24 Prologue 2nd (2/2)

And that is exactly how a real deity should be. A real deity shouldn't end up in a forced relationship of a spouse with you. They shouldn't try to act like a tsundere. They shouldn't try to take everything on by themselves. They shouldn't try to fight a monster head-on for the sake of others. They shouldn't try to die on you and lie to you before dying to keep your heart.

I realize now that Yato does most of those things. Well, at least he doesn't have C-Cups. That'd be just plain weird, the type of weird that I'm sure we'll see in some anime someday. Or, is there already one with that kind of 'plot'? No, please don't answer that question.

Knock! Knock!

Okay, so, do I need to explain those two words? Fine, fine, I guess it's the job of the protagonists to explain all the most boring things and leave the interesting exposition to other characters. Damn! I haven't hated being a protagonist ever in my entire life, but I might just start doing so. Anyway, what happened just now is that I heard someone knocking at the door to my house but as I was busy explaining things to you guys, the knocker (bring Oxford's dictionary and add that new meaning to the word) got anxious and irritated and broke down the damn door.

Then, the knocker comes to me and looks at me. As he sees that I'm fine, he sighs in relief. This man who just killed my door, again, is Danny.

”I was getting worried there because you weren't answering.” He says in a relieved voice.

”What now?” I plainly ask him.

I ask him because I know the reason he has come here.

”Now, we move out!” He says with a smirk. That makes me wonder how he can possibly resemble Shinji or Sonohara ever in his life.

Then his gaze falls on the television that I had left on (why else did you think I was suddenly recommending people to watch Gintama) and sees the figure of a particular ninja lady, to which,

”AHM!!” he clears his throat and looks away, trying to hide his thoughts from me. That makes me wonder how he can possibly not resemble Shinji or Sonohara ever in his life.

”Well,” I say as I stand and turn the TV off, ”I am ready to move out when you are.”

I say in a lethargic voice as I go and face the mirror I had brought to this room recently. In it, I see the reflection of an oval-blue-eyed individual with oval-face and button-nose looking drowsily at his own reflection and also his kinda long black hair and ivory skin look brilliant in his black, noble attire that suits his name, Irium.

How did we reach this point? That story is now to be told.

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