Thursday, September 26, 20XX

It’s here, my friends, my comrades! A miraculous day, a gracious regard, a kind gesture! A day in which students across classes, grades, ethnicities, nationalities, planets, universes, and multiverses rejoice.

Of course, it can only be this one thing. Though pre-assessments have struck and struck hard, this day has come to give our weary heads some relief. Where does my help come from? It comes from—

Oh, but before the big reveal, first, some important matters I want to rant about before I forget about it. You may ask “if it’s so important, how could you forget about it?” in which I say “shut up” Mark Rodgers style and think to myself it happens way too often. Thank God for agendas.

The scene of the crime is last night. The time is in my bathroom. Wait, I flipped those around.

After a hard practice yesterday, when I finally hit the bed, I guess my adrenals exploded or something, because, like a short-lived painkiller expiring suddenly, my body ACHED. It ACHED and ACHED bad. I was so sore… that I was—yeah I got nothing. I was so sore it was hard to think. You’d think my body would give me better signals. Secretly, I think the cup noodle is secretly acting as enzyme inhibitors, preventing the catalyzation of reactions and therefore my parasympathetic nervous system from kicking in. You know those peas and carrots? They’re shaped an awful lot like some of the inhibitors you see in those diagrams. I absolutely knew it. Cup noodle is a mad conspiracy run by the government, headed by Maru-chan herself.

Not convinced? Just look at what happens when you break down the name “Maru-chan”.

Maniacal

Apocalyptic

Repressing

Ultimatum

Covert

Hellish

Apocalyptic

Nefarious Plan to Overturn All That is Good and Just

IT’S OBVIOUS WHEN YOU SEE IT (I couldn’t think of another good A-word; plus it fits). The worst part of it is that Maru-chan has successfully hacked my systems. I am legit enjoying it now. I have one with Mark every day. As expected of the great Maru-chan. You may have won the battle, and the war, and my taste buds, but you will not win my heart.

Actually, you won that too… But you will not win my pride and dignity! (She has that too…)

Anyway, I was at home, chilling, until the pain became worrying. The match is just around the corner, and I can’t lose before I start. I don’t want to hold things back. That would be embarrassing and idiotic.

That’s when I hit up an old acquaintance, JERRY SPRINGER. He wasn’t available, so I went to my next best option, GOOGLE!

Behold! The tried and true search engine website! The classic, the natural, Mr. ABC. But then I remembered that Google wasn’t my default search engine because they probably sold your data. Since I prize my personal information, I instead used DUCK DUCK GO! The obvious choice for sleuthing waterfowls.

I went on another researching rampage (after homework, of course) and I learned of a variety of recovery techniques. This guy named Gen Beanfield had this interesting article on 66 ways to heal harder, better, faster, and stronger (one of which was summoning ‘recovery’ demons through an old Anglosaxon tradition). That didn’t capture me, but something else did. I’ve seen it in many other places before.

The ice bath. The favorite cleansing method of the dutch iceman himself. Ice baths are useful for everything between burning fat, treating insomnia, improving attractiveness (to polar bears), getting rid of excess ice, punishing yourself, transforming into a more solid matter, and of course treating soreness. It’s like ice packs but with more suffering. I absolutely HATE freezing temperatures (but not the cold) and I thought to myself, “I’m hella badass now I can do it!” so I gave it a shot. I dropped by the grocery store real quick, bought a buncha ice, and dumped it in the tub with a good amount of water.

It was another one of my fancy whims. The picture that sold me on this was a picture of Gen himself, taking a selfie in the ice bath with his defined muscles, six pack abs, and six pack corona sitting nearby, daring me, right eyebrow raised and all.

Seems legit. I thought.

So I tried it, aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa-

aaaaaaaaaaaaaand I got out. I didn’t even last half a minute.

So I thought, maybe I have to ease into it. So I dipped my hand in there first. Then the next hand, then a foot, then THE REST OF MY BODY BECAUSE I WAS FEELING DANGEROUS AND FIERY.

