So, then...

MC Facts was his name.

This...phantom man...

This...drug-wrought hallucination…

This ungodly irritance, which has been cursed upon me.

I tried to ignore him as I hurried back to class, but he followed along—beatboxing all the way—muttering nonsensical rap lyrics; like, I'm pretty sure I heard him rhyme "cookie" with "dookie." Rap lyrics that it wouldn't take a professional ear to know were absolutely terrible.

Naturally, it wasn't long before I'd had enough of this bizarre form of torment.

"Please, shut up. Please just shut up," I snapped, turning to him in an explosion of rage as I was halfway up the stairs to the second floor. "Tell me, what's the point of all that noise you're making?"

"It's rap, little ma'am. I'm just doing it for fun." He shrugged. "Self-expression."

"Well, you're terrible at it."

"Ouch."

"Seriously, it's annoying. And what's even the point of doing something you're so obviously bad at?"

"Not everything is a competition—"

"Actually"—I paused, looking back at him with one foot set on the next step—"everything in life is a competition for us human beings, Mr. Mirage. It's in our DNA to strive for dominance over others."

"That's a pretty depressing way of looking at the world though, isn't it?"

"Like it or not, it's the reality."

When I walked back into class, I could feel everyone's eyes on me as I took my seat.

Some were snickering…

Some, whispering among themselves…

I can sense MC Facts is hovering just behind me, and it's making me anxious.

"Can't you just go away?"

"Sorry babe, but that won't be possible," he said, yawning: "I have a sworn duty."

"To do what? Piss me off…?!"

His many gold chains rattled as he struck a fierce pose with his fingers angled, pointed down in front of him, saying, "my goal is to inform, and to instruct. To teach and to preach, to guide and preside over my newest pupil, that is you—"

"Yeah, and I'm going to barf and lose my breakfast if you keep that up."

MC Facts kissed his teeth, wincing, with a look of mild perturbance. "Yo, chick! Why the 'tude, when I'm just tryna help youze?!" He smiled. "We in this shit TOGETHER."

"You still haven't told me exactly what this so-called 'shit' is, that you're referring to."

"Aight, aight. I'll show you..."

"Ah!"—Ayako gave a startled yelp as, suddenly, a status screen like something out of a video game appeared in front of her vision, with a light translucent blue HUD design showing a list of statistics:

---------------------------------------------------------

Name: Ayako Ichihara

MC Name: TBD

Weight: 40.64 kg

Height: 157.2 cm

Hair Color: Brown

Eye Color: Hazel-brown

Condition: Antisocial Narcissism, Severe Chronic RBF (Resting Bitch Face)

Likes: reading, sweet desserts, criticizing others, getting rammed from behind while she's bound and gagged, small animals, feeling superior to others

Dislikes: "morons," the "uncultured swine," her own reflection, sexual promiscuity

=========MC Stats================

Level: 1

Total EXP: 0 

Lyricism: [Newbie]

Presentation: [Stale]

Attitude: [Frail]

Sex Life: [Imaginary]

================================

MC Facts says: "Every great journey begins with the first step."

---------------------------------------------------------

"What is all this shit?!"

"It's your status screen, used to record any progress you make in your rap career."

"Rap career? I don't have a stinking rap career!" I said. And, besides that, there was some weird shit shown on the screen that didn't make any sense. Like my "sex life?" Eww! Or this one part saying...what the—that I like being bound and gagged?!

What the hell! That's so gross, and not true at all!

In fact, it contradicts the part that says I dislike promiscuity—which is totally the truth! Since I hate even seeing people kiss or hug each other in public...

"This stuff about me liking bondage isn't true," I grumbled to my new rapping ghost acquaintance. "I'm not a damn pervert...so, I'd suggest you double-check wherever you sourced that information from; and seriously, leave me the Hell alone."

He smirked at me, then, filling my chest with dread.

"The source of this information...is locked deep inside of your own dome—meaning it can't possibly be wrong," he explained. "And so what if you're a freak, baby girl? I can dig it."

"Whatever...go and 'dig it' somewhere else, then! You damn annoying cre—"

"Ichihara-san!" the teacher suddenly interrupted, craning his neck from where he was standing at the front of the class, scrawling notes on the whiteboard. "If you could please save the conversation you are currently having with yourself for until after class, I would be most grateful."

