The longest story about absolutely nothing

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Summary

Yukito kagame is a 17 year old Japanese high school boy. He's popular with the ladies and has a best friend named Ryoma. He writes in his notebook every about anything that happened that day. Things start going in a weird direction for him and his journal entries get more interesting each day.

Status
Ongoing
Chapters
2
Rating
n/a
Age Rating
16+

Intro

I’d like to start this off by saying I’m not a bad guy. I just seem like one. Which doesn’t inherently make me a bad person I’m just perceived as one, right? So when you read this stupid journal, just remember one thing: I’m not a bad guy. Others will say I am, and at times it’ll seem like i am, but I’m not.

Now that that is in the air I can start this journal intro.

I’m Yukito Kagame. A 17 year old Japanese high school student. Not to brag or anything but my looks are definitely above average. I’m probably considered very hot. The ladies love my orange dyed hair and pretty brown eyes. Plus I’m tall and pretty athletic. I get a ton of confessions and valentines chocolate. But I’m guessing that my exes would say otherwise. They’re exes for a reason.

I will say I don’t have many friends, probably due to the fact that all the boys are intimidated by how good looking I am. If they were friends with me they’d gain massive inferiority complexes because all the girls they’d ever like would stop talking to them and start fawning over me, they’d for sure never get girlfriends with me around. It’s the sad cycle of life when you’re my friend. But despite this I do have a best friend, Ryoma Takeuchi. He’s almost as handsome as me, so the whole jealousy thing is not a problem. He’s a pretty cool guy, and he’s always fun to hangout with.

I drew a quick picture of him.

Anyways, I should shut up and start writing some actual good stuff, even if I’d like to write a whole story about how amazing I am. Honestly who the fuck is even reading this? besides from my therapist. I know I certainly wouldn’t want to read something like this. So the person reading this must be a real fucking idiot.

well speaking of idiots I’m writing in this journal because my therapist said I should. she thinks it’ll be good for me or something, but I don’t see the point. I really would rather not write my feelings or whatever in a composition notebook. plus she’s making me show it to her every Saturday so all this crap is going to be awkward.

honestly why do i even have a therapist? I’m completely fine. there’s nothing currently wrong with me.