Then I got out. Didn’t even last half a half a half a minute.

Then, I thought, maybe… maybe it wasn’t a good idea to buy all this ice and try this out. Especially since you can’t even handle one hand. Remember that one time, in fifth grade?

Then I remembered that one time in fifth grade, when I couldn’t even handle having one hand in ice cold water for half a minute. I was really embarrassed.

But like the responsible teenager I was, I ignored that lame voice of doubt and kept brainstorming.

After all, I did already pay for the ice bags, so I can’t waste it.

After brainstorming for a long while and drawing many blanks (if I had this many blanks, the Gungeon would be sooo easy), I figured I should call the master, my teacher, a knowledgeable fellow.

Unfortunately, JERRY SPRINGER was not available, so instead I called up Mark Rodgers.

I told him what’s up and down and all around, and after an unidentifiable sound of displeasure, he told me to switch to the ice packs.

I looked at my ice bath with sorrow. Not only could I not get the deal done, but I wasted money...

In my house, we pinch pennies (but freely toss Benjamins). Against another one of life’s disappointments, I resigned and resorted to ice packs.

Such is life.

The next day, after the amazing [REVEALED AFTER THE COMMERCIAL BREAK], I headed to the club room. I was expecting to meet Mark there, training like the battle junkie he is. I was mostly right.

He was there, not training, but waiting for me. He had a goodie bag in his hand, which, after some awkward excuses, handed to me. Inside were some topical ointments, new compression garments, and a special recovery drink & protein shake.

He looked slightly embarrassed, and I knew if I said something, he would freak out on me. So I simply said “thanks, my dude” with a smirk, and began practicing. He joined me.

Then, Mr. Kafka walked in.

“MARK! NEIL!” He said. He looked at both of us at first, then he stopped at me.

“NEIL!” He jabbered. “COME WITH ME!”

“What about Mark?” I said, flailing, exasperated.

“IT’S AN EMERGENCY! NO TIME TO EXPLAIN!”

Then he took me out, and we walked through the hallway leisurely. He explained everything to me. Apparently he needs me to fetch some items for him for the volleyball club. Some other sports clubs borrowed their stuff.

But why did I have to do it? Thinking back, I realized now that it was because it was convenient for him. He was passing by the club room and remembered us. That is no way to treat your students, I complained. Are we but mere items for him? Well, he promised more J-Donuts so I happily obliged. I’m just upset that he glossed over Mark because he’s more difficult to handle. Maybe he’s afraid of him.

Either way, I got roped into doing stuff for him. After his friendly, energetic explanation, he switched to a very serious note, as if flipping a switch. That must be his volleyball mode, though it’s probably not exclusive to that. He showed this side of his when he talked up those guys from the restaurant. I have to say, experiencing it again, it’s real intimidating, in a different way from Mark. Remembering it now gives me the chills. This side of him is scarier than Mark’s general aura, possibly because it’s unexpected, but more so in that it’s just plain intimidating. Mr. Kafka can look real mean when he wants to.

I pray for those volleyball players. Make it out of the season alive, or something.

So, I embarked on an epic journey, across plains of grass, concrete corridors, glass doors… I went all over the school. From the baseball team, to the softball team, to the softerball team, the basketball team, to the basket weaving team—I picked up such and such and this and that from them. I saw a lot of acquaintances. It was cool. Eventually my hands became full with important stuff. Somehow, I even had Mr. Kafka’s car keys. What is that man lending to people.

I dropped by cross country while I was at it. It wasn’t on the list but it was on the way back.

I saw Claire. She looked stunning in her sportswear, I have to admit. She has a sexy sort of appeal, and seeing her in something different charmed me momentarily. She saw me and called out to me.

We chatted for a bit. She asked me if I needed help, and I said of course, my arms are dying. However, I didn’t let her help me. She’s doing important work and it’d be a hassle to interrupt her flow. She asked me what I was doing, and I explained, “top secret work.”

