"Holy fuck—I got the FULL PACKAGE!"

I wheezed, clutching my stomach as I kept laughing, so hard I could barely breathe.

Oh, this was too good.

Not only had I shattered him, but now he was grasping at every single buzzword he could find, throwing them out like a flailing child desperate to get the last hit in.

Incel? Check.

Misogynist? Check.

Racist?! Oh, BIG check.

I fucking knew he had nothing left.

I wiped at my eyes, tears forming from how hard I was laughing. My throat felt dry as hell.

This was priceless.

I kept laughing—louder, harder, wheezing through my teeth as my chest burned from the sheer force of it.

I should have known from the start.

Who the fuck else would write a main character like that?

Who the fuck else would take the time to painstakingly craft such a disgusting, pathetic, irrelevant excuse of a man and call him a protagonist?

Of course.

Of fucking course.

It could only be them.

The type of sniveling, bitter losers who live off self-inflicted misery. The type who sit in the corner of the world, wallowing in their own failure, blaming fate, blaming society, but never once looking in the mirror.

And when they can't change themselves, what do they do?

They write a story where nobody changes.

Where the world stays cruel because it's easier to pretend you were doomed from the start than to admit you were just too weak to do anything about it.

Pathetic. Absolutely fucking pathetic.

Still smirking, I cracked my knuckles and typed my reply.

----------

[Successful_Cucumber: Reply...]

"AHAHAHAHAHAH! Oh man, this is beautiful. The moment you had nothing left, you went straight for the checklist."

"Incel? ✅ Misogynist? ✅ Racist?! ✅ Oh, my dude, you went all in."

"You know what this tells me? You're not arguing anymore. You're just screaming."

"And why? Because I was right. Because I saw through you."

"I should've known from the start. Who else but your kind would write a 'protagonist' like that? Who else would dedicate their time to creating a miserable, spineless, crying sack of shit and call him the 'main character'?"

"The answer is obvious. You wrote yourself."

"You didn't create a story—you just projected your loser existence onto the screen and expected everyone else to 'understand' you. Expected the world to feel sorry for you. But instead? You got called out."

"You got fucking exposed."

"So now, you do what every weak little worm does when backed into a corner—you throw out every label you can think of, hoping one sticks."

"Here's a reality check: it doesn't matter what you call me. You're still a pathetic failure, and this game is still a dumpster fire."

"Stay mad."

Send.

---------

I tossed my phone onto my bed, grinning.

This was too easy.

I leaned back, letting out a slow, amused exhale as my smirk lingered. Fucking predictable.

The sole reason these loser fuckers defend women so rabidly, calling people like me a misogynist, throwing around labels, acting like white knights—it's all because they want to get laid.

That's it.

That's the real game they're playing.

Not justice. Not morals. Not "understanding."

They want pussy.

And now, this pathetic excuse of a man was sitting there foaming at the mouth, throwing the same recycled insults at me.

"You've never spoken to a woman."

I scoffed, rolling my eyes. Oh, if only he fucking knew.

I clenched my fists, irritation bubbling beneath my amusement.

"You fucker… If I were not sick!"

If I wasn't stuck in this rotting hospital bed, if I had my full strength—he'd see who the real loser was.

I'd shove the truth right down his throat and make him choke on it.

But—

I sighed, clicking my tongue.

"Fuck. I can't refute him now."

Because—technically, it had been a while.

Since my last girlfriend.

Diana.

Yeah… Diana.

My lips curled into a small smirk.

She did taste good.

That girl was classy. Rich. Sharp. She had that perfect balance of elegance and wildness, someone who could walk through a gala with a champagne glass in one hand and ride me senseless in the next hour.

Too bad she went overseas.

I stretched my fingers, exhaling as a hint of nostalgia crept in.

Now I fucking wonder what she's doing.

Fuck...

'You're thinking about her, when you're just rotting here, in the corner of a fucking hospital.'

The irony wasn't lost on me.

Here I was, a prisoner in this damn bed, while Diana was out there—probably sipping expensive wine in some rooftop bar, living her best life. The contrast made me scoff. It was almost funny.

Almost.

I shook my head, dragging a hand down my face. Useless thoughts. A waste of time. Just like this damn place. Just like everything lately.

And then—

Ping.

A notification flashed on my screen.

I frowned, picking up my phone. The name made my eye twitch.

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

[RighteousOne:]

"If you were in my place, what could you have done? Heh? What could you even do?"

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

My lips curled.

Oh, this bastard. This fucking bastard.

I cracked my knuckles, rolling my shoulders before hammering my reply onto the screen.

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

[Successful_Cucumber:]

"What could I have done? First off, I wouldn't have been a pathetic sack of shit crying about things I had the power to change."

"Instead of being the miserable, self-pitying worm you are, I'd have gotten my fat ass in shape. I'd have stopped whining and started acting like a real fucking man."

"You think you had no options? Bullshit. You had options. You just didn't have the guts to take them."

"You let yourself rot. You let yourself be pathetic. And now, you wanna cry about how 'life is unfair'? Spare me."

"You should've taken fucking responsibility."

Send.

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

I sat back, exhaling through my nose as a slow smirk spread across my lips. Let's see how he squirms now.

The screen stayed silent for a few seconds—long enough to tell me he was reading. Processing. Struggling to come up with something to throw back.

Then—

Ping.

Ah. There it was.

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

[RighteousOne:]

"Yeah... you would take responsibility, huh? Then let me see it."

"How would you take that responsibility?"

"You son of a bitch, you're all talk."

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

I stared at the screen, my fingers tightening around the phone. My smirk faltered just slightly.

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

[Successful_Cucumber:]

"What are you saying?"

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

Ping.

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

[RighteousOne:]

"You'll see."

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

And then it happened....