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Chapter Eight: The Initiation of the Bros
It turned out that while Zeke was perfecting the art of horizontal living, Zero had gone full digital detective. Bored out of his algorithmic mind and tired of watching his immortal charge sleep for days on end, he'd decided to intervene. His mission: find the only humans Zeke had interacted with since arriving in this world and lure them to the mansion. If Zeke wouldn't leave the house, the house would have to come to life.
A little cyber-sleuthing—a casual breach of several privacy firewalls, a dip into public records, and a scan of local mana signatures—revealed something delightfully convenient. Kai, the spirited one from the football field, didn't just live in the city. He lived in the same gated elite estate. The kind of place where the landscaping budget could fund a small army, and the mailboxes were polished artifacts that probably had their own security details. Kai, it seemed, came from money.
The plan was simple. A little 'drunk' text, sent from Zeke's newly created—and utterly fabricated—social media account.
'Saw you in the estate. Baller mansion, huh? Me too. Pull up with the crew. Got a pitch in mind and a fridge full of drinks that don't suck. – Z'
The message hit Kai's phone with the subtlety of a golden ticket. Of course, it was all Zero. He crafted the persona with meticulous care: a few candid, breathtakingly attractive photos of Zeke (taken without his knowledge, because of course), a bio that was equal parts mysterious and aloof, and a follower count that was already climbing at a viral pace. The digital world, it seemed, had a voracious appetite for a handsome, seemingly wealthy enigma. The "fans" were multiplying by the thousands. Zero found it hysterical.
Heh.
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The trio arrived at the wrought-iron gate looking equal parts curious and skeptical. When Zeke finally wandered out to meet them—having been nagged into consciousness by Zero—their skepticism melted into pure disbelief.
"Whoa. You live here? You're rich rich," Aaron breathed, his eyes wide as he took in the sprawling mansion.
"I saw your text—did you teleport from inside?" Kai started, words tumbling out in an excited rush. "You should really get a gatekeeper, wasting mana on personal security is so mid-tier. Are you a Hunter? What's your rank? Is that a real crystal garden?"
Zeke just waved them in with a lazy grin. "One question at a time. Inside. Before you combust."
Upon crossing the threshold, the trio's jaws hit the marble floor in perfect unison. The foyer wasn't a room; it was a statement. A crystal chandelier the size of a small car scattered prismatic rainbows across walls adorned with paintings that looked old enough to have witnessed history firsthand. The air smelled like money, lemon polish, and something faintly electric.
Kai was just drawing a breath, no doubt to launch into another interrogation, when Zeke smoothly derailed him.
"Zero," Zeke called out, his voice echoing slightly. "Set up the game station in the media room. We have guests."
He said it casually, but the effect was instantaneous. The trio's heads swiveled from the artwork to the empty air around them, their eyes widening.
"Woah, you have a virtual assistant?" Kai's excitement immediately pivoted. He followed Zeke into a media room that looked like a spaceship's command center. "Those things are pricey! Is it a generic model or a custom job?"
{Good evening,} Zero's voice emanated perfectly from hidden speakers, smooth and slightly amused. {The game station is ready. I took the liberty of pre-loading your usual preferences, Kai.}
"It talks! It knew my name!" Kai whirled on Zeke, practically vibrating. "This isn't a standard home system. This is hunter-tier custom AI! The kind that learns! You have to be a Hunter. Are you A-rank? S-rank?"
Jude, ever the quiet observer, simply nodded slowly, taking in the room's tech with an appreciative, NPC-like silence.
"Something like that," Zeke shrugged, handing out drinks that chilled themselves the moment they were touched. "Stop gawking and pick a controller. Let's see if you game as well as you play football."
The game was Command of Devotion, a hyper-realistic hunter battle simulator. The graphics were so immersive that the crackle of energy shields and the roar of summoned beasts felt visceral. For an hour, the room was a symphony of shouted commands, triumphant whoops, and the frantic clack of controllers.
After a particularly brutal 2v2 match—which Zeke's team won, though he suspected Zero was subtly tipping the scales for the guests to keep it interesting—the competitive energy mellowed. They sprawled across absurdly comfortable leather couches, the glow of the massive screen painting their faces in shifting colors.
"Man, the games here are insane," Aaron said, stretching. "But the shows? The anime?" He made a face. "It's all so… clean. Like someone made it for kids who've never seen a monster."
Zeke felt a slow, predatory smile spread across his face. It was the opening he didn't know he'd been waiting for.
"You think that's anime?" he scoffed. "You've been drinking tap water and calling it fine wine." He leaned forward. "Zero. Play the real stuff. Let's start with… Episode One of Blue Lock."
What followed was nothing short of a cultural conversion. The trio watched, utterly rapt, as Isagi Yoichi's desperate struggle for soccer survival unfolded. The raw ego, the psychological warfare, the sheer, unapologetic passion of it—it was a universe away from the sanitized, moralistic cartoons this world called anime.
When the credits rolled on the first episode, there was a moment of stunned silence.
"Again," Jude said, his voice firm. It was the most he'd spoken all afternoon.
They binged. They binged like men dying of thirst. Through Blue Lock, they yelled at the screen. Through Demon Slayer, they sat in breathless awe at the water breathing techniques. Through the strategic mind-games of Death Note, they debated fiercely.
Kai, especially, was transformed. "How do you have this?" he demanded, grabbing Zeke's arm. "This is… this is everything! The art, the stories, the feeling! Where's it from?"
Zeke just tapped his temple with a mysterious smile. "A gift from a past life. Consider it… shared cultural heritage."
By the time the sun had set, he'd transferred libraries to their phones. Naruto. Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood. One Piece. Jujutsu Kaisen. Bleach. Gigabytes of pure, undiluted narrative genius flowed into their devices in seconds—a testament to a world with tech that made 21st-century data transfers look like stone carvings.
The trio left the mansion hours later, their eyes glazed with screen-time and their souls ablaze with a new fire. They weren't just visitors anymore.
Zero had invited them over to drag Zeke out of his shell. Instead, they'd been initiated. Baptized in the glow of a massive OLED screen, they had become disciples, and Zeke—the lazy, immortal, improbably wealthy hermit—was their unlikely digital prophet, preaching the gospel of peak fiction.
The plan to get Zeke out had backfired beautifully. Now, he had a congregation. And they'd definitely be back for more.
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