Chapter 245: Taught the Gods How to Play Games All Afternoon?

The two of them were fast learners. Under the old customer's guidance, they quickly mastered the correct way to play the King of Fighters arcade game—blocking, jumping, timing their moves, and so on—and had already achieved modest proficiency.

"Thank you, friendly friend, for teaching us all this."

The noble blond man smiled as he spoke, his bearing noble but not the unapproachable kind of noble—easy to get along with, affable, showing no distance.

"You're really good at games. Thank you for the instruction," the refined, gentle-spoken man said frankly.

Receiving thanks—and praise—from a foreign friend for the first time, the old customer named Sota Sanmi blushed and hurriedly waved his hands:

"No, no, it's you two who learn fast. Honestly, you're amazing. I only taught you the combos, and you already figured out how to use them. You're way better than I was when I first started learning the arcade game—it took me several days to reach your level."

As the saying goes, there's no faster way to get close to a stranger than a meal; if one doesn't work, two will.

But for game nerds, it's not alcohol—it's games.

Game nerds aren't good at socializing, but once the topic turns to games, they become chatterboxes.

Sota Sanmi was exactly like that. The moment games came up, he got excited and gave the two a detailed introduction to the King of Fighters arcade characters' combos, each character's strengths and weaknesses, and even recommended games—patient and thorough.

The two of them were equally interested, listening to Sota Sanmi's recommendations.

Whenever the two asked about games, Sota Sanmi answered patiently. If there was something he didn't know, he'd pick up his phone and Yahoo-search it for them.

"If you don't mind, we could exchange email addresses. If there's anything you don't understand, you can ask me anytime. Oh, if you want to play Monster Hunter, we could play online together."

In Japan, exchanging email addresses is similar to exchanging phone numbers in China.

Because he got along so well with the two of them—rarely did he have such an enjoyable chat—Sota Sanmi proactively offered his email address, wanting to be friends.

"Email address? I don't have one," the noble blond man said.

Hearing this, Sota Sanmi only then remembered the noble blond man wasn't Japanese, and felt regret.

"But I have Line and Twitter. Do you have Line or Twitter? We could add each other."

The noble blond man and the refined man both took out their phones.

Although Line and Twitter were communication apps and social platforms invented abroad, they were also very popular in Japan—the most popular chat apps, basically everyone had them.

Naturally, Sota Sanmi had them too.

Immediately after, both sides added each other on Line and Twitter.

"Oh! Right!" Sota Sanmi patted his head, looking a bit embarrassed: "Sorry, I got so caught up talking about games I forgot to say my name. I'm Sota Sanmi."

Shoma Seto, who had been watching Sota Sanmi and the two the whole time, facepalmed. Sota, you're only just realizing? It's been half the day already.

At the same time, Shoma Seto and the shop clerk both pricked up their ears, wanting to know what the two were called.

Clearly, from the moment the two entered the shop until now, Shoma Seto and the shop clerk had racked their brains and still couldn't remember—every time they were about to recall, they would inexplicably forget again.

Many people have had this feeling: the second before you want to say something, you might get interrupted the next second, and when you come back to say it, you can't for the moment remember what it was.

It was as if some mysterious force prevented them from recalling who the two were.

Now that Sota Sanmi was asking the two for their names, how could Shoma Seto and the shop clerk miss this chance? Perhaps knowing their names would let them remember who they were—after all, with such outstanding and extraordinary bearing, they couldn't be nobodies.

Most likely they were either celebrities, or some foreign supermodel or aristocrat—anyway, Shoma Seto and the shop clerk felt they must have seen them on TV or something.

Sota Sanmi extended his hand, and the noble blond man and the refined man shook it.

"I'm Lucifer," the noble blond man said with a grin, and introduced the refined man as well: "He's Tsukuyomi."

"Lucifer? Tsukuyomi? Your names are really nice… Holy shit!!!"

Sota Sanmi cried out involuntarily, his whole body petrified, frozen stiff on the spot. The moment he shouted, he hurriedly covered his mouth, as if his outburst was a terrible faux pas.

At this moment, not just Shoma Seto and the shop clerk—even Sota Sanmi himself—remembered.

The masked figures of the two people before them slowly overlapped with the images of the fallen angel Lucifer and the god Tsukuyomi seen on TV in memory—a perfect match!!!

The minds of Sota Sanmi, Shoma Seto, and the shop clerk seemed to explode, going blank with a boom, a complete void.

Gods!

These two are Lucifer and the god Tsukuyomi!! Oh my god!!

Frenzy, shock, horror, stupor, like a dream, floating on air…

Like an emotional big bang, the instant their minds went blank, every emotion erupted like a volcano, gushing out all at once.

Shoma Seto's mouth hung slightly open, his gaze unfocused.

My… my shop has two gods in it? And they're playing games in my shop?!

At this moment.

Shoma Seto was thrilled—his shop had actually been noticed by gods. These were real gods, not imposters; gods were playing games in his shop!!! What an immense honor, something he could brag about for a lifetime!

He was also regretful—why hadn't he realized sooner that they were Lucifer and Tsukuyomi? Their bearing was right there, the upper halves of their faces were already so obvious.

Then he exchanged a look with the shop clerk, and both already knew why.

It was probably that Lucifer and the god Tsukuyomi had used some divine power, so that even if people saw them, they wouldn't recall them—invisibly causing them to be forgotten.

But he was still regretful!

Aaaaaaaaaah!!!! Why didn't I go talk to Lucifer and Tsukuyomi? What the hell was I doing? With such a golden chance, I only said one sentence to Lucifer and Tsukuyomi, and it was to promote an event. What kind of stupid dog thing was I doing? Oh god! I want to die!

What a great chance—this was definitely a once-in-a-millennium opportunity. To be able to make contact with gods—even if you gained no benefit, just shaking a god's hand would do. You might catch some of the god's divine aura; if not immortality, at least a longer life should be in the cards.

Suddenly, as if thinking of something, Shoma Seto and the shop clerk both stared fixedly at Sota Sanmi, their envy undisguised, so envious their eyes turned red.

At the same time.

Sota Sanmi was dumbfounded, still rooted to the spot.

I actually chatted with gods for an entire afternoon? And… and freaking taught gods how to play games?!!!!!!!

His body trembled violently. The hand holding Sota Sanmi's phone shook, his whole body trembling intensely—that was excitement, an endlessly surging exhilaration.

I, I added Lucifer and Tsukuyomi on Line!! My god, am I dreaming? I added gods as friends.

Sota Sanmi really wanted to slap himself to see if he was dreaming.

But even without slapping himself, he knew this wasn't a dream—it was real.

Because Lucifer was placing his hand on his shoulder and patting it.

"Relax, my friend, don't be nervous. Even gods need to relax. Killing all day long would tire any god to death, so don't treat us as gods — just think of us as friends."