I am 15 chapters ahead on my patreón, check it out if you are interested.
https://www.patréon.com/emperordragon
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Chapter 75: Plushies and Petty Wars
When Jon rolled out of bed that morning, the plan had been simple: to relax and maybe grab a coffee after breakfast, chill with some book, and spend a relaxing Saturday lounging around at home. What he hadn't anticipated was spending the day flanked by two chaotic forces of nature disguised as girls—both of whom seemed like they could either take over the world or set it ablaze, all depending on their current caffeine levels.
But somehow, that's exactly what had happened.
The anime store had been a sensory overload of colorful posters, figurines, and the faint buzz of theme songs playing from wall-mounted screens. As Jon approached the register, arms full of nerdy loot, one particular item caught his eye—a Luffy plushie, complete with that unmistakable straw hat. It was too iconic to resist. He grabbed it without a second thought, already picturing it perched on his shelf like a little victory trophy.
But he didn't stop there.
For Sam and Riley, he picked out two Evangelion plushies—because, let's face it, they practically were Rei and Asuka. Riley got Rei: grumpy-faced and low-key menacing in a quiet, no-nonsense way. Sam, of course, got Asuka: all bright smiles that light the world around her and enough energy to punch a hole through the wall, given the opportunity. He handed them over at checkout like peace offerings, or maybe tribute.
Sam beamed as she accepted hers, her eyes lighting up in a way that made Jon's chest do an unexpected little skip. She immediately looped her arm through his like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Riley, on the other hand, examined hers with the suspicion of someone checking for a hidden camera. "This is emotional manipulation," she muttered, hugging her plush like it owed her money but hadn't paid up.. "I'm weak for soft things and Sam knows it."
Jon counted that as a victory in his book. It was the most approval he'd get, and somehow more satisfying than an actual thank-you.
Outside, the mall was its usual overstimulating mess—sugary smells wafting from kiosks, the drone of a thousand simultaneous conversations, bright lights everywhere. But tucked between a slightly depressing food court and a suspiciously cheerful pretzel stand was a glowing beacon from another era: a neon-lit arcade that looked like it had survived the '90s out of sheer spite. A sign above the door blinked, FREE TOKENS WITH ENTRY, practically daring them to walk in.
Riley's eyes lit up like she'd just been issued a personal challenge. "Game on," she said.
Jon blinked. "Game on?"
"She means we're going in," Sam translated smoothly, already pulling him toward the entrance with a smirk.
The air inside was a heady mix of popcorn grease, soda syrup, and the wild hopes of other teenagers with competitive streaks and too much free time. Jon barely had time to register the layout before Riley made a beeline for the air hockey table like it owed her money.
"First to five," she declared, already grabbing a paddle.
Jon shrugged, stepping into position. "Alright."
Riley's eyes narrowed. "Don't go easy on me."
He didn't.
By the time the puck hit the back of her goal for the fifth time in a row, Jon hadn't even broken a sweat. Riley just stood there, staring at the table like physics itself had personally betrayed her.
But she wasn't done yet.
Next stop: the dance machine. Riley stormed up to the neon monster, punched in the highest difficulty before the screen even loaded, and motioned for him to follow. Jon rolled his neck, stepped up beside her, and cracked his knuckles like he was prepping for war. The song started, the arrows flew—and somehow, miraculously, he nailed every single step.
Riley? Not so much.
From across the room, Sam leaned against a change machine, sipping her soda like it was a glass of wine. Her eyes tracked Jon's every move, and she called out casually, "I like the way you move."
Every time she did, Riley shot her a look sharp enough to shave metal.
The assault continued—next up, a two-player zombie shooter. Jon played with one hand. Riley looked like she was on the verge of actual combat fatigue. They moved from machine to machine, and with each round, Riley's disbelief grew.
By the fifth game, Riley had sweat on her forehead and an existential crisis brewing in her eyes.
"Is he doing this on purpose?" she muttered, mostly to herself.
Sam grinned, utterly unbothered. "Nope. That's just Jon."
Jon, who'd been reloading his plastic gun, turned around, genuinely puzzled. "You say something?"
"Nothing, oh humble destroyer of arcade dreams," Riley replied flatly.
Jon held out the next token with a hopeful grin. "Rematch?"
Riley slapped it out of his hand with the elegance of someone rejecting a marriage proposal. "Let's just say I'll remember this. Forever."
Sam burst out laughing, nearly spilling her drink. Jon just looked adorably confused.
Eventually, as their tokens dwindled and Riley's competitive fire dimmed into smoldering defeat, she pointed toward a glowing clothing store ahead. It was one of those trendy, overpriced places with soft lighting and mannequins wearing outfits that looked like they'd been strategically mauled by designer wolves.
"I need retail therapy," she announced, already dragging Sam in by the wrist.
Jon sighed, falling in step behind them. "Should I be worried?"
Sam looked back over her shoulder with a grin that did not bode well. "Only your wallet."
And just like that, Jon found himself entering the one arena that truly made him uneasy—more than rival football teams or awkward encounters—fashion retail.
Let the real battle begin.