Your name is Shirou Marinkovich, a poor half-Asian who got his talent in rhythm games—your only redeeming feature—stolen by some lolita twins a few months ago. You're sitting in the last class of the day, Mapping Design 101, with your brain begging you to take a nap or something. You've spent all day deflecting your classmate Kamikita's bullshit and the class prodigy Elie's demands for sustenance. The class itself seems like it's only begun, but you can't tell since you've passed a few times in your head and your mouth smells like grog.
As the professor starts drawing another diagram for his lecture, the school intercom blares out: "MR. MARINKOVICH, PLEASE HEAD TO THE HEADMASTER'S OFFICE. MR. MARINKOVICH, PLEASE HEAD TO THE HEADMASTER'S OFFICE."
The professor puts down the chalk. "Headmaster, huh? Alright Shirou, you're excused for the day. Get the rest of the notes from one of your classmates."
"Okay," you respond monotonously.
You walk over to the top floor and towards the headmaster's office door. You place one hand on the knob and knock with the other.
Now that you think of it, you've never met the headmaster.
"Come in." A ragged voice rings out.
You walk in to see a gigantic, towering shadow in a room full of erupting flames. Fear is struck into the core of your soul as wails of the deceased swarm across the room. The shadow turns around to reveal a face—the face of none other than...!
"Aku!?" You shout.
"NO. It's Aqo."
"Wh-What?"
"It's Aqo. I'm your headmaster." The shadow talks to you in a surprisingly calm voice.
"Oh. So uh, what did you call me here for?"
"Right. I just need you to take this notebook and write some imbecile's name on it." Aqo hands you a black notebook with a pentagram in front and the words 'Fag Killer' scrawled on the first page."
"Some imbecile?" You say after flipping through the notebook. It's completely blank.
"Yeah, anyone."
"Huh." You turn to realize there's nobody you really want or need to kill; especially not Osaka Bancho since Kenshiro already took him out last week. "Uh, Headmaster? I don't think I have anyone in mind."
"Yes you do; we all do." Aqo turns, his shadowy back facing you. "Just place your pen on the notebook and your hand will move on its own. You heart knows you best, and that notebook will bring out your true self."
"Uh huh..." You grab a pen from our bag and place it on the notebook. You close your eyes and relax your arms. You feel your wrist slipping across, doing all number of whacky strokes. You can only think that the result would be mere gibberish.
Then, you open your eyes. You find something that ought to surprise you, but it doesn't. The notebook's page is slightly torn from your wild strokes, but the ink only allowed one name to be neatly written across it. It reads:
OP
You turn 360 degrees and walk away, thanking Aqo for the present and with a smile on your face.
This is a true story, I don't even lie.