SHOUTOUT TO @-Starrii_Nights- <333 _____________________________________________ ESSA had convinced himself that life was finally turning around. He’d apologized to Y/N, attempted to clean up his image, and even joined a gym (once). But karma had other plans. ESSA’s heartfelt apology project had gone viral on Scratch—not in the way he hoped. The comments were filled with brutal takedowns: "Is this satire?" "Bro said 'sorry' and thought we’d forget he hacked my butterfly project." "Why does he look like an unwashed potato?" ESSA tried to reply to the comments with grace, but it quickly spiraled into chaos. His replies only made things worse: ESSA: "I’ve changed, I promise!" User: "Changed your socks yet?" No one let him live it down. One day, while sulking at the gas station, ESSA saw Y/N again. They were laughing with friends, carefree and radiant. ESSA decided to approach—he needed to prove to someone that he wasn’t the same person anymore. “Y/N!” he called, waving awkwardly. Y/N’s smile faltered. “Oh… hi, ESSA.” “I’ve been working on myself,” ESSA blurted, ignoring the awkward stares from Y/N’s friends. “I even started using deodorant regularly!” The group exchanged glances before one of Y/N’s friends asked, “Wait, is this the guy who hacked all those accounts?” Y/N winced. “Uh, yeah. That’s him.” ESSA tried to defend himself. “I’ve apologized! I’m a better person now!” Y/N’s friend wasn’t buying it. “Better? You’re still wearing a fedora in 2025.” Laughter erupted, and ESSA’s face turned beet red.
The public humiliation didn’t stop there. ESSA returned home only to find that someone had hacked his Scratch account, replacing all his projects with a single animation: a dancing potato wearing a fedora. The message below it read: "How does it feel, ESSA?" His (Word I Can't Sayyy) server abandoned him too. His most loyal member, “AnimeKing87,” posted a GIF of a fedora being set on fire before leaving the server. Even his mom got in on the roast when he complained at dinner. “Maybe it’s time to touch more grass, sweetie,” she said, sliding a salad his way. One night, ESSA sat in his basement, surrounded by the remnants of his once-great empire. The neon glow of his RGB setup now felt mocking. He muttered to himself, “They don’t understand me. No one does.” But then, his power went out. The basement plunged into darkness. ESSA screamed, tripping over his gaming chair and landing face-first in an old bowl of ramen. It turned out his mom had canceled the internet. “You need to focus on real life,” she shouted down the stairs. “And clean that room! It smells like regret and Cheetos!” ESSA eventually got a job working at the local gas station, where he frequently encountered Y/N buying coffee or snacks. Each time, they greeted him with a polite smile, and each time, ESSA died a little inside. He had gone from the king of chaos to the jester of humiliation, and for once, the mod had been muted. The End (More than likely)
