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"I can't wait to pull Sunday!"
"Yeah, I've been saving for e6 Sunday."
"I'm looking forward to seeing how Sunday's story resolves."
"I'll be pulling him on a Sunday!"
"My niece's birthday is this Sunday."
"My husband and I we'll be out of town for vacation. We'll only come back on Sunday."
"Sorry, I'll be visiting my parents this Sunday!"
Sunday, Sunday, Sunday... Wherever Uncle Shit goes, something is always about Sunday. This poorly designed, poorly written gacha character that just about every woman in Uncle's vicinity is swooning over.
What's the appeal?! The 8 hour long yappery that was the 2.2 Trailblaze mission? The fact that the ending had been such shit, yet all his fans are pretending like it was "absolute cinema." Are they blind, or just stupid? Definitely stupid. He's an anime man for crying out loud! Star Rail already has enough of those, why does it need even more?!
Uncle Shit grits his teeth, fingers tightening around his phone, as Welt on screen asks the Trailblazer – Uncle had chosen Caelus, of course, so his harem of waifus feels authentic – if Sunday should stay on board with them.
"What bullshit," Uncle mutters into the silence of his room. "Of course Sunday can't stay. His fans are already way too obnoxious. If he stays, they'll just get even worse. No one should suffer their crying over his screentime. Besides, we don't need this beta cuck to get in the way of other characters. The waifus, especially."
It's already bad enough that Uncle will have to be seeing him on his account in general – yes, he did pull on Sunday's banner. The upcoming new character, Aglaea, will need him. It sucks, and Uncle hates it, but until Aglaea gets a better support – a girl, preferably – Uncle will have to make do. He just hopes the new support is out, or at least in the works, by the time Castorice comes around.
When Aglaea is finally out and on his account, Uncle Shit spends two whole weeks adjusting his relics and retrying many different battles and bosses, but in the end he only reaches one conclusion – this shit fucking sucks.
Aglaea is simply not achieving the same damage that all the content creators and showcasers do. She's still killing all the enemies just fine and clearing endgame content without issue, but she's not reaching the numbers that Uncle had expected. And so, Uncle has been left severely disappointed.
None of this is Uncle's fault, to be sure. It all comes down to one specific support that Uncle has already been apprehensive about: Sunday. Of course it's Sunday. Dipshit action advancer who can't even keep up with the speed of his supposed best-in-slot DPS, his buffs fall off too fast and the team is left with little else.
Never mind the fact that half of Sunday's buffs are on his ultimate, that only ticks down on his own turn, or the fact that Robin is on the team, whose own buffs go down during her turns. Or the fact that, while Sunday does indeed have uptime issues with Aglaea, most showcasers don't struggle with it that much, because they built or speedtuned the team correctly. No, this is certainly the fault of Sunday's skill buff falling off due to Aglaea's speed, and not Uncle Shit's lack of skill or willingness to rebuild the team properly.
Uncle scoffs for probably the thirtieth time in the past hour – one scoff for every time he resets the fight. "Fucking Sunday," he says as he throws some chips into his mouth. He crunches on them and imagines it's Sunday under his teeth, sprawling over his tongue as Uncle sucks on him like a lollipop. That is definitely a normal hater thought to have.
He does this as he stares at Sunday's stupid face on his screen. Sunday is in the middle of his ultimate, his graceful movements accompanied by his soft voice. The lines always catch Uncle Shit's attention – Sunday will "protect" them. He couldn't even protect himself. "Guide" them, ha! Bitch fell off his own path, and now that he's forced to "walk" with others, suddenly he's acting like he's there to support them instead. Terrible fucking writing. Well, at least the support part's right, or would be if Sunday was worth shit.
Uncle Shit resets again, because Robin didn't get hit enough to activate her ultimate. Fuck this RNG while we're at it. Basic here, skill there, and it's Sunday's turn to ultimate. His gentle voice rings out again. It grates on Uncle's nerves. He should mute the game, should've done that two hours ago when it became apparent he'll be resetting this fight for the next while.
...He hesitates when he opens the settings. If he does this, he won't be able to hear the other girls on the team. Right, that's why he didn't mute voices before, no other reason. Ah, fucking Sunday, getting in the way again. With an eye roll, Uncle goes back to the fight. On screen, Sunday is patiently waiting for his turn.
Uncle uses his skill, and does his best to ignore the soothing sound of Sunday's voice line.
When his contact in the company tells him that the team has, on purpose, equipped Castorice with mechanics that Sunday does not synergise with, Uncle Shit is beyond himself with joy. There are no words to describe the elation he feels. Every time he thinks about it, his blood rushes to his face. He's on cloud nine.
As soon as he gets home, he gleefully opens the forums to share all the new leaks he's been given. He can't help but emphasise how shit Sunday will be for her. Sunday's fans will get upset at him, but that's their problem, he's just sharing the truth. Castorice was made specifically so her most optimal team doesn't include Sunday.
