Chapter 7 — Room
And thus begins Chapter Seven.
Now, children.
Green Hair unlocked the door.
Quietly.
Very quietly.
Because remember
Final Boss asleep.
The council hears ominous music.
We had entered the level containing the boss.
Not the arena.
Not yet.
But somewhere inside this building slept a father.
And somewhere else inside the same building
me.
A man he did not know existed.
The council checks player level.
Still insufficient.
Extremely.
Green Hair took my hand.
Children.
Hand.
Warm.
Simple.
Then guided me through the darkness.
No lights.
No unnecessary sound.
Step.
Pause.
Another step.
The sort of movement where suddenly every floorboard feels personally invested in exposing you.
The council whispers.
Stealth mission.
Exactly.
Upstairs.
Slow.
Quiet.
Green Hair leading.
Nuo following.
Anime Girl Protocol still functioning at full capacity.
Eventually
door.
Her room.
She opened it.
We entered.
And children
I stopped.
The council looks around.
What?
Woman’s room.
Silence.
Yes.
A room.
Owned by woman.
An attractive woman.
With neon green hair.
Children.
You may have developed an inaccurate impression of Nuo over the course of these Wanderings.
Understandable.
There have been girlfriends.
Kisses.
Make out sessions.
Romantic side quests.
Temporary people.
Various acts of questionable charm somehow succeeding despite the obvious evidence that I possess very little actual charm.
The council nods.
So perhaps you imagine
Casanova.
Womaniser.
Experienced seducer.
Children.
Incorrect.
Catastrophically incorrect.
At this point in Story Nuo’s life,
I had possessed exactly two official girlfriends.
Axe.
Stalker.
The council counts.
Two.
And yes
there had been a few bonk partners.
The council opens the file.
How many?
CLASSIFIED.
Immediately.
Children.
I still possess approximately three grains of reputation.
We protect them.
The exact number enters the same vault as state secrets,
bank PINs,
and the sales figures of my published book.
The council reluctantly seals the file.
But despite whatever limited romantic experience existed
this?
Different.
Stalker?
Children.
I had never even been to her house.
Forget bedroom.
Her home itself remained foreign territory.
Axe?
Well.
Axe had lived with me.
Technically,
yes,
I had been in her room.
Many times.
But when someone shares your apartment,
their bedroom stops feeling like:
THE CHAMBER OF WOMAN.
It becomes:
room next to kitchen.
The council nods.
Domestic familiarity destroys mythology.
Exactly.
You walk in because your charger is there.
Or because she called you.
Or because your shirt somehow migrated into her laundry.
No sacred threshold.
But now?
Children.
Now I stood inside the bedroom of a woman
I had known for approximately
one evening.
A woman who had called me from nowhere.
Tracked me down through my terrible book.
Taken me to the beach.
Cried into my hoodie.
Kissed me.
Brought me to Kazhakootam.
And possessed
green hair.
The council watches Story Nuo’s brain reboot.
For a man like me?
This was NASA.
Children.
Imagine a child obsessed with rockets
finally walking into a spacecraft facility.
That.
Except instead of:
Saturn V.
It was:
bed.
Desk.
Shelves.
Objects.
The council sighs.
Immediately
Crow Protocol.
“Oooo, what’s that?”
I looked at something.
Probably picked it up.
Another object.
“Oooo, that looks cool.”
Turn.
Inspect.
Children.
I had completely forgotten any concept of appearing mature.
Or mysterious.
Or desirable.
No calculated body language.
No leaning against the wall like:
Yes.
I have entered many women’s bedrooms.
I am accustomed to this environment.
No.
My entire behaviour communicated:
NEW BIOME DISCOVERED.
The council laughs.
Something on the desk?
Inspect.
Decoration?
Inspect.
Little object?
Inspect.
Then
bed.
Pink sheets.
Children.
Pink.
My heart melted approximately four percent.
“Dawww.
Your sheets are pink.”
The council covers its face.
Master seducer.
Published author.
Yes.
Green Hair stood there watching this anthropological expedition unfold.
Smiling.
Not embarrassed.
Not annoyed.
Just
amused.
Because apparently watching a grown man react to your bedroom like he has been granted access to a restricted museum
is entertaining.
Eventually
she said it.
“You’re cute.”
The council pauses.
Again.
Children.
Cute.
A word I know.
I’ve been called it before.
Not because the genetic lottery looked at me and said:
Let’s create aesthetic perfection.
No.
Let us be realistic.
Visually?
I hover somewhere in the prestigious category of
barely below average.
The council objects.
Self assessment unverified.
Archive ruling.
Moving on.
But behaviour?
Children.
That is where the problem begins.
There is apparently something about the way I react to things
the enthusiasm,
the lack of performance,
the immediate:
OOOO WHAT’S THAT
that triggers some ancient mammalian response in women.
The council leans forward.
Puppy response?
Puppy response.
Exactly.
Not:
This man is seductive.
More:
Awww.
Look at him.
Someone give him a snack before he walks into traffic.
The council nods.
Historically consistent.
I am aware of this.
Very aware.
So Green Hair saying:
“You’re cute”
didn’t shock me.
I probably accepted the assessment.
Fine.
Cute.
Whatever.
Then
memory.
The council hears the quest notification.
Pot.
Ah.
Yes.
Children.
Objective.
We had not travelled all the way to Kazhakootam merely so I could conduct bedroom anthropology.
Agriculture.
Green Hair had promised.
I turned.
“Where?”
Or perhaps simply:
“Pot?”
She pointed toward a drawer.
The council illuminates quest marker.
There.
I opened it.
And
weed.
Silence.
Children.
Objective located.
Everything else vanished.
Green Hair?
Temporarily removed from active rendering.
Pink sheets?
Gone.
Bedroom?