My classmates are laughing, as all I can do is sink in my chair. 

Good grief…

I try my best to ignore MC Facts for the remainder of the day, though it's difficult, and by the time the final bell rings I'm just about ready to pull my hair out.

This is going to be a long, long semester…



It's home time, as a flood of students pours out of the doors of Fritz Lemon High School, descending down the tall stone steps to the parking lot and beyond, filling the air with a nonstop pulse of excited chatter and laughter; shared among friends and lovers all, at the prime of their youth, with a whole wide world of adventure still awaiting them.

However, it was this selfsame vivacious energy that Ayako despised: she being a chronic outsider to the festivities, walking alone; quickly slithering between their ranks like a scared serpent—nose deep in a book while she made her way down the sidewalk headed home.

"Ichihara-san, is every day like this for you?"

"What do you mean?" she asked with an eyebrow raised in suspicion, not pausing in her brisk pace. "Are you about to say I have a boring life? Because that's true of every high schooler."

"Well, it's just that a girl your age should have many friends," MC Facts said, floating like a balloon as he followed closely behind her. "Five or six close friends, on average, to be precise; three ex-boyfriends and eighteen hardcore sexual encounters, on average. However, you're two-for-two on both counts!"

Ayako scowled. "Thanks, rap professor, for trying to make me feel like shit."

"I'm just being realistic," he answered. "I thought you said you preferred that? I wouldn't be here, talking to you right now, if you weren't in a crib full of problems, yo!"

"And to solve those problems, you're trying to get me laid. Classy."

"No, no, no!" He pleaded as he flew in front of her path, causing her to stop and look up at him expectantly. "It's about the rhymes—not about the material gain! At least that's what all the cool artist say, before they hit it big: buy a mansion with all the dough they're making, and start dating a barely legal pop star."

Ayako rolled her eyes. "I'm not a rapper," she said, unfazed, as she then phased through him to continue on her way. "Now, quit disturbing my reading."

"Come on, babe—give it a try, at least!"

Text appeared in front of her face, blocking her vision as before, which read:

---------------------------------------------------------

Quest Acquired: [Freestyle Session]

---------------------------------------------------------

---------------------------------------------------------

No pressure! We chillin'.

Let the beat and the lyrics flow, and show me what you got—drop down and give me 50 bars!

---------------------------------------------------------

---------------------------------------------------------

EXP Reward: 500

---------------------------------------------------------

"So cringe!" Ayako spat, recoiling sharply with a disgusted look.

"Remember, you won't be able to graduate unless you rap. Specifically, you've gotta reach level fifty by the end of the semester—or else!"

"By rapping? How ludicrous!"

"Don't you have loads of bottled up feelings to express?"

"Don't you dare try to psychoanalyze me, while you're dressed in shit like that!" Ayako snapped, pointing an accusatory finger at his ahegao sweater like it was a cursed object. "I'm not some typical overdramatic teenage girl!"

It was then that Ayako noticed the wary eyes of passersby—noticing her shouting at nothing—and, sighing, retreated into a nearby alleyway.

MC glided after, his face full of concern.

"Ichihara-san, aren't there things about yourself you want to change?"

Ayako sighed, putting her book away into her side bag as she shyly averted her gaze. "Of course, I want more people to like me, but…"—she looked up at him, with tiny sparkles of fledgling tears in her eyes—"what if...the person I become is totally unrecognizable?"

"Change is normal. Human beings must constantly adapt."

"I know that already, but...I—"

"Let go of your pride, now, and embrace change. For a better future."

Ayako lowered her head, meditating on his words; simultaneously contemplating the bizarre turn her life had taken in such a short time—curiously mirroring the events of precisely a type of story she might read...

"A plucky young heroine is forced into a do-or-die situation which forces her out of her usual comfort zone," she mused aloud, culminating with a sly-looking grin. "I've already tried to reject the call to adventure, but"—she adjusted her glasses—"so now...all that's left is to step beyond the threshold."

MC Facts smiled as he gave an approving nod…

Then, started to beatbox.

It was a simple, repetitive rhythm; an invitation for any takers to hop in at any point.

And so it was, for the first time ever...

Ayako Ichihara rapped.

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