The birds were singing, the flowers are blooming—everything was peaceful and harmonized in general, until Boboiboy had to make a dire choice. It could determine the fate of his day, the luck of his charms, the positive view on this miserable world; all resting in the choice of which breakfast he would pick up from the school canteen.

"Say, Ali," Boboiboy groans, his fingers drumming along the surface of his wooden table in boredom, "do you think I should go for the fried chicken or just a plain sandwich?"

His deskmate, Ali, snorted as a response, keeping his gaze sharp on the whiteboard, writing down chemistry notes as their teacher went through the list of chapters that were deemed crucial.

"If I were you, I'd be focusing on not failing this semester," Ali remarked, setting his pen down by his notebook. He slides the brunette an accusatory glare. "Besides, you already have your blog to worry about."

Boboiboy folded his arms in defense. "It's a dead end anyway." Frowning, he turned his eyes to the clock that resided on the wall, with the minute handle seconds away from the recess bell. His mind tittered with adrenaline, with the strength necessary to beat the rush to the queue at the canteen at first recess.

For someone who ironically (with his small size and clingy personality) had the patience for a forty-eight-hour stake-out and could survive on chips and soda alone, had no tolerance for recesses that were a second overdue. The moment the teacher dismissed her class and they paid their respects, he bolted towards the canteen as fast as he was able to.

Fortunately, he was nimble enough to squeeze past the waves of never-ending students, all the while keeping his balance while leaving his friend Ali to the fate of struggling through the crowd. Ali had other friends anyway. Boboiboy preferred to be alone when he was eating.

The remainder of the school session was dull; they'd been taught nothing that they couldn't learn from the internet or was applicable in their lives. Like, how can the fact that Napoleon was actually short, and stood in heels for his official, royal painting? Other than a few laughs and jokes, there was nothing else to it.

Boboiboy left the school after bidding Ali and a few of his friends goodbye. It was Friday, so he'd have plenty of time editing his blog and rethinking his current career choice: a student reporter at a random publisher, in charge of digging up the most mind-numbing news around him. Everything that he did was boring. Even his parents were surprisingly normal, with nothing out of place.

To reach home, he had to pass by a few blocks of shops, all of which are generic and bland. The candy shop that sold the same sweets for decades, the bakery that baked the same bread for years, and even the bookstore rarely had new selections.

Usually, the pavement could accommodate two grown adults' arms outstretched (or rather, T-posing), but since it was the time of lunch breaks or schools dismissing, the path was crowded, the roads by the pavement jammed with cars, the horns honking in impatience.

But even for a rush hour, the streets were overpacked, and people were rushing about in either hot pink, yellow or purple clothing, with the occasional green shirt. If a fan convention was due today, he wouldn't be surprised. His city held plenty of events that attracted tourists, after all.

He paid no mind towards the sudden addition to the crowds, instead keeping his mind on his path home. Unfortunately for him, his route involved one of the busiest squares in the place, and he was right about the convention. There was a crowd accumulated at the dead center of the square itself. People were screaming, holding banners, cameras and whatever fangirls would bring when their idol comes to town.

Was there something he should remember? He knew he forgot something, and he assumed that it has something to do with this crowd... or what they're waiting for. If anything, it's not for today. His schedule for the day is free, which meant he could get home and play video games all day.

He quickly pushed past the screaming fans and made his way home.