The Neet System

Version 2

(Before officially doing using this i need to ask if this version is better that the original. prologue and chapter 1 has been combined. please tell me your opinion)

I stare at my phone, my mind a fog of boredom and disappointment. With a resigned sigh, I scroll through the endless front page of YouTube, watching as thumbnails blur together—videos about hobbies I've dabbled in, topics that once sparked my interest, now fading into the background noise of my life. Then, like a beacon in the haze, I spot a video titled "DIY Weapons for the Zombie Apocalypse." A thrill runs through me; my paranoia, while often burdensome, has its perks. I've always believed it's better to be prepared for the worst.

While I wouldn't compare my situation to someone like Zubaru from Re:Zero, trapped in a spiral of despair, or worse yet, Kazuma from Konosuba, whose antics seem to keep him in a perpetual cycle of misfortune, I still grapple with my own form of isolation. I'm a NEET, sure, but I manage to pull myself out of my shell. I go outside every morning, taking at least two hours to walk through the neighborhood, feeling the sun on my face and the wind against my skin. It's a small victory against the inertia that threatens to pull me under.

When the sun sets, I often find myself at the nearby park, a quiet place where I can ponder life's big questions. The stars twinkle above, and I wonder what it would be like to truly seize the day—to break free from the routines that define me.

As I settle back into the video, my attention sharpens. The host meticulously demonstrates how to create a bolt-action pistol that fires nails. He uses just a handful of bolts, springs, and pieces of wood, each component coming together with satisfying clicks and clanks. My fascination grows as I watch him transform simple materials into something formidable. He removes the flat ends of the nails, turning them into projectiles. The idea of crafting a homemade weapon fills me with a sense of satisfaction; I can almost imagine the thrill of shooting it, envisioning how a well-made barrel might allow real bullets to zip through with deadly precision.

I'm struck by the thought of creation, of taking raw materials and breathing life into them, as if each project is a step toward reclaiming control over my chaotic thoughts. In that moment, the video isn't just entertainment; it's a reminder of the potential that lies dormant within me, waiting for the right spark to ignite it.

After what felt like hours of lying on my bed, the weight of my thoughts pressing down like a heavy blanket, I finally let out a sigh that echoed the tedium of the day. Rising from my sanctuary of blankets and pillows, I glanced at my phone—6:30 PM. Time had slipped away unnoticed, and a familiar restlessness nudged me toward movement.

I began to stretch, feeling the satisfying pops and cracks of my joints as I worked out the kinks from my prolonged stillness. Each grunt punctuated the air, a small acknowledgment of my body awakening from its slumber. Once I finished, I shuffled over to the coat rack, where my bright yellow jacket hung, a splash of color against the muted tones of my room. Pulling it on and slipping into my worn shoes, I took a moment to ensure my door was locked, a small ritual that gave me a sense of security.

Stepping outside, I paused for a moment, inhaling deeply. The cool evening air filled my lungs, invigorating and fresh, carrying the scent of blooming flowers and the distant sounds of laughter. I set off on my walk, greeting familiar faces as I passed by. "Hello!" I called, my voice mingling with the evening chorus of chirping crickets and rustling leaves. Some neighbors looked up, their faces brightening with recognition. They often inquired about my well-being, their concern palpable. It was no secret in our tight-knit neighborhood that I was more of a recluse, a shut-in who tended to retreat into the comforts of home for days on end.

Their inquiries touched me, a reminder that I wasn't entirely invisible. As a small token of appreciation, I offered to help them whenever I could—fixing squeaky doors, assembling playground equipment, or even crafting small toys for their children. There was an indescribable joy in seeing their smiles, especially those of the kids, as they played with the things I made. To me, they represented a flicker of hope, a generation that might bring a semblance of order back to a world that felt increasingly chaotic and unpredictable.