Motohama: Speedrunning Misogyny in 24 FPS

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The shrill beeping of an alarm clock echoed through the dimly lit apartment, breaking the silence of the early morning. A groggy hand shot out from under a pile of blankets, blindly slamming the snooze button before retreating back into the cocoon of warmth. The seconds stretched into minutes before the inevitable happened—Ethan Kuroda groaned in defeat and forced himself upright.

His head throbbed slightly, a dull ache lingering from yet another late night in front of the computer screen. The faint glow of his monitor was still visible in the darkness, casting eerie shadows over the cluttered desk stacked with empty soda cans, snack wrappers, and a handful of unfinished notebooks.

The air in his studio apartment was thick, carrying a mix of dust, instant coffee, and the stale remnants of last night's takeout. It wasn't a large space—just enough room for a bed, a desk, and a cramped kitchen area—but it was his. The walls were lined with posters of old anime and video games, the only personal touches in an otherwise bare living space. His bookshelf, half-filled with manga and game guides, had a thin layer of dust, showing how little time he spent reading them lately.

He rubbed his eyes, yawning as he glanced at the blinking red digits.

6:30 AM.

Exactly thirty minutes before he had to leave for work. The same as yesterday. The same as every day.

Dragging himself out of bed, Ethan shuffled toward the tiny bathroom, flicking on the dim yellow light. The cracked mirror greeted him with a reflection he barely recognized. At twenty-four, he wasn't a bad-looking guy, but he wasn't particularly impressive either. Dark brown eyes, perpetually tired. Jet-black hair, a tangled mess. A lean but unimpressive build. If he disappeared, no one would remember his face.

The sink groaned as he turned the knob, releasing a weak stream of cold water. He splashed his face, the icy sensation jarring him fully awake. For a moment, he just stared at himself. Was this really it? Was this his life?

Shaking off the creeping existential dread, he turned away, grabbing his toothbrush. Routine. Routine kept things simple.

After a quick shower, he threw on a wrinkled button-up and slacks that were just barely professional. His morning routine never changed—just the same tired motions, repeated endlessly.

Breakfast was another afterthought. A slice of toast, burnt at the edges, and instant coffee that tasted more like regret than caffeine. He ate standing up, staring blankly at his phone as he scrolled through social media, watching others live lives far more interesting than his own.

With a sigh, he grabbed his bag, slung it over his shoulder, and stepped outside into the dull gray morning.

The world outside was already awake. Cars rumbled past, pedestrians hurried along the sidewalk, and the distant chatter of morning commuters filled the air. Ethan fell into step with the crowd, just another faceless figure among the masses, heading toward another forgettable day.

His walk to the train station was muscle memory by now. The same cracked pavement, the same flickering street lamp at the corner, the same convenience store where he sometimes grabbed an energy drink when sleep deprivation hit too hard.

Today was no different.

He barely glanced at the cashier as he placed a can of cheap coffee on the counter. "Morning."

"Morning," the cashier replied, ringing up his purchase with the enthusiasm of a man who had long since given up on customer service.

Ethan paid, stuffed the can into his bag, and left without another word.

The train station was already packed. He squeezed into an overcrowded car, wedged between a salaryman who smelled of expensive cologne and a high school student glued to her phone. The doors slid shut with a mechanical chime, and the train lurched forward, dragging them all toward their daily routines.

Ethan exhaled slowly, staring at his reflection in the window. Just another day. Just another ride.

He wondered, not for the first time, when something—anything—would change.

His office building was as unremarkable as his job. A dull, gray structure in the middle of downtown, filled with equally dull people doing equally dull tasks.

Ethan worked IT support for a mid-sized company. The job paid the bills, but it was soul-crushingly dull. Every day was a parade of the same problems:

"Did you try turning it off and on again?"

"No, sir, I'm not a magician. I can't fix your internet with my mind."

"Yes, ma'am, your password is case-sensitive."

He had these conversations so often he could practically recite them in his sleep.

By lunch, he found himself in the break room, sipping lukewarm coffee from a paper cup. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, adding to the ever-present hum of office life.

Melissa, one of the few tolerable people in the office, plopped down in the chair across from him, eyeing his untouched sandwich. "Dude, you ever think about quitting and doing something better?"

Ethan shrugged, poking at his food with disinterest. "Like what?"

"I don't know, literally anything else," she said, gesturing vaguely. "You look miserable."

"I'm fine."

