Chapter 7 — Water Baloon
And thus begins Chapter Seven.
Now, children.
Day One
complete.
Tournament bracket cleared.
OMG undefeated.
Demigodz undefeated.
Finals waiting patiently for tomorrow.
And evening?
Children.
Evening had its own itinerary.
The council opens the schedule.
Strategy review?
Yes.
Rest?
Eventually.
Hydration?
Debatable.
Alcohol?
Correct.
Pot?
Also correct.
The council sighs.
A sophisticated itinerary.
Exactly.
We drank.
Hex.
The other three.
Nuo.
And
Stalker.
The council looks toward her.
Yes.
By this point,
Stalker had apparently been absorbed into the party.
Official role?
Romantic interest.
Cheerleader.
Dota consultant.
Dog approved human.
The council nods.
A versatile hire.
And children
it was nice.
No grand chaos.
Not yet.
Just people sitting around,
drinking,
smoking,
talking about the game.
The thing we had come here for.
Drafts.
Strategies.
Matchups.
What Demigodz might do.
What we might do.
What had worked that day.
What could fail tomorrow.
The usual obsessive gamer nonsense that sounds like military planning if you remove the words:
hero,
lane,
and cooldown.
The council listens.
And Stalker?
Contributed.
A lot.
The council raises an eyebrow.
More than you?
Children.
More than me.
Because she knew Dota.
Really knew Dota.
Not:
Oh, I’ve played a few games.
Not:
I know that one character.
No.
She understood drafts.
Strategy.
The rhythm of the game.
She could follow what we were discussing
and actually add to it.
The council watches Story Nuo.
Oh no.
Oh yes.
Children.
Do you know how attractive competence is?
Especially competence in your religion?
I already thought she was hot.
Thick framed glasses.
Smelled nice.
Liked dogs.
Had tracked me down through gaming.
Then she started intelligently discussing Dota strategy.
The council removes all remaining resistance.
Hopeless.
Completely.
And Present Nuo?
Children.
Still attractive.
A person knowing something deeply?
Being able to talk passionately and intelligently about a thing they love?
That remains excellent.
The council nods.
So there I sat,
listening to Stalker discuss the game,
thinking approximately:
Gods.
This woman.
Maybe not in those exact words.
But spiritually.
Eventually
alcohol began doing what alcohol does.
The group thinned.
One teammate disappeared to sleep.
Then another.
Then another.
The council counts.
Background characters dismissed.
Respectfully.
Correct.
Eventually
Hex too.
Children.
Even Social Department has operating hours.
The council looks at the remaining two.
Nuo.
Stalker.
Silence.
Well.
Obviously.
Make Out Session Number Two.
The council applauds.
Children.
I had discovered kissing earlier that very day.
And I had already reached a conclusion.
Kissing?
Excellent.
Very good activity.
Strong replay value.
So if Stalker suggested kissing again
there was no internal debate.
No first time confusion.
No protocol analysis.
No:
What do I do with my hands?
Children.
Research had been conducted.
I was now a veteran of approximately thirty minutes.
The council laughs.
Seasoned professional.
Exactly.
She suggested it.
Or leaned in.
Or gave whatever signal existed.
And Story Nuo’s response was immediate.
Yes.
Absolutely.
Proceed.
The council writes:
MAKE OUT SESSION TWO:
AUTHORIZED.
And so
kissing.
Again.
Less bewildered this time.
Still euphoric.
Still absurdly happy about the fact that this was apparently something my life now contained.
Children.
There are discoveries that alter one’s worldview.
Fire.
Agriculture.
Electricity.
For Story Nuo?
Kissing.
The council sighs.
Civilisation advances.
Eventually,
we stopped.
Because apparently even newly discovered pleasures occasionally require movement.
We stood.
And walked.
Hands held.
The council smiles.
Campus at night.
Different place from the day.
The fest still alive,
but changed.
Lights.
Dark spaces between buildings.
Voices carrying farther.
Groups scattered around.
The air cooler.
And us?
No destination.
The council checks navigation.
Where are you going?
No idea.
Why that direction?
Vibes.
Of course.
Children.
We simply walked.
Hand in hand.
No tournament objective for the moment.
