Chapter 151: 151 | My Girlfriend Plays 4D Chess, I Play Not Crashing My Hondeezy
I wouldn’t mind Kumiko.
Five words. Five small, ordinary English words that Chloe Kim had just whispered into his ear while he operated a two-ton motor vehicle at highway speed with her best friend sitting directly behind them holding strawberry Pocky like a rosary.
Jordan’s foot twitched on the gas pedal. The Civic lurched forward by maybe two miles per hour, just enough for the car in front of him to grow slightly larger in his windshield before he corrected. His eyes stayed locked on the road because if he looked at Chloe right now, if he turned his head even three degrees to the left and saw whatever expression she was wearing, he would drive them directly into the center divider and the headline would read LOCAL MAN DIES IN HAREM-RELATED TRAFFIC INCIDENT.
In the rearview mirror, Kumiko had her eyes closed. Her head rested against the window with her mouth slightly open, the last Pocky stick balanced between her fingers like a cigarette. She looked peaceful. She looked like someone who had no idea that the girl in the front seat had just fundamentally altered the trajectory of all three of their lives with a sentence shorter than a Starbucks order.
Chloe pulled away from his ear. She settled back into her seat and crossed one leg over the other, the bare skin of her ankle catching sunlight through the windshield. She picked up her phone and continued scrolling through Pinterest backgrounds for her streaming setup as though she had just commented on the weather and not detonated a thermonuclear device inside Jordan’s chest cavity.
Jordan’s mouth opened. Nothing came out.
He closed it.
Opened it again.
"What."
Not a question. Not an exclamation. Just the word, flat and numb, pushed through lips that had forgotten how to form actual language. The lo-fi piano loop continued playing through the speakers with the same gentle, repetitive melody that suddenly felt like the soundtrack to a nature documentary where the narrator was about to say "and this is the moment the prey realizes it has walked directly into a trap."
Chloe didn’t look up from her phone. Her thumb kept scrolling. Monstera plants. Floating shelves. Ring light angles.
"You heard me."
He had. He absolutely, undeniably, catastrophically had. The words were seared into his auditory cortex like a brand, and they would remain there for the rest of his natural life regardless of whether that life lasted another sixty years or ended in approximately four seconds when his overwhelmed nervous system finally shut down his vital organs.
Jordan’s hands squeezed the steering wheel. The leather creaked under his palms. His heart rate had gone from resting to hummingbird in the span of one exhale, and his brain, which had been completely offline for the past eight seconds, was now rebooting in stages like a computer coming back from a crash. First the basic motor functions returned, keeping the car between the white lines. Then spatial awareness, confirming that yes, he was still on the 73 heading south toward Newport. Then higher cognitive processing, which immediately began screaming at him from fifteen different directions.
The System’s seventy-two-hour registration countdown had forty-seven hours remaining. The System wanted a second girl in Slot 2. Chloe had just nominated a candidate. The candidate was asleep four feet away surrounded by shopping bags, wearing cat-face thigh-highs, and had spent the past three hours stealing glances at Jordan’s arms whenever she thought nobody was paying attention.
Jordan swallowed. Hard. His throat felt like sandpaper wrapped around a desert.
"Can we..." He glanced at the rearview. Kumiko’s eyes remained closed. Her chest rose and fell in the slow rhythm of someone who had genuinely passed out, her body finally surrendering to whatever emotional hurricane she had been navigating since the gas station. "Can we talk about this when we’re not in a car? Doing sixty-five? With her right there?"
Chloe locked her phone and placed it face-down on her thigh. She turned her head just enough for Jordan to catch her profile in his peripheral vision. Her expression was calm. Not fake-calm, not performing-calm, but the genuine settled composure of a person who had already done all of her thinking and arrived at a conclusion before the conversation even started. It was the same face she wore when updating her financial spreadsheets or negotiating subscriber tier pricing.
"I talked to her at the gas station."
Jordan nearly swerved into the next lane. A grey Audi honked as it passed on his left. The driver, a middle-aged woman with oversized sunglasses, mouthed something aggressive through her window.
"You what?"
"While you were inside. Buying snacks." Chloe’s voice carried no urgency. She spoke the way someone discusses lunch plans. "I asked her how she felt about you. She told me. A lot. Like, a lot a lot. And then I asked her what she would think about dating you."
Jordan took a full breath. Held it. Released it through his nose. The freeway exit for Newport appeared on the green sign ahead, one point four miles away. He needed to survive one point four more miles of freeway driving while processing the fact that his girlfriend had conducted a recruitment interview for his second girlfriend in the seven minutes it took him to buy Pocky and sparkling water.
"And?" The word scraped out of him like gravel.
"And she didn’t say no."
"She didn’t say yes either."
"She made a noise like a broken squeaky toy and stopped talking for two straight minutes." Chloe tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, the blue streak catching the light. "That’s Kumiko for yes."
Jordan signaled for the exit and merged right, the car decelerating as the off-ramp curved downward toward Pacific Coast Highway. The sudden reduction in speed made the interior feel quieter, the engine noise dropping to a gentle hum that gave their conversation too much space.
He looked at Chloe directly for the first time since she had spoken. Her eyes were dark brown without the blue contacts she wore for her Calypso persona. The colored lenses softened her features and made her look accessible and approachable, the kind of pretty that Instagram followers could aspire to. Without them, her eyes were sharper. Older. The eyes of a girl who had lost her father at seventeen and started selling photos of herself online three months later to keep her family from drowning.
She was serious.
She was completely, absolutely, terrifyingly serious.
"Why?" Jordan asked.
