Haruka Sato was not a morning person. Not even close. But it wasn't just that she wasn't a morning person—it was that mornings seemed to have a personal vendetta against her. Like some cosmic force had decided that if anyone could turn a perfectly normal morning into a full-blown disaster, it was Haruka.
Today was no different.
Her alarm went off, blaring like an air horn in her ear. She shot up in bed, eyes wide with panic, only to slam her head against her bedside lamp. "Ow! My head!" she groaned, rubbing her temple.
Momo, her overly energetic Samoyed, immediately jumped on her, as if he could sense that the morning had gone terribly wrong. He licked her cheek with such enthusiasm that it felt like he was trying to drown her in affection.
"Okay, okay, Momo!" Haruka laughed, trying to wriggle out from under him. "You're gonna be the death of me!"
She scrambled out of bed, only to trip on her blanket that had wrapped itself around her legs like a clingy ghost. "No, no, no!" She flailed, trying to untangle herself, but ended up doing a dramatic roll off the side of the bed, landing flat on her face.
"Smooth~," she muttered sarcastically into the carpet, her voice muffled. Momo, bless his fluffy heart, decided this was the perfect time to try to play fetch, dropping his toy directly onto her back. "Momo, I am not in the mood for this right now," Haruka sighed, her face still planted in the rug.
But Momo was persistent. He pawed at her back, trying to get her to play, his little tail wagging like crazy. She rolled over onto her back, smiling despite herself, and reached up to rub his belly. "I swear, Momo. If I had a dollar for every time you saved my morning..."
With Momo's puppy eyes staring at her, she couldn't stay mad. The chaos could wait. But then, her stomach growled loudly.
"Right, food. I'm hungry," she mumbled as she waddled out of bed. As if her morning wasn't already complicated enough, Haruka took one step forward and accidentally kicked over her coffee mug—one that had been left precariously on the edge of the nightstand.
"Noooooo!" she cried as the coffee splashed out in a perfectly timed arc, hitting her pillow and the floor with a slosh that was almost cartoonish. Her only reaction was to stare at it, slack-jawed.
Momo, naturally, was fascinated. He trotted over, sniffing the spilled coffee, and promptly tried to lap it up. "Momo, no! Bad fluff!" Haruka screamed, rushing to stop him. But in her haste, she tripped over a pile of laundry and fell headfirst into the pile of clothes, sending socks flying everywhere.
"I'm definitely not winning any awards for grace today," she grumbled, attempting to untangle herself from the heap of clothing.
With Momo looking at her like she was some kind of failing circus performer, Haruka managed to get herself upright. After a long moment of trying to salvage whatever was left of her dignity, she reached for her phone to check the time. 7:35 AM.
"Oh, no! The manuscript! I'm late, I'm so late!" Haruka's heart sank. Not only was she late to start writing, but she had forgotten to prep for the upcoming deadline. She was supposed to finish the first draft of her novel by the end of the day—and here she was, already off track, covered in spilled coffee, and tangled in laundry.
"Okay, Haruka, you've got this. Deep breaths," she muttered, wiping the coffee off her pillow with a defeated sigh. She gave herself a pep talk and finally, with the determination of someone who knew this morning was beyond saving, grabbed the nearest hoodie and threw it over her pajamas.
"Good enough," she said to Momo, who was now busy chewing on a sock.
She darted to the bathroom, glancing at the mess she'd created on her way. The laundry pile was still looming menacingly in the corner of the room, the socks mocking her every step.
But just as she was about to brush her teeth, her phone buzzed. She couldn't resist. It was a notification from the streaming app.
RyoTakkun is live!
Haruka froze. Her heart skipped a beat as she opened the stream. There he was—RyoTakkun, the mysterious streamer with his deep voice and sarcastic charm. Haruka had been a fan of his for months now. She had never commented on his streams, of course, because that would be too much. But she watched every one of his broadcasts. She loved the way he made everything seem effortless, how his humor and sarcasm made her forget her own stress.
"Hey, guys," Ryo's voice came through the speakers, smooth and sarcastic as always. "Let's see if I can finally beat this level… Spoiler: I won't."
Haruka chuckled softly to herself, leaning against the bathroom sink. She couldn't help it—he was just so... funny (she think). Even if it was all through a screen, his voice somehow made her feel like everything was going to be okay.
She sighed dreamily, staring at the screen for a moment longer. "How does he make failing at video games look so cool?"
But then, a notification popped up.
Deadline reminder: 12 hours remaining.
Haruka's shoulders slumped in defeat. As much as she adored Ryo's streams, she couldn't let herself get distracted for too long. The manuscript was still waiting, and she had no time to waste.