Uncle Shit presses his palms into his face, trying to squash down his giddiness. His beloved waifu is free from the clutches of the vile birdman. How poetic! A ragged chuckle escapes from Uncle's mouth. He suppresses it, before he lets himself go and laughs out loud.
Hahahaha! Everyone and their mothers pulled for Sunday because they counted on him being good with Remembrance units, and look how it turned out! Mihoyo's most specialest waifu among the Chryseos Heirs, and she's made specifically not to work with Sunday. Hahahahahaha!
Yes, yes, Uncle had pulled for Sunday as well, but that's largely due to having Jing Yuan on his account. Not that he uses Jing Yuan much anyway. Outside of that team, Sunday is only here as a bandaid until Hoyo releases a better support. Because as cool as Bronya is, her buffs aren't quite as strong, and Sparkle is no longer worth even thinking about. But Uncle didn't pull for Sunday's signature Light Cone or any Eidolons, expecting this outcome – Sunday falling off within just a few patches.
He'd never doubted Mihoyo, of course they wouldn't let a male unit stand on top of the meta for too long.
Uncle sighs contentedly. He will have to endure Sunday fans' complaining and whining for a while longer, but eventually they will have to accept the facts and move on. And then, ohhh and then, Uncle will finally get his peace and move on from this terrible fucking character being in his face all the time.
"Look, look! A-Ling, look!" a female voice whisper-shouts in the middle of the store. "They have a Sunday figurine!"
"Ohhh, he looks so good!" a second female voice coos in response. The two women fall into a quiet discussion, overlapped with giggling and excited gesturing.
It's an anime merchandise store, and Uncle Shit is in the middle of browsing standees for some game or another when he overhears the conversation. The store has a decently sized Star Rail section, but Uncle hasn't reached it yet. Now he's considering skipping it entirely. He already knows the most recent merch hasn't reached this store anyway.
Ah, but he's still missing one particular standee of Feixiao, and maybe they restocked it by now... Fuck it, he'll go later and see.
Of course, he doesn't find Feixiao. Instead, he finds himself face-to-face with Sunday's figure instead. The bastard is right at eye level. What god is punishing Uncle like this? He grabs the curséd box off the shelf, and stares at the featherhead's face. It's a new figure, with the new outfit model and all, so instead of that insufferable smug cat mouth he used to wear, his features are now adorned with a small, perhaps even shy smile. He looks almost... cute.
Uncle Shit's face heats up in anger – yes, anger, what else would it be? – and he shoves the box back onto the shelf. In his carelessness, he scrapes the side of it with his nail. It's barely there, not deep enough to be considered damage, but Uncle hisses in annoyance and moves the box to the back of the line, just in case. He's not letting this buffoon get him into trouble.
Embarrassed Angry and in a bad mood, Uncle decides to treat himself to some good food on the way home, and spends the drive back choosing whether he'll watch a show or play games – and his options for each alternative respectively.
Unfortunately, he doesn't get to do either because, once home, his forum notifications greet him with insults, callouts, and requests for mods to remove his posts and ban his account. Uncle seethes in indignation. The audacity! He'd expected the babies to whine about Sunday's mismatch with Castorice, but to call him a liar?
All his leaks so far – the ones that could be easily confirmed, at least – have been the whole truth. People have seen his leaks come true. Of course they can't verify every single thing he says, due to some of the leaks being too far in the future, but hasn't he been reliable enough so far not to be called a liar at the very least?! Don't believe him if you don't want to, but don't slander him just because the truth hurts you!
Blood still boiling, he eats his food with a lump in his throat and plays some random anime that he barely focuses on, and goes to bed early.
Tomorrow he'll go get the Sunday doll to film himself burning it. If Sunday's fans want to curse him so bad, he'll give them a real reason to.
The next day, he does indeed go back to the store. He loiters around the boxes of Sunday, before he grabs one... and just puts it back. Then reaches out again, but doesn't take it. He stands there like an idiot, before tilting his head to the side.
The first box is flawless. The second box, flawless. The third one is just slightly crumpled, but it's otherwise fine. The fourth, the fifth, nothing. The sixth, ah, the sixth is the one he'd grazed before. He's surprised at himself that he even remembers the exact spot he'd scratched. But, scratch it he did...
His box now.
He acts normal while he's paying for it, but he lets himself chuckle in his car where no one can see him. He can already envision the drama he will cause by posting a video of destroying the doll. After all the annoyance Sunday fans had caused him, he will be happy to give them some shit in return.
A week later, the Sunday figure is still standing on his desk, unboxed and unbothered. Make no mistake, Uncle Shit had prepared everything to deface the ugly mug – he'd started out with some gas and a lighter, before realising he has nowhere to safely light it up without getting into trouble, so he made a safe area in his workspace, lighter still present with the addition knives and scissors – before accepting the fact that the figurine cost far too much money to just destroy it like that. He'd prepared the box and the receipt to return it to the store but... ah, well, guess he's been lazy.
He ignores it though; as far as Uncle is concerned, this is just a random empty box. Sometimes it holds his plate when he's too lazy to take it back to the kitchen, other times he leans his phone against it or otherwise makes good use of it. It's turned away, of course, with the back of the box facing his chair, while Sunday is on the other side, safe from being glimpsed at.
