned.

The UI twitched once more:

> [New Threat Classification: Ezra Drake – Antagonist? Antihero? Unresolved Trauma?] [Add to Watchlist?] [Y/N]

I didn't answer.

Hana looked at me. "Are you okay?"

I sipped my cursed soda. It fizzed like disappointment having a nervous breakdown.

"No," I muttered. "But at least it's a new kind of not-okay."

---

The Department of Arcane Records and DMV was everything I expected from a bureaucratic nightmare—plus a few extra sigils of despair.

Fluorescent lights buzzed like anxious bees. The walls were beige in a way that made me question color theory. A demon receptionist was arguing with a goblin about his expired license to conjure minor weather.

"Welcome to D.A.R.D.," chirped a sign above us. "Please take a number and a deep breath."

> [SYSTEM TIP] "Threat Level: Paper Cut Apocalypse" "Magic Suppression Field: Active" "Emotional Stability: Not Covered by Insurance"

"Smells like admin trauma," I muttered.

"Smells like plot hook," said Hana, bouncing beside me with far too much enthusiasm for someone holding a forged Hero ID.

Ezra just grunted. He'd been following us. Not helping, not threatening—just lurking like a narrative ulcer.

We reached the Records Terminal. One last hallway. One cursed biometric scanner.

Then—

BOOM.

The hallway exploded in a fireball of pink glitter and screaming.

Alarms howled. Doors slammed. Paperwork flew like bureaucratic shrapnel.

"Unauthorized narrative incursion detected!" a ceiling speaker shouted in cheerful panic.

Out of the smoke came chaos. Real villains. Capes, teeth, the works. One of them shouted, "Get the compromise files! I want leverage on at least five mayors!"

Another yelled, "Leave no paper unburnt!"

Leo.exe officially stopped responding.

Ezra ducked behind a filing cabinet and hissed, "Who the hell raids a DMV?"

"People with ambition!" Hana chirped, already glowing with sparkly support magic.

One of the villains spotted us.

"There!" he shouted. "Random witnesses!"

Cue chase scene.

We ran. Down the hallway. Past a floating printer shooting ink blasts. Around a corner filled with hostile clerical golems.

I tripped over a form labeled Request for Arcane License Renewal, Section 13c, Subsection Regret.

> [UI ALERT] New Objective: "Don't Die in a DMV"

"Plan?" I wheezed.

"Stall them!" Ezra snapped. He hurled a desk lamp like a grenade. It hit someone's helmet and shorted out their illusion spell.

"Oh my god," I muttered. "You fight like a bar fight got lost in a filing cabinet."

Hana threw a shield bubble over us. It deflected a bolt of flaming bureaucracy.

"I can get us to the emergency exit," she shouted. "But we have to go through the tax office!"

I whimpered.

We made it to the central processing room. A swirling hellscape of screaming folders and unpaid parking fine spirits.

Ezra smashed the fire alarm with his elbow. Sprinklers activated. A blessed moment of silence.

Then—

> [UI ALERT] Narrative Bond Formed: Unholy Trio (Temp.) Ezra Affection Rating: –32 (Hostile Respect) Hana Affection Rating: ☀️🌈💖

"I hate this," Ezra muttered.

"Same," I said.

"I don't!" Hana beamed.

The building began to shake. Magic surged. A villain yelled something about "ascension through identity theft."

We dove through the exit portal, barely dodging a self-aware fax machine trying to unionize.

And then—we were out. Gasping. Singed. Covered in ash, ink, and disappointment.

I looked at Ezra. He looked at me. We both looked away.

"So…" Hana said brightly, brushing soot off her skirt, "we make a great team!"

> [SYSTEM NOTE] "Temporary Alliance Formed: Please schedule your betrayal window within 72 hours."

I sat down on the pavement. Cursed Citrus™ in hand. My bones hurt. My reputation hurt worse.

"I swear," I muttered, "if one more friendship forms without my consent, I'm switching sides again."

Cue dramatic music. Something jazzy. Possibly played on kazoo.

---

The sun was doing that cinematic thing where it rises all noble and hopeful.

Which was deeply misleading, given the smoking ruin of the D.A.R.D. behind us and the distinct smell of toasted paperwork drifting through the air like failed dreams.

We were on a rooftop now. The kind of roof that probably hosted secret rooftop duels or breakups in teen dramas. It creaked under us. The silence creaked harder.

Ezra stood at the edge, backlit like a budget villain in an indie noir.

"Keep playing the game, Leo," he said, voice low. "I'll be the one keeping score."

Then he turned and walked off like he had a dramatic soundtrack playing in his soul.

I watched him go.

"Cool," I muttered. "New stalker. Just what I needed. Maybe he'll send me mixtapes."

Hana, sitting beside me, wrapped in a soot-smudged shawl of magical glitter, tried to laugh.

"He's… passionate?"

I stared at her. She looked like she'd been through a sparkle-based war crime. Which, to be fair, she had.

"He stapled his X-rays to a brick, Hana."

She went quiet.

We sat there for a while. Watching the firetrucks levitate through traffic. Watching the DMV crumble like a metaphor. Listening to the city start to wake up like it hadn't just been the set of a low-budget apocalyptic heist flick.

Then it came.

> [SYSTEM ALERT]

Trajectory: Unstable

Possible Timeline Fracture Pending.

🛑 [Chapter Boss Approaching…] 🛑

Please prepare emotionally. Or don't. Your tears are algorithmically irrelevant.

My stomach did a slow-motion backflip into a pit of dread.

"Define 'Chapter Boss,'" I said out loud.

> [Tooltip: Larger Than You. Meaner Than Ezra. Probably More Sparkles.]

I closed my eyes. Took a long sip of Cursed Citrus™. Let it sear my tongue and the last vestiges of my hope.

Hana looked at me.

"…Sensei?"

I didn't open my eyes.

"Do not."

"But—"

"Nope."

"…Okay."

The UI hovered quietly. Judging me. Waiting. Like a smug cat with a countdown.

---

end of Chapter 4