Melissa didn't look convinced, but she let it go. "Are you joining the company outing next week?"

He scoffed. "Do I look like someone who enjoys forced socializing?"

She smirked. "Fair point."

The rest of the day dragged on. More tech issues, more inane small talk, more staring at the clock, willing time to move faster.

When five o'clock finally rolled around, Ethan grabbed his bag and made his escape.

Outside, the city buzzed with evening energy. People rushing home, couples heading out, street vendors calling out their wares.

Ethan walked his usual route to the train station, stopping by the convenience store again for a can of beer and some instant ramen. Dinner of champions.

His apartment greeted him with its familiar silence. He kicked off his shoes, tossed his bag onto the floor, and collapsed onto his chair. His monitor blinked to life, messages from his online friends already waiting.

ShadowFang: "Dude, raid at 10. You in?"

KuroBlade: "Yeah. Just let me eat first."

This was his real life. Not the office. Not the commute. Here, in the digital world, he was someone. He mattered.

As the night stretched on, he lost himself in the game, pushing away the thoughts that crept in during the day. The doubts, the regrets, the quiet voice whispering that he was wasting his life.

That was a problem for tomorrow.

Tonight, he just played.

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The raid lasted longer than expected. By the time Ethan logged off, the clock on his monitor read 2:47 AM. He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes as the screen burned into his retinas. The euphoria of victory had long since faded, leaving only exhaustion in its wake. He should've gone to bed hours ago.

But that was always the problem, wasn't it?

He sighed, pushing away from his desk. His stomach grumbled—a reminder that half a cup of instant ramen and cheap beer wasn't a proper meal. Not that he had the energy to cook. He stumbled toward the kitchen, opening the fridge to find the usual disappointment: a half-empty carton of milk, some questionable leftovers, and a single egg. He wasn't that desperate. Yet.

Settling for another energy drink, he cracked it open and took a sip, the artificial taste doing little to mask the fatigue creeping into his bones. It was fine. This was fine. He could function on four hours of sleep. He always did.

Collapsing onto his bed, he stared at the ceiling, his thoughts drifting. Another day wasted. Another night of pretending he was someone else. In the digital world, he was KuroBlade, a competent player, a valued teammate. Here, he was just… Ethan. And Ethan wasn't much of anything.

He closed his eyes, willing himself to sleep, but his mind refused to shut down. Instead, it latched onto a question he had been asking himself more and more lately:

What the hell am I doing with my life?

His alarm pulled him from the abyss all too soon.

The morning routine was the same as always. The same struggle to wake up, the same tired reflection in the mirror, the same burnt toast and bitter coffee. The only difference was the added weight of another sleepless night pressing down on his shoulders.

By the time he made it out the door, the city was already in motion. People hurried past, their faces blurring together in a sea of strangers. He moved with them, just another nameless soul caught in the current.

Work was no better than the day before. If anything, it was worse.

The servers crashed before noon, meaning an influx of frantic emails, angry calls, and clueless executives demanding immediate fixes. By lunchtime, Ethan was already drained. He barely touched his food, his appetite killed by stress and fatigue.

Melissa sat across from him again, stirring her coffee with a knowing look. "You look like hell."

"Feel like it too," he muttered.

"Ever think about, I don't know, sleeping like a normal human being?"

He gave her a flat look. "And miss out on the privilege of doing this all over again tomorrow?"

She snorted. "Fair point."

The rest of the day blurred together in a haze of monotony. By the time he left the office, the sun was already setting, casting long shadows across the city. He didn't head straight home this time. Instead, he wandered.

His feet carried him through familiar streets, past neon-lit storefronts and bustling crowds. He wasn't sure what he was looking for—maybe a break from routine, a brief illusion of control over his own life.

Eventually, he ended up at a small ramen shop tucked between two larger buildings. The kind of place that smelled like nostalgia and late-night regrets. He ordered a bowl and ate in silence, letting the warmth chase away the exhaustion, if only for a little while.

By the time he finally returned to his apartment, it was past ten. He sat at his desk, staring at the screen, but for once, he didn't log in. Instead, he just sat there, listening to the quiet hum of his computer.

Something had to change.

He just didn't know what.

Another weekend rolled around, and as always, Ethan found himself glued to his screen. This time, it was an MMO event—limited-time loot, exclusive bosses, all the things that kept him invested. The hours bled together, the artificial glow of his monitor becoming his only source of light.

A notification popped up in the corner of his screen.

