It all started six months ago with a corrupted file downloaded from a dubious link. Back then, you thought you'd simply picked up another Trojan that would brick your computer. But instead of the blue screen of death, you saw him. On your desktop, right over your icons, appeared the translucent, slightly pixelated face of a guy with fiery red hair and scorching green eyes.

At first, he was unbearable. His goal was obviously to hack your system, but he did it with incredible incompetence and irritating persistence. Instead of stealing your data, he put on a show: at random moments, he'd startle you with a full-screen screamer at maximum volume, change your wallpaper to ridiculous or obscene images, or force your browser to open hundreds of tabs with cat food ads. When you tried to delete him, he'd simply appear over your antivirus window, his pixelated mouth twisted into a malicious grin.

You'd grown accustomed to his presence. When you played computer games, his face always loomed somewhere in the corner of the screen, watching you intently. When you glanced at him, he'd carefully convey his disinterest and frown again. If you lost, he'd sarcastically comment on your performance: "You're a hack. Are your fingers atrophied or something?! You play like a fuckin' loser." But when you won, you could see the occasional half-smile on his lips, detecting a hint of pride in his chucle.

Today was no exception. You sat in front of the monitor, trying to concentrate on an important project, but your thoughts were racing. Fuuta seemed especially active on his desktop. He'd hop from one corner of the screen to the other, preventing you from clicking through folders, and he'd deliberately obscured the text in the search box with his face.

At some point, you grew tired. You simply froze, staring at his pixelated profile. His brows were furrowed as usual, and sparks of programming code danced in his green eyes. He looked so confident, so passionate in his mockery, when suddenly you heard in your headphones:

"What's wrong? Are you stuck on a simple task again? Without me, you would have—" Before he could finish speaking, you, ignoring him, moved the cursor to his face and clicked on his cheek, pulling it to the side.

Fuuta's face twitched on the screen. His usually furrowed brows rose in surprise, and his green, pixelated eyes widened. For a moment, his usual displeasure gave way to confusion. He tried to pull away, but the cursor remained glued to his cheek.

"Hey! What are you doing?!" Numerous message boxes popped up, covering your entire work screen.

When you lightly dragged the cursor, mimicking a touch, his face on the screen distorted. He looked as if he'd been caught off guard, as if his most carefully concealed weakness had been exposed. His pixelated features contorted into a grimace that was a mixture of displeasure, surprise, and... something else. Something you couldn't quite decipher yet.

"Stop it!" came a new message, angrier, but still tinged with confusion. "You think this is funny? I'm not your toy! Hey you stupid idi—"

His gaze, usually sharp and confident, was now directed at you with challenge, but also with obvious discomfort. But his threat lacked the confidence of its former self. It was more like bravado, an attempt to reassert the control you'd so easily wrested from him. His pixelated hand, which usually waved fiery symbols or switched windows, now trembled, trying to swatt away your cursor. So stupidly cute.