1.1 | Metanoia ⚣

A heavy envelope fell onto Ryan Park's hands. The paper carefully folded with glue. An golden emblem with a black dragon biting its own tail across the whites. Unlike other invites, Ryan noted, this one is psychical. His azure eyes lifted, merely catching the back of a broad shouldered student. Brows creased. Lips thinned.

Michael grinned widely, as he walked toward him. His saggy jeans held up by a leather belt. Over his shoulder, Michael carried his soccer backpack. His arched nose fit perfectly between thick eyebrows. Muscles flexed he slung his arm over Ryan's shoulders. Slightly shook him in the process.

"You stink," Ryan said, crunching his nose. He pinched his nostrils. A small cough threatened to escape. The musky scent mixed with dirt, grass, and sweat didn't help his queasy stomach. His stomach twisted in discomfort.

"Whatever." Michael waved off his complains off like an annoying bug. His deep forest green eyes narrowed toward the enveloped in his hands. Moments later snatched it out of his grip.

"Hey!" Ryan reached up in the air, desperately attempting to close the inches between them. Heat rushed up his cheeks. Heartbeat slashed against his ribcage. "That's mine!" With rising frustration, Ryan watched as Michael studied the letter.

"You've an invitation from the Viloria family?" Michael gasped. He blinked rapidly. Michael turned over the letter once more. "I can't believe it," Michael shook his head. "The most average guy to ever exist━"

Ryan shoved his elbow into Michael's chest, effectively cutting off his oxygen. He seized the envelope and shoved it into his backpack. A barrage of insults ready on his tongue, yet neither left his lips. It was bad enough he was making a scene in front of the girls. A few who were already giggling and taking photos.

Shame burst into his chest like wild flames. Untamed.

"Ouch." Michael blinked out the tears from his eyes. "Go easy on me, Ry." He straightened, dusting off dust from his jeans. A gleeful grin returned to his face. Within a second, Michael returned to his cheerful self. "Don't bother with them," Michael gestured at the girls, "you're too cool anyway."

Inwardly, Ryan found himself groaning. Being almost at the bottom of the social ladder, was hell enough. Michael's friendly jests were counterproductive at best. Yet Ryan knew than he was the only one he had. "I'm going easy on you," Ryan rolled his eyes. Brims tugged at the corners.

"Somehow," Michael chuckled. "I don't believe that." He stopped in front of his classroom door. Hair still damp from the earlier P.E. sweat drops clung to his forehead. "We're going to the Arcades later." Michael lifted his fingers into the universal V-sign. "I will ask mom to make us tacos too."

Ryan's mouth watered at the thought of tacos; filled with sauce, hearty meat, too much cheese, and salad on top. The warmth of the tortilla in his hands. He craved it already; to devour the meal whole. And sink his teeth into it. "It's going to be awesome," Ryan said. "Don't forget to bring the homework, we have exams coming up soon." He gestured at the classroom.

A quarter of the thirty students had already entered. Some chatted in groups while others went over books. A few had their Nokia phones in hand. As usual, ignored both Ryan's and Michael's entire existence. It was better than being mocked. Or worse, bullied.

Ryan thanked the gods that he fell in neither group. Apart from being used as a laughingstock or the class clown, his life wasn't that bad. People forgot him soon enough; a walking NPC in main character’s lives. I wouldn't mind an Isekai or a thrilling romance. Ryan didn't linger on those thoughts, his own class was waiting.

Neon lights danced across the floor. Blazes of lights from various gaming machines momentarily blinded him. Chatter and laugh laughter echoed through the room. Close knit groups at each station. Some ate popcorn━the salty scent reminded Ryan of tacos. Others chewed into hamburgers or drank soda drinks.

Ryan stepped over to an Arcade game that was free. He found a cent and put it into the machine. It gave a shrill sound as the mechanics turned online. The infamous Tron motorbike booted up. The stark blue lines against blacks filled the screen as the logo popped up.