No Hex directing.
No schedule.
No particular location in mind.
Just movement.
Whatever path looked good.
Whatever direction felt right.
Conversation perhaps.
Silence perhaps.
Did not matter.
And then
impact.
The council freezes.
Impact?
Yes.
Something struck me.
Wet.
Sudden.
Splash.
The council looks down.
Water balloon.
Children.
We had wandered directly into a battlefield.
Not metaphorically.
Well,
mostly metaphorically.
A water balloon war.
Students.
NIT residents.
Killing time.
Throwing water balloons at one another under the cover of night like a very low budget artillery regiment.
And one of them
had targeted Nuo.
The council becomes solemn.
Unprovoked attack.
Exactly.
The balloon hit.
Burst.
Water everywhere.
Then
laughter.
Children.
They laughed.
Taunting.
Mockery from enemy lines.
The council slowly turns toward me.
Now.
I am Nuo.
Many things can be ignored.
Bad directions.
Schedules.
Social expectations.
Faculty instructions.
But a taunt?
Children.
A taunt requires response.
The council drums on the table.
Retaliation.
Immediate.
Only one problem.
We possessed no water balloons.
The council pauses.
No ammunition.
Correct.
The enemy had logistical superiority.
Prepared artillery.
We had
pockets.
I checked.
Children.
And discovered
condoms.
The council goes silent.
Condoms?
Condoms.
The council stares.
You carried
We’ll address that shortly.
First:
war.
I pulled out the pack.
Stalker looked at me.
Probably with exactly the expression this sentence deserves.
I took one.
Found a faucet nearby.
Conveniently placed by the universe,
which had apparently decided to support escalation.
The council leans forward.
Children.
I filled it with water.
Not elegant.
Not purpose built.
But effective.
A water balloon is simply a flexible container filled with water.
The council raises a procedural objection.
Archive.
Not engineering manual.
Correct.
We shall leave the mechanics there.
The important part is
ammunition acquired.
I turned.
Target.
Launch.
SPLASH.
The council erupts.
TARGET ELIMINATED.
The enemy student got soaked.
Laughter exploded.
Not angry laughter.
Delighted laughter.
Because children,
they had thrown a water balloon at some random festival visitor
and the random visitor had responded with contraceptive artillery.
This was escalation worth respecting.
Stalker?
Immediately joined.
Of course she did.
The council nods.
Correct woman.
Next condom.
Water.
Launch.
Splash.
The NIT residents retaliated.
Balloon artillery.
Incoming.
The council ducks.
We fired back.
They fired.
We fired.
Children.
And just like that,
the romantic night walk became
war.
Water balloon versus water condom.
Campus locals versus visiting Dota idiot and his self declared stalker.
No teams officially announced.
No rules.
No referee.
No winner.
Only ammunition.
The council laughs.
Someone got hit.
Someone missed.
Water exploded against walls.
Clothes soaked.
People yelled.
Stalker laughing.
Me laughing.
The original attackers laughing.
Children.
Glorious.
Pure nonsense.
The kind of fun that appears from nowhere
because someone made one stupid decision
and everybody else agreed to make equally stupid decisions in response.
The council nods.
Now.
The question.
Why did Story Nuo have condoms?
The council turns.
Yes.
Children.
Remember who we are dealing with.
Virgin Nuo.
Representative of virgins worldwide.
Negative practical experience.
No established romantic life.
No reason,
based on historical evidence,
to assume sexual opportunity was imminent.
And yet
condoms.
Why?
Children.
Preparedness.
The council laughs.
Story Nuo had a philosophy.
A woman may,
at some unpredictable point in the future,
manifest.
The council pauses.
Manifest?
Yes.
Like law enforcement at the bus stop,
but preferably more pleasant.
And if said woman manifested
and somehow decided:
Nuo.
Then Story Nuo did not want to reach that historic moment and discover he had neglected logistics.
The council nods solemnly.
So
prepared.
Was this optimism?
Delusion?
Strategic inventory planning?
Children.
All three.
And the rule itself?
Sound.
Bonk responsibly.
Don’t be silly.
Wrap your willy.
The council groans.
Crude.
Memorable.
Exactly.