Gone.
Potential Final Boss sleeping downstairs?
Gone.
Entire universe?
Reduced to one task.
Joint engineering.
The council watches Nuo sit down.
Paper.
Weed.
Hands.
Focus.
Children.
Tunnel vision.
You have seen this before.
Snake quest.
Lion quest.
Tag quest.
When Nuo’s brain decides:
This.
Other sensory inputs become optional.
And so I began.
Not dramatically.
Not ceremonially.
Just the familiar little ritual.
Focus.
Roll.
Adjust.
Children.
The world could have ended outside and I might have said:
One second.
Almost done.
The council sighs.
And somewhere behind me
Green Hair existed.
What was she doing?
No clue.
Story Nuo had switched off peripheral awareness.
Perhaps she was watching.
Perhaps moving around.
Perhaps planning.
Children.
This becomes relevant.
Because eventually
joint.
Finished.
The council rings a tiny bell.
QUEST OBJECTIVE:
CRAFTED.
Excellent.
I admired the work.
Perhaps lightly.
Not too much.
A joint is not the Sistine Chapel.
Then I turned around.
Mainly because of one practical question.
Where do we smoke this?
Bedroom?
Window?
Balcony?
Roof?
Children.
Remember:
Final Boss asleep.
One does not simply generate marijuana smoke inside a father’s house without considering consequences.
I turned.
And
Green Hair.
Pause.
The council looks.
Same Green Hair.
Yes.
Except
significantly less clothing.
Silence.
Children.
Jeans?
Gone.
T shirt?
Gone.
Essentials?
Covered.
Let us preserve dignity.
But there she stood,
clearly having progressed several steps into a plan
that Story Nuo had somehow failed to notice because he had been professionally occupied with agriculture.
And I
stopped.
Brain?
Nothing.
Mouth?
One highly sophisticated contribution.
“Uhhh.”
The council erupts.
PUBLISHED AUTHOR.
Children.
Again.
A professional word person.
The woman before me had transformed the entire situation
and my command of language became:
Uhhhhhh.
One syllable.
Perhaps extended.
Maybe two.
“Uhhhhhh”
The council applauds.
Seduction masterclass continues.
Now.
Present Nuo?
Present Nuo understands.
Obviously.
The motive is not particularly difficult to reconstruct when one possesses the ending.
Unknown woman finds emotionally compatible writer.
Calls him.
Beach.
Vulnerability.
Connection.
Kiss.
Invites him home.
Takes him into bedroom.
Children.
Classic.
The narrative is not subtle.
Green Hair was not inviting me upstairs solely so I could inspect her pink bedsheets and perform agricultural craftsmanship.
There had been
intent.
The council looks at Story Nuo.
And you missed it?
Completely.
Children.
Hindsight is unfair.
Present Nuo knows where the road goes.
Story Nuo was standing at the intersection with no road signs
and approximately half a functioning emotional processor.
Remember
Sad Nuo.
Apathetic Nuo.
The man who had already responded to possible kidnapping with:
Do what you must.
He was not reading romantic subtext with advanced precision.
He barely read Malayalam signs.
The council laughs.
Fair.
So there I stood.
Joint in hand.
Green Hair before me.
Green Hair significantly more
Green Hair
than before.
And suddenly,
the brain attempted emergency reconstruction.
Wait.
Beach kiss.
Okay.
House.
Bedroom.
Okay.
She changed.
Children.
Oh.
Ohhhhh.
The council nods.
Processing complete.
Eventually.
But initially?
Uhhhhhh.
And Green Hair?
I imagine she found this hilarious.
Because there is something deeply unfair about attempting classic seduction
only for the target to spend several minutes staring intensely at rolling paper
and completely fail to notice.
The council laughs.
She had presumably prepared a scene.
Nuo had prepared a joint.
Priorities collided.
Children.
Again
no need to overstate what happened next.
We stop where the memory stops.
At the realization.
At the room.
At Story Nuo finally noticing that the atmosphere had changed.
No assumptions.
No importing later events before they arrive.
For now
there I was.
Kazhakootam.
Inside Green Hair’s room.
Final Boss asleep somewhere below.
Joint completed.
Pink sheets nearby.
And the woman who had commanded my entire evening
standing before me
with an expression that perhaps said:
You finally caught up?
The council looks toward Nuo.
Response?
“Uhhhhhh.”
Perfect.
Children.
The Fifteenth Wandering had begun with a ringing phone.
Then:
Who dis?
Come out.
Hop on.
Beach.
Tears.
Friendship.
Kiss.
Pot.
Kazhakootam.
Stealth mission.
Bedroom.
And now
Story Nuo had finally encountered a quest marker even his chemically compromised brain could recognize.
Probably.
The council remains cautious.
He has surprised us before.
True.
But for this chapter?
Let him stand there.
Confused.
Joint in hand.
Eyes wide.
A man suddenly realizing that perhaps Green Hair had more than smoking on the itinerary.
Children.
Present Nuo can see the setup clearly.
Story Nuo?
Still buffering.
Thus concludes Chapter Seven.
The Boss Level.
The Hand Held Stealth Mission.
The Green Haired Bedroom.
The Extremely Limited Casanova Credentials.
The Classified Bonk Statistics.
The NASA Level Fascination.
The Pink Sheets.
The Puppy Response.
The Word:
“Cute.”
The Rediscovery Of The Actual Objective.
The Drawer.
The Weed.
The Complete Agricultural Tunnel Vision.
The Finished Joint.
The Turn.
And
“Uhhhhhh.”
Children.
She had a plan.
I had apparently missed every sign.
Because while Green Hair was conducting seduction
Nuo was rolling a joint.
Priorities.
And when I finally looked up?
The council waits.
Story Nuo had one thought.
Uhhhhhh.