With one last wistful glance at the screen, she put her phone down and finally grabbed her laptop. It was time to work.
Well, at least, she would start working.
But as she sat down at her desk, Momo decided it was time for yet another round of fetch. And, of course, he dropped the toy right in front of her—making sure that it bounced straight into her lap, forcing her to pause yet again.
"Momo, you are too cute for your own good," she muttered, giving in and tossing the toy across the room before getting back to her laptop.
Haruka then sat at her desk, squinting at her laptop like it was plotting against her. The title of her new chapter blinked back mockingly: Chapter 8 – Untitled.
"Ugh. Even the chapter has commitment issues," she muttered, puffing out her cheeks in defeat.
She leaned back with a sigh—a little too far back.
"WAAAH—!"
Thud.
Now lying flat on the floor, tangled in her fleece blanket like a poorly wrapped sushi roll, she stared at the ceiling. Momo strolled over, looked down at her with mild interest, then walked away like, Ah, yes, she's down again. Business as usual.
Still clutching her teacup with what remained of her pride, Haruka groaned, "This is why writers aren't meant to be graceful creatures."
She eventually righted herself with all the elegance of a baby giraffe learning to walk, made a detour to the kitchen, and returned armed with a slice of cheesecake on a floral plate. There was a smudge of whipped cream on her nose, not that she noticed. She plopped back down, determined.
"All right. Focus mode. I am the captain of this ship. I am the master of my fate. I—"
Her tea mug sat smugly on the other side of her desk, just out of reach.
She stretched. Her fingers brushed the handle. Victory was near.
Crash.
"…ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!"
The tea tsunami soaked her notes, her mousepad, and probably part of her soul. She grabbed tissues in a frenzy, blotting the page like she could resuscitate it. "WHY does this only happen when I try to be productive?!"
Momo let out a bark from the hallway, clearly judging her life choices.
"Don't give me that look. You've eaten my manuscript drafts before!"
With her notes now resembling abstract tea-stained art, Haruka sighed dramatically and opened her streaming app, telling herself it was just for a mental break. Totally reasonable. Her brain needed inspiration. And maybe just… a glimpse of him.
Enter: RyoTakkun, the faceless, legendary gamer whose voice had the calming power of a lullaby—if lullabies occasionally dropped sarcastic commentary and raged at bosses.
He was live. And flustered. Very flustered.
"Okay, so this dungeon is either cursed or personally hates me," Ryo was saying, voice dripping with mock bitterness. "Because I have tried EVERYTHING except summoning a demon, and I'm honestly considering it."
Haruka giggled instantly, practically glowing. "He's so dramatic… Just the way he is."
She rested her chin on her knees, giggling through her cheesecake as Ryo launched into a mini-rant about in-game loot boxes.
Her phone buzzed. A notification popped up from her task app:
"Deadline: 5 hours left. You said you'd be done by now. :)"
She flinched. "That smiley is aggressive."
Turning back to her screen, she saw Ryo had somehow managed to die again in the game. His chat exploded with laughing emojis and chaos.
"How is he so bad at this but still looks good?" she whispered, cheeks warm.
Then she caught a glimpse of herself in the dark reflection of the screen. Whipped cream on her nose, a tea stain on her sweater, hair slightly frizzy from static.
"OH MY GOD—have I looked like this this whole time?!"
Frantic wiping. Hair-fluffing. Dignity salvage operation: engaged.
She sighed again, glancing down at her abandoned notes, which now had tiny paw prints on them. Momo had apparently walked across her papers while she was distracted by Ryo's existential gaming meltdown.
"…You're lucky you're cute," she muttered, as Momo flopped dramatically onto his back, demanding belly rubs.
Giving in, she rubbed his tummy, talking half to him, half to herself. "Maybe I'll finish the chapter tonight. Or tomorrow. Maybe I'll write a new story about a girl who falls in love with a streamer who doesn't know she exists."
Momo sneezed.
Haruka blinked. "Okay. Fine. A fictional girl. Totally not me."
A familiar voice drifted from her speakers again.
"Honestly, if this game glitches one more time, I'm uninstalling it and becoming a full-time barista. I don't even like people, but I'll do it."
Haruka burst out laughing, nearly snorting her tea. "Why is he so dramatic?" she whispered fondly, clutching her chest like his sarcasm personally serenaded her.
Momo gave her a look like, You're hopeless, before curling into a fluffy white doughnut at her feet.
Haruka swaddled herself in her blanket again, now a human burrito of creative stress, secondhand gamer rage, and unspoken fangirl devotion. She took a bite of cheesecake, tapped her fingers on her keyboard, and whispered:
"…Just five more minutes. Then I'll write. Pinky promise."
She did not write.