WWS: GENOME GENRE (UNDER PAPERINK PUB) [COMPLETED]

CHAPTER 4

"P-plagiarize novels?" I asked astoundingly. "Why?"

"Naze? It's better to regret something doing it than regret not doing it at all," Ichika explained in a low tone of voice. She took off one of the buttons of her white polo, tied her hair, and then opened the intel computers.

"You have big breasts," I told her but I looked below. "Does it hurt?"

"To hit your f*cking bullsh*t skull, Atlas?"

"Sorry about that, Miss Ichika. It's just straight directly in my eyes. It's a compliment. I love that cute passage in between your balls. It's like widening the schism between Church leaders and politicians."

"Oh, poor d*mn kid. Nobody dared to make fun with me. Look at me, Atlas," Ichika demanded pointing me out—again. "You, cocky, multi-maniac, son of a nutcracker! My balls are bigger than yours, bud. They are like your head but doubled and the holes in your nose look like my soft fleshy milk-secreting glandular tities. So don't dare f*ck me. You should have a sex license first."

"Sex license? What kind of license is that—"

"My father—mafia of all mafias—made that license. You must register first. Strip off your clothes including your Spider-Man underwear, Atlas. The medical examiner will check you for hydrocele, hernia, undescended testes, and venereal diseases. He will examine your d*ck & testicles. He also has to check your rectum for hemorrhoids & anal fissures—just like that navy. So I guess you would have to remove your clothing. I hope you’re not shy.".

"N-now?" I stammered because I know she was kidding. "No. I don't want that now. It's just... my gaze was fixed on those two vertical golds in between your breasts."

"Yes, these are golds. Touch them but don't you f*cking dare touch my skin. I got a knife here. This might end your useless life."

After I touched it, I'm not convinced if it was real. "Can I remove it?"

"No. It's a sternum piercing. My gold earrings are the same as this sternum. Check it yourself." As soon as she gave me her earrings, I grabbed a glass and filled it up with water. To test it, I drop them into this filled glass.

"It sinks," I said. "If the gold floats, it is surely not real but if the gold sinks to the end of the glass then it is pure gold. The real gold will sink due to being heavy metal."

"Really?" she asked.

"Yes. So keep now your earrings, Ichika." I threw them at her and luckily, she's not poker-face because she caught them. "Let's start our business and make money. I still need to go back to the hospital and pay my charges. I still have my conscience. F*ck you, Ichika. I've learned from you! Let's do this sh*t!"

"You mean the intercourse?" Ichika stopped for a second.

"No. We will plagiarize novels. Aren't we?" I said. She smiled and nodded, thinking she successfully encouraged me which is quite obvious.

"Okay then. We'll not be guilty of copyright infringement if the work is in the public domain." Ichika winked.

"Oh. Great idea, Ichika."

"Steal with purpose," she reminded me.

"Yes. Steal with purpose," I repeated and was about to hit her breast. I'm glad I stopped my hands.

We opened the computers and started to decipher the codes. I learned that hacking accounts and novels are art of exploitation. In the end, it's still an art. It's up to you if you believe.

After Ichika laid down a giant piece of paper which, at first, I think is a map, but as soon as she opened it, it was the list of the online publishing platforms around the world. We planned everything. We will transfer it to a mobile app called "DatingApp: Date your Characters." I know it's a weird name but Ichika made it. I did not expect the daughter of a mafia boss loves to date. She has a sense of humor.

Our targets are those least known platforms with authors who have the least number of reads but are signed in both exclusive and non-exclusive contracts. Exclusive books are those books that are only published on their site and non-exclusive ones can be published to any paid platforms but have the least royalties.

"I think I enjoyed reading their blurb at the same time copying it and then transferring it on our app," Ichika said, copying the URL, paste it to our generator, and do the drill.

"AI: Not an Artificial Intelligence." I read the title. I know it's a Science Fiction story and I think it's fascinating. The protagonist is surrounded by those non-human creatures with limited individual consciousness but has substantial collective intelligence. I copied it and transfer it.

My shoulder numbed as I discovered many authors who have potential in writing. I hope they don't mind if we copied their works.

I've read an article. It says that immature novelists imitate, those mature novelists will steal; bad novelists deface what they take, and good novelists make it into something better, or at least something different.

It's quite tricky. But I'd rather be called the plagiarist who disseminates their ideas for better readership. Let us borrow their work. "Nobody is ever who they claim to be, and appearances can be deceiving. And therefore, computers don’t lie, but liars can compute. I have ever since been tortured by the fear that what I write is not my own composition,” I exclaimed. “I presume that I cannot always distinguish my own thoughts from those I read, because what I read becomes the very substance and texture of my mind. My compositions are made up of those crude notions of my own, inlaid with the brighter thoughts and riper opinions of the authors I have read. But now, I realized the pinnacle of my happiness. I must experience it first." I let a sigh.

After a month full of copy-pasting with Ichika, all the hard work paid off with a bunch of money. When we received the money we got from our app—from the novels we plagiarized, I told Ichika to get 50-50 out of it. Little did I know, she don't want the money. She just wants to keep herself busy to forget their family's burden and escape from her family's reality—of lords, mafias, and criminals. She wanted me to keep all the money. She said she wanted to go home and fix everything, but before that, we went to a tunnel and I remember that I have kept my car there for a long time. We traveled somewhere, we went to mountains, watch movies, shopped in malls, in a carnival, ride the Ferris wheel, jump out the falls, eat cotton candies during sunset and sunrise then the last thing I want her to do is to teach me to use a gun. She's a sexy shooter b*tch.

The time she went home, two days after, I withdraw the money and someone snatched it. Will you expect a plagiarist to go to a police station telling the cops that all the money that I got from plagiarizing novels was stolen? Instead, I'm not happy to sell my car. After how many days, I tend to just walk in the streets while smelling the Gringko Tree, and the incense from the temple that permeates the urban neighborhood—alone.

After the incident, I went to the St. Luzano hospital alone without an expression. I don't care if a bump a patient. I'm just lost. I went to the cashier, laid the black bag, and said, "Atlas Onoda, Patient number 116, fell from the top of the Tokyo Skytree building, confined on July 6, 2022, with someone who is a stranger in Room 204, 13th floor. Discharged on July 7, 2022, without payment that's why I'm here to pay my charges. How much do I owe?" I took a deep breath and noticed that no one is listening. That's why I took a microphone and repeat what I said earlier.

"Uh, Onoda?"

"Yes, the son of the Imperial Japanese Soldier, Second Lieutenant Junichiro Onoda, the last native Japanese soldier that hides 10,000 nights in the Jungle!" I said and the staff assigned scan the logbook.

"Uh, there was no Atlas Onoda who was confined on July 6, 2022 here in St. Luzano Hospital. And...Room 204 is a morgue area, and we don't have a 13th floor here. This is just a 3-story building. I think you are in the wrong hospital, Mr. Onoda."

As soon as I digested what he said, people were watching me being upset and as my adrenaline hit me, I took my bag and ran as fast as I could. Hours later I am seeing an ocean of clouds. I am riding a plane because I want to go away from everything. Tired, drained, upset, lost. It is what I'm feeling right now. As soon as the plane came across the Amazon River, the plane landed subsequently at Cumbica Airport. I noticed the rich amalgamation of people, diversified culture, picturesque and other constraints. 

"Olá, 'Bom dia. Welcome to Bra—zil!" the flight attendant greeted me with a beam. Flowers, leaves, and foliage, are delicately strung into garlands and they put them around my neck. Some people surrounded me, dancing while using colorful pompoms, then confetti is thrown overhead.