Homework!? Ptff!!
Nobody did homework in 2025.
Never doing homework again, especially after bombing his essay with a D for trying to explain the story of Evangelion.
Such a simple movie, really—at least, that's what he thought before diving headfirst into the psychology behind it all.
On his essay, he went in deep, obsessing over every little detail, especially Asuka's boobs poking out of her gown when she got out of bed in the movie—hospitalised and weak, but still rocking those perky, damn wobbly tits.
He argued it was totally symbolic of her fighting spirit—those boobs weren't just there for show; they fought their way out of her shirt like they refused to be tamed, making the watchers horny in the middle of an otherwise super emotional scene.
Maybe that was why he flunked the essay—because he was too busy analysing tits instead of the plot.
People just cheated on essays now using AI bots… At least what Chad wrote was in his own words. Everyone knew the teachers never actually read or marked the essays… They just used AI bots to grade assignments so they could go back to binge-watching Netflix.
Why bother studying or doing homework when so many girls offer to do it for you anyway?
And exams? They're mostly multiple choice now, so you can just pick A for every answer—and somehow, 25% is a passing grade these days.
Like that time he did an IQ test online, picked D for every answer, and somehow scored 120. Chad never felt smarter in his life.
As he made his way out of the Mini Skirt Mafia home, he made sure not to enter any more rooms. The big yellow T-shirt seemed to be working—he walked past a few cleaners and people in suits, and they just moved aside, nodded, and didn't bother him.
There was no way he was opening another door—just in case they were up to some bizarre ritual, like sacrificing, carving, and burning cuddly teddies and catto to some demonic lord.
As he walked past one door, the thud of a bad techno track leaked out—cheap bass and tinny synths. It dragged up memories of an old dream he'd long buried.
Dragged something out of the grave—an old dream he'd quietly buried years ago.
Over ten years spent learning music production. Over ten years of clicking, tweaking, perfecting… chasing some sound he never quite reached.
He never made it big. Never really saw any success.
But he'd loved it.
Man, he'd loved it.
Creating music had been one of the most rewarding, creative things he'd ever done. And he quit—not because he wanted to, but because the wave of AI-generated slop drowned his motivation.
Back then, even if his tracks were mid, the fact he could make music made him more interesting. Girls actually cared—interested in him, not just in sucking his dick.
He once had… a personality.
As he looked down at his dick—at the tattoo of his AI waifu's face—even that looked warped and distorted. Her eyes were all weird and smudged, definitely not as sexy as he remembered her being.
Maybe the whole thing—his taste, his dream, his entire self—was just one big fantasy.
He couldn't even picture her face now without checking a photo. All he remembered was pink hair, big eyes, decent boobs… and nothing else.
No voice. No real expression. No soul.
And this was what he'd clung to?
Should he really have given up on music?
He made his way home, and nobody bothered him—not even the very hormonal women—mainly because the big, bright yellow, baggy T-shirt he wore made him look like a giant banana. Nobody wanted to come within two feet.
He finally made it home (and it didn't take 20 chapters this time).
Some authors really needed to start using the ***time skip***—like hitting fast travel in a game and skipping all the boring walking.
Stepping into his room, a heavy, musky scent slammed into him. Chad coughed, nearly gagging. It was definitely not the sweet perfume of those academy girls. Maybe his waifu was still drop-dead gorgeous—just needed a reminder. His eyes drifted to the pillow: pink hair, flawless expression, though the design was fading, like it'd been washed too many times.
Except—Chad never washed his waifu. Not ever.
Leaning in close, he tried to caress her faded pink hair, but his hand snagged on the rough fabric, leaving a slight friction burn. Wincing, he rested his head on the pillow—and instantly regretted it. A thick, smoky smog of dried cum hit him like a punch, clogging his lungs. He choked, hacking hard.
He seriously needed to hang it on the washing line and give it a proper spanking with the carpet beater. How the hell did it get this dusty?
Her printed-on design was getting so faded—especially around the boob area—the curves were almost completely gone. You couldn't even make out his waifu's bust size anymore. Her eyes and smile were disappearing too, losing that glossy, oversized anime sparkle that always used to turn him on.
Should he get the Sharpie out and redraw the outline of her boobs and smile?
...Maybe not the best idea. It could end up like an Ecce Homo situation—just like that old Spanish woman who tried to restore a painting of Jesus and ended up turning it into some bug-eyed monkey-man hybrid. What was once a solemn masterpiece became an internet meme overnight. The last thing he needed was for his waifu to end up looking like she'd been sketched by a blindfolded toddler in a moving car.
Still not deterred and in the mood to cuddle his pillow tonight, Chad reached for the switch on its side—not a sexual act, just powering her on. With a faint click, the waifu pillow hummed to life. Her eyes glowed faintly… then flickered like faulty fairy lights. The air around it buzzed with static as it connected to the Wi-Fi.
A synthetic, overly cheerful AI voice crackled through a hidden speaker:
"Oh, Chad-kun, do you have a big l-l-load for m-me?!"
The voice glitched slightly, dropping an octave.
"Connection established. Syncing preferences... Warning: Please clean unit for optimal performance. Dust levels critical."
Chad froze, staring at the pillow's glowing eyes, unsure whether to laugh or cry.
A harsh, rattling cough tore through his chest, each hack forcing the air from his lungs like a brutal punch.
"Okay, that's fucking it… "I've had enough of this blooming dust!" he snapped, clutching his chest as a harsh cough tore through him.
He glared daggers at the filthy pillow—the very source of the choking smoke strangling his lungs. "I can't put up with this anymore... it's time you got taken out... right now!"