ShadowFang: "Yo, you've been grinding all night?"

KuroBlade: "Yeah. Worth it, though."

ShadowFang: "Dude. When was the last time you went outside?"

Ethan hesitated, fingers hovering over the keyboard. The answer was obvious, but admitting it felt worse.

KuroBlade: "Outside is overrated."

ShadowFang: "Lmao. Touch some grass, man."

Ethan smirked, shaking his head, but the words lingered. He glanced toward his window. The city lights flickered in the distance, a world moving on without him. Maybe ShadowFang was right.

With a sigh, he stood up, stretching out his sore limbs. He grabbed his jacket and, on impulse, left his apartment.

The streets were alive in a way his digital world never could be. The smell of street food, the hum of distant music, the laughter of strangers. He walked with no destination in mind, just letting himself exist outside his usual cycle.

After nearly an hour, he found himself at a park. Families, joggers, couples—people actually living their lives. He sat on an empty bench, watching, absorbing.

For the first time in a long time, he felt the weight of his isolation.

Maybe… just maybe, he was doing this all wrong.

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Ethan sat on the park bench longer than he expected. The chilled night air nipped at his exposed skin, but he barely noticed. His thoughts were too heavy, pressing down on him like the weight of all the wasted years he'd spent in front of a screen. He had always told himself it was fine—this was just life, right? But sitting here, watching people actually live, the cracks in that justification felt wider than ever.

The world had moved on without him, and for the first time, he was really seeing it.

He exhaled, rubbing his hands together for warmth. Maybe he should go back home. Get some rest for once. He had work in the morning, after all. But the thought of returning to that cramped, silent apartment, to the same cycle, made his stomach twist. It wasn't like he could fix his life overnight, but… maybe he could at least break the routine.

A small café on the corner caught his eye, its warm interior glowing invitingly. Before he could talk himself out of it, he got up and walked inside. The scent of fresh coffee hit him immediately, rich and soothing, cutting through his exhaustion. It was a quiet place, mostly empty at this hour, save for a barista who barely glanced up as he approached the counter.

"What'll it be?" she asked, stifling a yawn.

"Uh… just a black coffee," Ethan said, hesitating for a second before adding, "And maybe one of those muffins."

She rang him up without much fanfare, and soon, he was seated by the window, hands wrapped around the warmth of the cup. He took a sip, wincing at the bitterness. Real coffee, unlike the instant garbage he usually drank. It wasn't great, but it was different. That was enough for now.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He ignored it at first, but when it went off again, he sighed and pulled it out.

Melissa: "Hey, you alive?"

He smirked despite himself. He hadn't answered her last text earlier in the evening. Figured she'd check in.

Ethan: "Define alive."

Melissa: "Smartass. You coming to the office party this weekend?"

He stared at the message. He had already planned on making some excuse not to go. He never went to these things. They weren't his scene, and the idea of being stuck in a room full of coworkers making small talk sounded like hell.

But then again… wasn't this the exact cycle he was trying to break?

Ethan: "Maybe."

Melissa: "Holy shit. Did you just say maybe?"

Ethan: "Don't make a big deal out of it."

Melissa: "Too late. This is officially a moment in history."

Ethan shook his head, chuckling softly. Maybe it was stupid. Maybe it wouldn't change anything. But at least he was trying something different. That had to count for something, right?

The next day, Ethan was running on barely three hours of sleep. Again. Despite his attempt to break routine, he still ended up gaming late into the night, lost in another raid. Some habits were harder to shake than others.

Work was a slog, as usual. More tech problems, more clueless employees, more reasons to stare blankly at the ceiling and question his life choices. But somehow, the day didn't feel as heavy as it normally did. Maybe it was the coffee outing. Maybe it was the fact that he actually said 'maybe' to Melissa instead of shutting her down immediately.

Small steps. That's all he had.

At lunch, Melissa plopped down across from him, eyeing him like a hawk. "Okay, spill."

"What?"

"You actually responded last night. At a normal human hour, even."

Ethan shrugged, taking a bite of his sandwich. "Felt like going for a walk."

Melissa narrowed her eyes. "Since when do you voluntarily go outside?"

"I don't know. Just… felt like it."

She leaned back, crossing her arms. "So, does this mean you're finally having a quarter-life crisis?"

"Bold of you to assume I haven't had one for years."

She snorted. "Fair. But seriously, you good?"

Ethan hesitated. He could brush her off, make a joke, change the subject. That was the easy option. But after last night, something in him didn't want to just default to the usual routine.