"Ry," Michael tapped his shoulder. "Starting without me?" He wiggled his eyebrows. The familiar smile still plastered on his face. Unlike at school, he wore an entire black outfit with only sneakers in white. Cheap silver chains on his neck.

"Yeah." Ryan shrugged, noticing the soda drinks in Michael's hands. He casually snacthed one. To extinguish his thirst, Ryan chugged the entire drink. "Thanks."

Michael leant close to his ear. The rustle of his clothes barely audible over the noise. His eyes twinkled in the lights, flashing. "Fun fact," Michael said, "its rumored that the Viloria family owns all the clubs. Including this one." He gestured with his hand. "Crazy rich family, I'm telling you."

Ryan itched to roll his eyes. Again. How many times is Mike going to bring them up? He sighed. The game blipped the Game over on the screen. Which didn't lift his spirits. "So?" Ryan turned to Michael. "It doesn't have anything to do with us."

Michael brushed past him, settling on the chair. He slipped in a cent like he had earlier. The machine automatically started up a new game. His best friend licked his lips, excitedly. "The invitation." Michael gave him a side eye. "Almost nobody ever gets one."

Ryan furrowed his brows. Fingers graced underneath his jaw. A few responses popped into his mind. Like, they needed an extra. Or someone to fill a place. But Michael had a point, Ryan realized. Why invite him if there were more proper options? "I should probably read the envelope."

Michael wheezed. "Been waiting all day to hear you say that, slow-poke." He continued to game. Digits rapidly pressed buttons over the dashboard. The clicking sounds echoed in fast succession. Entire focus swallowed by the game━where Ryan failed, Michael won at every point.

Ryan found the letter in his backpack. Filled to the brink with school books; everything from science to history, his personal favorite. He delicately ripped open the sigil. A small emblem with a needle flew into his palm. The same as the envelope was marked with. It stung into his skin. An ache rippled up his arm. Ryan dropped the letter as if burnt. "Fuck."

He ignored Michael's raised eyebrow in his direction. He picked up the envelope again━this time more careful. With the emblem, Ryan pressed it against his bruise. That oozed a tiny amount of blood. He grunted in annoyance. Nothing went his way today. But that was the life of an NPC. With partly bloodied fingers, he unwrapped the paper.

The initials of D.V written elegantly with ink. It stuck out to him immediately. Other than the awkward━odd phrasings. That was expected from rich people. His azure eyes ghosted over the pages.

I hereby invite you to the Masquerade Summer Ball the 13th of August. You've been selected through our rigid procedures and deemed worthy to be in our presence. Please attend with proper etiquette and attire, as its expected from our guests at the Viloria mansion. Bringing a plus one is welcome, but not more.

Your host,

D.V

Ryan squirmed. Half of the text made no sense, English literature wasn't his strong suit by a long shot. His eyes crossed attempting to understand what he read. "This dude can't even write English," Ryan wrinkled his nose. He shoved the papers in front of Michael's nose. "Look," Ryan insisted. "He is writing like a hundred year old man."

Michael stopped the game, scanning over the pages. "He probably is," he said. Michael returned the envelope back into his hands. He leaned over the chair, it creaked underneath his weight. "The Primaries are known to be ancient, like Tolkien," Michael pointed out. "Vilorians have ruled over New York since they escaped prosecution in Italy or something."

Ryan grabbed an empty seat beside Michael. He propped his elbow on his head. A dramatic exhale left his lips. "I know that." His fingers tapped insistently against the wooden desk. The white lines curled like veins. "Being vampires, they get everything they want with the snap of their fingers." Rich assholes as far Ryan was concerned. He didn't want to be involved nor associated with any of those bastards.

"They won't take 'no' for an answer." Michael grimaced. He chewed on his underlip. "Don't draw attention to yourself and you should be fine." Michael gave him a reassuring squeeze on his shoulder. Fingers brushed over his nape. "Smile and nod, that's all you got to do."

I rather die, Ryan thought bitterly. Those assholes can kiss my ass. He flashed a smile. "I will be the most average guy to exist," Ryan promised.