And on this night,
those supplies did not fulfill their intended purpose.
Instead
artillery.
The council writes:
CONDOM INVENTORY:
REPURPOSED FOR WARFARE.
Virgin Nuo’s emergency preparation had finally become useful.
Just not in the way he envisioned.
Children.
Poetry.
The battle continued.
Stalker launched one.
Hit.
Cheered.
Enemy balloon came flying.
Missed perhaps.
Another struck.
Everyone soaked anyway,
so tactical effectiveness eventually became irrelevant.
The council nods.
At a certain point,
water fights stop having winners because everybody is already wet.
Exactly.
And eventually
ammunition dwindled.
Balloon stock:
gone.
Condom stock:
also gone.
The council pauses.
All of them?
Enough for history to remember depletion.
Children.
The war consumed resources.
Eventually,
someone reached into a pocket.
Nothing.
Someone checked a bag.
Nothing.
I looked at Stalker.
She looked at me.
The NIT students looked at us.
And there was
laughter.
Only laughter.
No hostility.
No:
Why did you hit me?
No actual fight.
The taunting had been invitation disguised as aggression.
The response had been absurd enough to elevate the event.
And when the ammunition ended
so did the war.
The council smiles.
Everyone had fun.
That is the memory.
Not who won.
No one won.
Or everyone did.
Children.
A random encounter in the middle of a nighttime campus
became one of those tiny things that survives decades precisely because it had no reason to matter.
We had been walking.
No destination.
Then
splash.
Five minutes later,
perhaps longer,
we were engaged in improvised aquatic warfare with strangers.
The council nods.
That is what wandering does sometimes.
Not every turn leads to a monument.
Sometimes it leads to being hit by a water balloon.
And if you’re properly equipped
children.
Apparently you counter with condoms.
The council sighs.
The Archive’s dignity continues to deteriorate.
It never had dignity.
Fair.
Stalker stood beside me,
wet,
laughing.
And I remember being delighted.
Because once again,
she did not hesitate.
Dog?
She crouched.
Dota?
She understood.
Kissing?
Very enthusiastic.
Random water war?
Children.
Immediate enlistment.
The council looks impressed.
Story Nuo approved.
Strongly.
The night had begun with alcohol and strategy.
Then kissing.
Then aimless walking.
Then battlefield.
No plan could have improved it.
The council grows quiet.
And this is where NIT had already begun shifting in memory.
We had come for a tournament.
A singular objective.
Dota.
That remained the centre.
Final tomorrow.
Demigodz waiting.
But around that objective,
the place kept producing
things.
Dog.
Stalker.
First kiss.
Night campus.
Random students.
Water artillery.
Children.
The tournament was the reason we came.
The Wandering was everything that happened once we were there.
The council nods.
But Story Nuo did not think that.
Story Nuo was wet.
Probably slightly drunk.
Possibly high.
Holding the hand of a woman he had met that morning.
Laughing with strangers who had just attacked him with balloons.
And thinking
this is fun.
Simple.
Eventually,
the battlefield dispersed.
Students returned to whatever they had been doing.
Stalker and I remained.
Probably looked at each other.
Probably laughed again at the absurdity.
Then
onward.
The council looks toward the dark campus.
Where?
Children.
No idea.
That was the point.
For now,
the war was over.
The ammunition was gone.
The final waited for morning.
And somewhere behind us,
one NIT student had learned an important lesson.
Do not throw a water balloon at Nuo
unless you are prepared for contraceptive counterfire.
Thus concludes Chapter Seven.
The Evening Itinerary.
The Dota Strategy Session.
Stalker’s Unexpectedly Attractive Draft Analysis.
The Alcohol Attrition.
Make Out Session Number Two.
The Aimless Night Walk.
The First Strike.
The Water Balloon Battlefield.
The Emergency Condom Artillery.
And The War With No Losers.
Children.
I carried condoms because Virgin Nuo believed opportunity might one day manifest.
Opportunity did manifest.
Just not the one the condoms were designed for.
The council nods.
Still useful.
And somewhere at NIT Calicut,
under the night sky,
a group of strangers,
a gamer,
and his stalker
ran out of ammunition
and laughed until the war was over.