Then I proceeded to explain everything that I was doing. Either I am very loose-lipped or she’s very good at opening lips. I’d like to say the latter, for my pride.

Ahhhh, she said. I still remember her upturned head. How cute!!! I hope she doesn’t look at me like that often otherwise it’s only a matter of time before I fall for her.

I thought about such small things, and we carried on small talk for a little. She said some interesting things. I asked what she was doing, and she said nothing much, just usual practice. I asked if she should be getting back, but she played it off, saying it’s nothing serious. Even though the club is hard, she doesn’t seem to take it so seriously. Yet she’s top five in the school! The freakin’ school! I’m surprised she doesn’t have a fan club yet. The valedictorian has one, surprisingly and unsurprisingly (unofficial), and I think it’s about time that she has one too. I mean, she has a lot of appeal. Here’s a short list of just a few of her highlights:

She’s cute. She’s smart. She’s sweet. She’s kind. She’s fast. She’s French, and she has read the whole Les Misérables series in the original language and watched the musical, three times!!! Trois fois, mon amie, trois fois!!!

AND! She likes ramen. What better can you get?

Anyway, her not being serious didn’t seem so convincing to me. It wasn’t convincing, actually. If it was real, then that’d be bad. Bad for my pride.

Do you know how hard I worked to achieve even a sliver of the power she holds? How many fitness gram pacer tests I ran of my own accord? That’s a problem. She may just be cultivating on a different level.

She asked me if I was nervous, for tomorrow. I said of course I’m nervous. I did not try to play appearances. I’m not that type of guy, I like to think. I told her the straight facts.

“I was just buying time before heading back to the inevitability of getting choked on by Mark.”

“Well, aren’t you serious?”

I laughed. “Yes, I am.” I think I did one of Mark’s evil smiles. How embarrassing.

She delved into thought for a couple of moments. I remember her expression. She held her fist out, nonchalantly, without seriousness.

“Good luck. I’ll be there tomorrow.”

“Right. I’ll break a neck.” Then we bumped fists.

I thought that was a real cool way to leave the scene, plus I didn’t want to hold her there any longer. Her friends, a few of them I recognize, already left to start running. However, I did something playfully daring, something which even now I feel both embarrassed by and accomplished towards.

“Yo. You should tie your hair up. I think you’d look even cuter,” I said slyly. She flared a blush and a relaxed smile.

AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH. I haven’t done something like that since sophomore year. I think the ice is still freezing my reason. Even though I didn’t apply any ice via bath or pack to my head, I swear my mind is numbed solid.

They say love is the foolishness of men, and the wisdom of God. Victor, you wise fool...

It was a fun excursion. I’m not looking for someone. Not a friend, or a foe, or a partner. I’m looking to get by, that is all.

That is all. Although I said I seek no partner, I get one in the form of martial madness. After dropping off the stuff to a unexpectedly genuinely grateful Mr. Kafka, I returned to the room where training is afoot. Mark met me with a cold gaze. We jumped right into it.

Practice is the name of the game, and here I am playing it. I am nervous. I did feel a little relieved when Mr. Kafka approached me and asked me to do stuff. Did he notice? Is that why he picked me, to distract me for a moment so I can redirect my bearings? I doubt it, but nonetheless, that break was there, it may or may not have helped, and now it’s gone and I’m back. I have J-Donuts to look forward to anyway. And a test tomorrow.

But that’s not this afternoon’s game. Gotta get my head back in. Though I am nervous (and who can blame me? Only myself, of course), I will move forward with every steadfast step. Towards our victory.

He’s probably preparing like crazy tomorrow, for a battle with Mark, of course.

If he’s to underestimate us, he’s surely mistaken.

Let’s hand him a friendly surprise, a sweet notice.

Onto the wild blue yonder,

Off we go.