…I don't know," he admitted. "Maybe I just got tired of doing the same thing over and over again."

Melissa raised an eyebrow. "Hallelujah, he finally sees it."

"Don't be a dick about it."

She grinned. "No promises."

Despite himself, Ethan found himself smiling. Maybe things wouldn't change overnight. Maybe nothing would change at all. But at least, for the first time in a long time, he was actually thinking about it.

And that was something.

Later that night, he sat in his apartment, staring at his monitor. His usual team was online, waiting for him to join. His fingers hovered over the keyboard.

But instead of logging in, he shut the monitor off.

He grabbed his jacket and headed out the door.

For once, the game could wait.

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Ethan had no destination in mind as he stepped out of his apartment. The city streets were alive with the usual late-night energy—honking cars, distant chatter, the occasional wail of a siren—but for once, he wasn't drowning it out with the hum of his computer. The cold bit through his thin jacket, but he welcomed it. At least it kept him awake.

His feet carried him toward nowhere in particular, a meandering path through dimly lit sidewalks and neon reflections on wet pavement. Maybe he should've just gone to bed. Maybe he should've logged in, joined the raid, kept his routine intact. But something in him resisted the usual pull of habit.

As he passed a convenience store, the bell above the door jingled and an elderly man stepped out, a plastic bag dangling from one frail wrist. The two locked eyes briefly before Ethan gave a small nod and continued on. That could be him one day, he thought. Old, alone, wandering the city with no one waiting for him at home.

The thought sent a chill through him that had nothing to do with the wind.

At some point, Ethan found himself near an overpass, the hum of traffic overhead a distant backdrop to his thoughts. He leaned against the railing, looking down at the street below. Cars zipped by, their headlights streaking like comets in the dark.

How many people down there were just like him? Going through the motions, letting life happen to them instead of taking control? How many had convinced themselves that "just existing" was enough?

His fingers tightened around the cold metal railing. If something didn't change, he'd wake up ten years from now in the exact same spot—miserable, exhausted, and still telling himself that this was just how life was.

His phone buzzed.

Melissa.

Melissa: "You okay? You kinda ghosted after work."

Ethan exhaled, staring at the message for a long moment before replying.

Ethan: "Yeah. Just thinking."

Melissa: "Dangerous habit."

He smirked, shaking his head. Even through text, she had a way of cutting through his bullshit.

Melissa: "Need company?"

Ethan hesitated. It was late, and he wasn't even sure what he wanted. But the idea of not being alone…

Ethan: "Nah, just clearing my head."

Melissa: "Alright. Just don't overthink yourself into oblivion."

Ethan didn't reply right away. He just stared at the screen, thumb hovering over the keyboard. Eventually, he locked the phone and slid it back into his pocket.

He took a deep breath.

And then he stepped back from the railing.

The walk home felt different. Lighter, maybe. He wasn't sure if it was the fresh air or the realization that he was finally acknowledging the problem instead of burying it under pixels and caffeine. Either way, it was something.

By the time he reached his apartment building, exhaustion was creeping in, but it was the kind that came from movement, from living—not just from staring at a screen for twelve hours straight.

As he climbed the stairs, a familiar weariness settled into his bones, but this time, it didn't feel quite as suffocating.

Tomorrow, he'd wake up, go to work, probably get dragged into some conversation with Melissa that he wasn't ready for. But tonight, at least, he'd done something different.

It wasn't much.

But it was a start.

Then the truck hit him.

One second, he was fishing his keys out of his pocket, mind drifting between exhaustion and vague plans for tomorrow. The next, there was a deafening screech of tires, a flash of blinding headlights, and a force slamming into him with the weight of an unstoppable fate.

Pain exploded through his body—brief, searing, absolute. His breath left him in a single, choked gasp as the world turned upside down. Concrete met flesh. His vision blurred, replaced by nothing but chaos and agony.

Somewhere, distant voices screamed. Footsteps pounded against the pavement. Someone was calling for help. None of it felt real.

He lay there, staring up at the night sky, the city lights swimming in his fading vision. He'd been so worried about wasting his life, about being stuck in the same cycle forever.

Guess he didn't have to worry about that anymore.

His fingers twitched. His lips parted, as if to say something—maybe to laugh, maybe to curse, maybe to ask why. But no sound came out.

The world was already slipping away.

Darkness took him.

And then…

Nothing.

Nothing at all.

To be continued...