Playing to Win
"This game sucks."
Her ears stung. Beneath the sound of the arcade, she could hear the two of them, and from where she sat, she found her attention drawn to them, standing behind the row of old cabinets, each one depicted with a variety of lovingly realised mobile suits in varying conditions, some faded by age, others defaced by former frustrated players.
"It used to be great though," the other girl said, somewhat dispassionately, a lime green can of soda in her hand, paused in the motion of lifting it to her lips.
The first girl said something in reply, but it was inaudible beneath the sudden clang of coins being pushed into a slot, the overly loud, overly unwelcome proclamation of the game's title screen.
It took her a moment, but she realised that the can the second girl was holding was decorated with the likeness of the first one, presently hunched over the cabinet, dressed in baseball cap and bomber jacket, occasionally snapping her bubble-gum against her lips with displeasure as she frowned at the screen and jerked at the twin sticks.
Suddenly she knew who they were, and she felt extremely uncomfortable being in the same place. The arcade was supposed to be her sanctuary, it was supposed to be the place she came where she could be someone other than who her duties dictated, where she wasn't simply the eldest daughter of the priest of Kanezaka's local shrine.
In her childhood, she had resented the added responsibility of the shrine, her voice echoing throughout the hall of her family home as she had argued with her father, as she had demanded to know why she had to do work that she had no interest in. She recalled clearly the moment he had answered her, his face turned away, hidden in shadow.
'Because, through you, I might know forgiveness for what I have done.'
It shouldn't have to be her responsibility though. She was more than just her family's past, her parents' association with the Hashimoto family. That was why the arcade was special to her. In this place, she could forget who she was, she could forget her duty and live vicariously in the flashing lights and deafening sound; she could be more than the vessel of her father's regret, the shape of her town's yearning for liberation.
Now, there were these two other girls, several years older than her, speaking in a sharp mix of English and Korean, their jackets adorned with the kind of sponsors who never so much as blink at a girl from Kanezaka.
She should teach them a lesson. She should go over there and show them both how to really play. No matter how good they might have been in high school, neither of them could be that great now. They were ancient, like 19 or something, and they spent all their time flying around in giant robots hitting other robots, of course they didn't know shit about gaming nowadays.
She kicked away from the stool against the wall she had been sitting on, and the sound of it caught the attention of the second girl, turning away from her friend's progress before the flashing screen and meeting her gaze, looking directly at her.
There was a moment in which nothing happened, and then the older girl smiled warmly and kindly, and she felt dumb, felt stupid. Hinotori Kiriko smiled back, feeling like she had already lost.
Great, she thought, now she was going to have to share this place.