Crow lounged outside a convenience store, stretched out in the heat of the afternoon sun. A patch of shade gave just enough relief to keep him from melting. The air was thick and drowsy, steeped in asphalt, grilled street food, and the perfume of blooming trees.

Above, clouds drifted across the sky—lazy, unhurried, like they had nowhere better to be.

He swirled his cheap iced coffee. The cold pressed against his palm like a tiny relief. 

Random thoughts floated along with the breeze: his guitar's new strings that felt too tight, the can of tuna he left for the stray cat outside his apartment, and the guy who bought six packs of cotton swabs for whatever reason.

He squinted at the little things—the rustle of leaves, sun glare winking off passing cars, the distant chatter of people that didn’t mind him. Even the vending machine that had rejected his coins as if it had a grudge.

All of it… small. Unimportant. But that was the charm. This kind of nothing kept him suspended in a cozy, soft limbo, where he didn’t have to feel too much.

He looked at his watch. "Okay. Five more minutes."

Five minutes to finish his coffee and return to his ordinary work day.

Or 

... a five-minute countdown to a beautiful disaster.

— • —

The previous night was anything but extraordinary.

Crow dragged himself up the stairway to his apartment. The earlier gig had gone well. The crowd swayed to soft rock classics—no rockstar posturing, just laid-back serenades for the lovely ladies. His kind of show.

With the guitar back on its stand, he trudged towards the kitchen and tossed his usual dinner into a microwave. Nothing fancy: a half-priced convenience meal and some miso soup. He stared at the turntable as it rotated, his eyelids getting heavier by the second.

After a quick, stand-up meal and a warm shower, he slipped into a loose shirt and shorts, rolling into bed with a deep sigh. He needed that. And silence and darkness.

But he couldn't sleep.

The caffeine had already kicked in like gasoline through his veins. He lay there, blinking at the ceiling while his brain kicked into overdrive. Thoughts clashed and collided, like some messy internal beat he couldn’t shut off.

Crow gave up.

He rolled over, booted up his PC, and grabbed his old arcade controller. It still clicked perfectly—battle-tested for years.

Arena of Blood and Steel 3 booted up.

Start Game. Character Select.

Jabs, kicks, parries, and combos. His hands moved by muscle memory. The screen flickered into motion as he steered his fighter through match after match.

His win rate crawled. Every match felt like a painful tug-of-war.

Finally, he clutched a narrow victory. He sighed, rubbing his eyes as he clicked through the game interface to see his fight record.

35%. Not great. But fine. Maybe that was enough.

Even so, with a groan of frustration, he launched his browser and typed words into the search bar. Words he had always checked more out of habit than curiosity.

“Kanno Hinata tier list ABS3.”

His screen lit up with results: tier lists, forum debates, patch rankings that never seemed to settle.

She was at Tier D. B if the listing was generous. Low-tier.

He sighed. “Seriously. Do the devs hate her this much?”

His chair creaked in disappointment as he leaned back. The listings pointed out her biggest flaw: her moves hadn’t improved much since the first game.

He streamed playthroughs over the years, but the chat always had fun roasting him for his stubbornness. He even played other characters, but no matter how much he tried, he’d always circle back to her.

Crow didn’t know when it started—this weird loyalty.

Maybe it was because she didn’t let you coast. She made you earn it.

Or the way she beamed with energy that made you keep trying—that even when losing hurts, it was still worth something.

He sat there a little longer, scrolling aimlessly through tier lists and fan ratings, before his mind slipped into something ridiculous.

“What if she’s real?”

What if she kicked down his door, told him to pack a bag, and dragged him into something loud, chaotic, and beautiful with a cheeky smirk? Stargazing at 2 A.M., unplanned road trips.

She’d punch his self-doubt in the gut and grin while doing it. They’d bicker over who pays for lunch, then split their meals, anyway.

And for once, they’d laugh at how the world only made sense when it’s crazy.

With a chuckle, he shut down the PC and glanced at the clock.

4:03 A.M.

It was stupid, of course. He wasn’t delusional enough to think a video game character could spice up his mundane life.

Perhaps he needed to go out and make more friends, after all.

The sky outside was softening—no longer black but a strange, pale shade of blue the world wore before the wheels finally turned.

And to the universe, he whispered:

“Guess I’ll just marry her in my dreams.”

— • —

A sharp HONK sliced through his vivid fantasy. A taxi sped past, horns blaring. Crow snapped back into the real world and rubbed his face.

Then—buzz. His phone vibrated.

“Hello?” he answered, casual and groggy.

“Dude! Don’t tell me you’re napping again,” came Dylan’s voice, warm and familiar.

Crow stretched with a groan. “It’s not even late. Soundcheck’s at six, right? It’s barely two.”

“Yeah, but you say that, and then you're back to power naps. Did you practice the new song?”

“If playing it a hundred times counts as practice, I’m overqualified.”

“Alright. Please don’t stress Mel again.”

“She won’t. Chill vibe tonight, I swear.”

“Great, you always pull off anyway. After that, let’s hit Arena. Blow off some steam,” Dylan said.

Crow grinned. “Sure, like always.”

“Just don’t be late.”

“I’ll be there.”

He ended the call and slipped the phone into his jacket pocket. The sun was still warm on his skin, and the world still slow and distant.

He exhaled. Eyes closed. Ready to find a new excuse for his tardiness at the expense of poor Dylan.

And then—

CRASH.

Glass detonated into countless shards. 

Crow shot upright, nearly spilling his drink.

He spun just in time to see someone fly out of the convenience store’s shattered panel, as if kicked by a titan. The figure twisted midair, skidding across the pavement before landing in a crouch—arms locked in a tight guard.

Her hood fell back.

And as sunlight hit her face, Crow’s entire world flipped inside out.

"KANNO HINATA!?"

— • —

Hello, dear Reader!

This is a romcom-action story about a guy who fell for a low-tier fighting game character—

—who literally crashed into his real life. With a few twists.

If you enjoyed it, please leave a like, comment, or subscribe. Let me know what you think!

I hope you'll stick around. It gets crazier (or maybe sweeter) from here.

With love,
The Author