@John Price sat in his dimly lit basement apartment, the glow of his computer screen highlighting the impressive collection of plushies stacked floor-to-ceiling behind him. Each plushie had a story, a personality—well, at least in his mind. He was typing furiously on HFBoards, crafting yet another
useless thread:
"Who would win in a fight: Wayne Gretzky with one skate or Mario Lemieux with a pool noodle?"
Satisfied with his work, he leaned back in his reinforced chair, the springs audibly groaning. Life was simple. Life was plushies and hockey debates. Life was good.
Until the knock at the door.
John frowned. No one knocked on his door. He barely left the house, and his only human contact was the pizza delivery guy who’d learned to leave the box on the porch and run. Curious, he heaved himself up, waddled to the door, and opened it.
Standing there was a sharply dressed man, all tailored suit and shiny shoes, looking like he’d just walked off the set of a K-drama. His hair was slicked back, and his face was the spitting image of John’s, albeit about 200 pounds lighter.
“John Price,” the man said, his voice dripping with disdain. “It’s been a long time.”
John blinked. “Uh… do I know you?”
The man smirked. “I’m your brother. Sungwoo. Remember me?”
A spark of recognition flickered in John’s eyes. “Sungwoo? The one who left for America to become a big shot? Mom said you were gone forever!”
Sungwoo sighed. “I’ve been trying to forget, trust me. But I found out through the family lawyer that Mom left everything to you. And now, here I am, discovering you live like this.”
He gestured dramatically at the chaos of John’s apartment: the teetering plushie towers, the empty soda cans, the half-eaten bags of Doritos, and the glow of HFBoards on the monitor.
“Hey!” John protested. “This is my
domain. My sanctuary. I’m kind of a big deal online, you know. 387,000 posts on HFBoards. They call me the King of Useless Threads.”
Sungwoo looked like he might vomit. “That’s not something to be proud of, John.”
“Oh, and what have
you done, huh?” John shot back, crossing his arms over his ample belly. “Let me guess. Stockbroker? Doctor? Married to some perfect model who makes organic kimchi?”
“I
own three tech companies, thank you very much,” Sungwoo said, his voice rising. “And yes, my wife is a model, but that’s beside the point. You’re a 45-year-old man who collects plushies and lives like this!”
“Don’t you dare talk about my plushies,” John growled, his face reddening. “They’re family!”
Sungwoo sneered. “Family? You replaced real relationships with stuffed animals and hockey forums. What’s next? A wedding to Pikachu?”
That was it. John’s patience snapped like the seams of his oldest pair of sweatpants. “You take that back!”
“Make me,” Sungwoo said, his voice dripping with condescension.
The wrestling match began.
John lunged, his bulk giving him an unexpected advantage. Sungwoo yelped as his expensive loafers slid on an errant Snorlax plushie. They crashed into the couch, sending a pile of stuffed animals flying. Sungwoo tried to pin John, but years of sedentary living had given his brother a low center of gravity that was impossible to overcome.
“You’ll never understand the
art of collecting!” John roared, grabbing a giant Totoro and slamming it onto Sungwoo’s head.
“Art? This is madness!” Sungwoo shouted, struggling to break free.
The battle raged on, with plushies becoming makeshift weapons and the entire apartment descending into chaos. Sungwoo managed to grab a Pikachu, swinging it like a weapon, while John countered with a body slam that nearly took out the coffee table.
Finally, both men collapsed, panting and covered in plushies.
Sungwoo groaned. “Okay… you win. I’ll admit it. You’ve got… stamina.”
John smirked. “That’s right. Don’t mess with the King of Useless Threads.”
Sungwoo sat up, brushing lint off his suit. “This isn’t over. I’ll get you out of this dump and into a real life if it kills me.”
“And I’ll get you into a plushie hobby if
that kills me,” John shot back.
They stared at each other for a long moment, and then, to their own surprise, both burst out laughing.
“You’re an idiot,” Sungwoo said, shaking his head.
“Takes one to know one,” John replied, grinning.
And so, the Price brothers made an uneasy truce, bonded by blood, bickering, and an apartment full of plushies. But one thing was clear: their rivalry had only just begun.
)
