PROLOGUE

                                    

                                          

" You patiently waited 
inside your cell. "
                          
Silence governs the prison cell, leaving Kamiya to his thoughts. He's sitting on the edge of the bed, seemingly unbothered by the current situation, but inside his head, there is a war of calculation and anticipation. There is a crippling impatience gnawing at Kamiya's insides like a hungry organ-eating parasite. He is in a jail cell, realization washes over him repeatedly, like the thought is killed and reborn again and again, he just can't seem to accept it. Now only one question remains, how the hell was he going to get out?
                          
"They're late. I thought it was today. Am I wrong?" He countinues to sit there, his foot tapping the floor along to the rythm of his heartbeat. He's tense, frightened even, the sense of danger everywhere leaves him restless in his cell. The walls begin enclosing around him, Kamiya isn't particularly claustrophobic, but the small room makes him uneasy. It's funny though, how a prison cell looks more decent than his home, if you could even call it that.
                          
"Hmph, it doesn't matter. I have faith in them, I know they love me." He reassures himself with a smirk. Suddenly, the air feels less suffocating, and Kamiya's shoulders slump down, finally releasing their previous tension. He distracts himself with his cocky rambling, putting too many expectations onto the shoulders of his simps. It doesn't matter though, if his ego eases his anxiety, then he'll keep gratifying it. 
                          
A menacing laugh leaves his lips, bouncing off the walls of the cell in an oddly satisfying manner. He swears an oath against his competing VTubers, his grin widening to its full extent. Once he's out of this trash hole, he's gonna be dominating the VTubing industry and he's gonna earn so much money. A sweet warmth fills his heart, sending a flurry of butterflies to his stomach. He inhales, yes, he's going to be saved by his simps soon and he's going to be filthy rich.. very, very soon.
                          
-- 
                          
Days have passed since Kamiya's imprisonment. He's left with disappointment and disappointment only when he realizes that his crazy fangirls (and fanboys) haven't broken into his prison cell yet. There's not much to do, really, he just sits and thinks all day, left scheming for impossible ways to escape. Well, Kamiya-sama, if only you were rich, you would have a bad ass gang to break you out of prison by now, but no, you're just a poor bimbo that has a septic tank. In fact, if you were rich, you wouldn't have been arrested in the first place.
                          
Multiple questions flock Kamiya's head, buzzing endlessly like a loud swarm of flies. Did he do something wrong? Was he not a cool enough ikemen? Hindi ba nila ako mahal?
                          
He thought that there'd be someone eager to get him out of his cell right now. He thought that his simps would notice that he disappeared out of thin air. Did they not bother to look for him? Did they find someone new, perhaps? Someone cooler than him? Preposterous! No one is cooler than Kamiya Juu, he is king! He tells himself. He cries out once he realizes that there's no one else there to help him. He resorts to begging for his freedom, well, begging in his thoughts, that is. He doesn't want to be here, yes, he's afraid of the other prisoners. Please get him out of the--
                          
What seems to be a timer rudely interrupts Kamiya's thinking. With it's every 'beep!' the imprisoned man is only further concerned by its origins. What the hell is making that noise?
                          
What happens next? Kamiya isn't sure. Something to do with Yagoo. And an explosion. He doesn't bother recalling anything else, he's busy running, avoiding casualties, gathering grime in his clothes. Adrenaline pumps in his blood, a stupid grin stuck on his face as he runs from.. he runs from, something that he doesn't seem to remember. A sharp ringing enters his ears, he would've complained by now, but the near death experience forces him to run across the streets as fast as he possibly can. He remembers running, yes.
                          
He runs.
                          
And runs.
                          
And runs.
                          
Until he doesn't. And all that is left is darkness left by an impact.
                          
Truck-kun, you have done it again . . .