Flipping Through the Pages
Copyright© 2026 by Dragonpig
Chapter 27
Entering universe 1221B scanning.
The fluorescent lights hummed overhead as the writing team for “My Ordinary Life with Seven Goddesses” sat around a conference table covered in empty energy drink cans and crumpled script pages. The deadline for episode twelve loomed, and exhaustion hung in the air like stale cigarette smoke.
“Okay, so in episode twelve, Akira trips and accidentally grabs Sakura’s chest, but instead of slapping him, she blushes and says, ‘Maybe it was fate,’” said Hiroshi, the head writer, barely looking up from his laptop screen filled with formulaic plot points.
“Shouldn’t she at least be a little mad?” asked Yuki, the newest member of the team, her voice hesitant but genuine. “I mean, if someone accidentally grabbed me like that, I’d be pretty upset—”
“Kid,” interrupted Kenji, a veteran anime writer with twenty years of harem shows under his belt, “you’re overthinking. The viewers don’t want reality. They want to believe that being awkward and pathetic is actually attractive to women.”
“But don’t you think we have a responsibility to—”
“Responsibility?” Kenji laughed, leaning back in his chair until it creaked. “My responsibility is to my mortgage payment. This garbage pays for my kids’ college tuition. Nothing more, nothing less.”
Hiroshi nodded without enthusiasm, his fingers pausing over the keyboard. “Look, I know it’s stupid. We all know it’s stupid. But the studio ordered twelve episodes of ‘loser gets everything he doesn’t deserve,’ and that’s exactly what we’re delivering.”
Three hundred miles away, Takeshi sat in his cramped apartment, surrounded by body pillows and anime figurines that stared at him with painted smiles. He watched the latest episode on his phone, his eyes lighting up as the shy protagonist somehow convinced the school’s most popular girl to be his study partner.
“See? This is how it really works,” he muttered to himself, adjusting his position among the merchandise. “Women can sense when a guy is genuine and pure-hearted. They’re drawn to authenticity.”
His phone buzzed with a message from Ami: “Hey, want to grab coffee tomorrow? I could use help with an anime project.” The notification appeared right over the anime girl’s face on his screen.
Takeshi stared at the message, his heart racing. Just like in the anime—a girl asking him for help! This was his moment, his chance to prove the shows were right. He’d play it cool, be mysterious, maybe ignore her message for a while to show he wasn’t desperate.
He set his phone aside and returned to the show, where the protagonist was now somehow being fought over by twin sisters who found his inability to make eye contact “charming and endearing.”
“I actually met one of our viewers at a convention last year,” said Kenji, cracking open another energy drink with a sharp hiss. “Twenty-six years old, lives with his parents, told me our show gave him ‘hope for finding true love.’ Poor bastard was wearing a fedora unironically.”
“That’s kind of sad,” Yuki said quietly, her pen hovering over her notebook.
“Sad? It’s natural selection,” Kenji shrugged, his callousness cutting through the room’s stale air. “If someone’s stupid enough to think reality works like our show, they probably shouldn’t be reproducing anyway. We’re doing society a favor by keeping them distracted and out of the gene pool.”
Hiroshi looked uncomfortable, shifting in his seat. “Come on, that’s harsh. They’re just lonely people looking for hope.”
“Lonely because they refuse to develop actual personalities or social skills,” Kenji shot back. “Instead, they watch our show and convince themselves that being boring is a virtue and that women are prizes to be won through pure-hearted thoughts alone.”
“But we’re the ones selling them that fantasy,” Yuki protested, her voice gaining strength. “We’re the ones creating these unrealistic expectations.”
“And tobacco companies sell cigarettes,” Kenji replied with a dismissive wave. “Doesn’t mean they force people to smoke. Adults make their own choices, even stupid ones.”
The next day, Takeshi finally responded to Ami’s message—three days later, with a single word: “Maybe.” He’d learned from anime that being aloof and mysterious made you more attractive, more desirable.
Ami read the message, rolled her eyes, and asked her other friend to help with the project instead. She made a mental note to stop being friendly to Takeshi, who was clearly either playing games or just plain weird.
Meanwhile, Takeshi sat in his room wondering why his carefully calculated “mysterious” response hadn’t led to Ami confessing her feelings like it would have in the show. The script wasn’t working like it was supposed to.
“Ratings are up twelve percent,” announced the studio executive, sliding into the conference room with a satisfied smile. “Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it. I’m green-lighting season two and increasing the budget.”
The writers exchanged glances across the table, a mix of resignation and guilt passing between them.
“Actually,” Yuki said hesitantly, gathering her courage, “I had an idea for a different kind of show. What if we had a protagonist who actually grows and learns social skills? Someone who faces real consequences for not trying to improve himself and has to—”
“Kid,” the executive interrupted, his smile fading, “do you know what our demographic research shows? Our viewers don’t want growth. They want validation. They want to believe they’re perfect exactly as they are, and it’s the world that’s wrong.”
Kenji nodded cynically, clicking his pen repeatedly. “He’s right. The moment we show a character actually improving himself through effort, we lose our audience. They don’t want to see work—they want to see reward without effort.”
“But that’s not how life works,” Yuki said.
“Exactly,” said Hiroshi, his fingers already moving back toward his keyboard. “That’s why it sells.”
The neon lights of Gotham’s late-night district cast an eerie glow as Batman pursued two muggers through the narrow streets. He’d been tracking this particular pair for three nights, waiting for them to make their move outside the theater district where late workers made easy targets.
He cornered them in an alley behind a 24-hour ice cream stand, where a few small tables sat under flickering streetlights. The takedown was swift and efficient—years of training distilled into precise, economic movements.
Within minutes, both criminals were zip-tied and unconscious, waiting for GCPD pickup. Batman was about to leave when an unexpected voice cut through the night air.
“Man, you’re really trying way too hard.”
Batman turned to see a young man sitting alone at one of the ice cream stand’s outdoor tables, a half-melted sundae in front of him. Mid-twenties, soft around the edges, wearing an anime t-shirt under a worn hoodie that had seen better days.
“Excuse me?” Batman said, his voice carrying its usual gravelly authority.
Kyle Hashimoto looked up from his ice cream with a judgmental expression that seemed practiced. “All that dramatic swooping around, the scary voice, the elaborate fighting moves. It’s like ... why do you need to try so hard to impress people?”
Batman stared at him, genuinely caught off guard. It was nearly 2 AM on a Tuesday, and this was not a conversation he’d expected to have. “What are you doing out here?”
“Getting ice cream. I couldn’t sleep.” Kyle shrugged as if this were the most natural thing in the world. “But seriously, what’s with all the effort? The outfit, the gadgets, the whole dark and brooding persona. You’re trying way too hard to be impressive.”
“I’m stopping criminals,” Batman replied, gesturing toward the unconscious muggers.
“Yeah, but you don’t need to be so ... extra about it. Just be yourself, man. Be natural and pure-hearted. That’s what really matters in life.”
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.