It works, until his mother comes to visit one time.
"What a charming doll you have here," she says, holding the cursed box and observing the man trapped inside. "He's very handsome."
Uncle had forgotten to hide it, used to its presence by now. He sighs on the inside. "It was a mistaken purchase. I was going to return it."
His mother oohs, checking the receipt that Uncle had stuck in between the plastic and the carton of the box. "Huh, but it has expired already," she reads and Uncle's blood runs cold, "you're past the return date."
Expired... Has Uncle had this stupid box that long already?
His mother turns and puts the box on the shelf with the rest of his merch, where other unopened boxes are lined up on display. "Well, at least he's cute," she says cheerily, observing the lineup.
Nooo, no, he's not cute, Uncle Shit thinks bitterly, mourning the money spent. Not only has Sunday robbed Uncle of a good story (2.2), not only has he robbed him of a good support (imagine how much better his teams would be if Hoyo had released a female Harmony instead of Sunday in 2.7), but now he's robbed him of his money, too (ignoring the fact that Uncle went out of his way to buy the figure, and then didn't return it while he had the chance).
Uncle is sufficiently distracted while his mother is there, but once she leaves, he takes a moment to breathe deep. It doesn't work, and he simmers in annoyance while cleaning up his living room. He's almost boiling by the time he boots up his PC, his mood going worse with the thought that he'll probably log in to more messages slandering him or asking for his removal. He hasn't even been posting much lately, yet people are still coming after him for some of the things he'd said previously. They're so annoying. This fandom is so shit.
While waiting for his programs to load, Uncle fishes his phone out of his pocket, and puts it on his desk. It flops over with a weak thud, and it takes him a second to realise that he'd tried to lean it against the box that isn't there anymore. He scoffs at himself, and turns back to his monitors.
It itches.
He goes through his forum notifications, many are annoying, but some are in support of him – in support of his leaks, at least. He's fine with that. He does share leaks for clout, but it's not like he'd been expecting to make friends or fans doing this. He's followed other leakers before he found his own source, he knows how it goes.
He itches.
He opens Star Rail for the dailies, and perhaps he'll do a run of Divergent Universe as well, if he feels like it. Auto-farming comes first, though. He enables it, then alt-tabs to BiliBili to check for any new showcases he might be interested in.
He itches.
With a frustrated groan, Uncle gets up from his chair and finds the stupid Sunday box on his shelf. He pauses in front of it, his mother's words having gotten to him. Sunday, handsome? Not really. His pose is not any particular action, just a generic posture. In one hand, he's holding his little book. The other hand is stretched outwards, perhaps in reassurance, perhaps in invitation. His coat flares out slightly around him, swaying with whatever motion he was captured in, legs positioned as if taking a sidestep. Is he meant to be dancing? Uncle has never looked at the figure long enough to take note of this. With a book, nah, he's not dancing. He's just modeled to look slightly more interesting than an A-pose. His head is slightly tilted, and his wings are fanning out just a little, just enough to be noticeable. The face he remembers, though. The gentle slant of the eyes, the small smile on the face.
His mother had been wrong. Sunday's not handsome, he's beautiful.
Uncle chokes on his own spit at the thought. He unceremoniously snatches the box off the shelf while still in the middle of his coughing fit, slams it back on his desk and leaves to get himself a glass of water. He stays out of his room for thirty minutes, channel surfing in search of a distraction. It's only when he remembers his game is open and waiting for further input that he admits defeat and slinks back to his desk, pointedly looking at anything but the box.
He doesn't touch it again, doesn't acknowledge its existence, and continues with his day to the best of his ability.
He's so successful in ignoring his problem that he doesn't even turn the box around. And so, he plays his games with Sunday looking directly at him with a soft, encouraging smile.
"I will protect you," says Sunday, desperately trying to salvage the v8 run, "and guide you on your journey."
The ultimate restores some HP thanks to the blessings, but it's not enough. Uncle Shit drags a hand down his face. Man, fuck DU and fuck these enemies. He's changed his team a few times already, but this run has just been too unlucky with blessings and equations. They're not enough to boost his characters, and they're not doing enough damage.
He should've reset a while ago, but he really doesn't want to do the whole run all over again. It's so exhausting and takes far too much time – bosses he understands, but why do the trash mobs have a quintillion HP each?! Fake inflation, made just to keep players online for longer. What a shit game.
"I will protect you..." Thanks to the Silent Song curio, Sunday's abilities add more shield to the party. It's half the reason why Uncle had made it through the boss' second phase.
Uncle groans, staring at the screen. Should he just quit now? He genuinely believes he can win this, it just requires some luck and some adjustment to his rotation.
"A moment of divine insight arises from enduring patience."
Uncle bristles at the line. "What insight, what patience?" he grumbles into the empty air. "We've been at this for the whole fucking hour. Two sustains, and I don't do enough damage before enrage. One sustain, and my team dies halfway through phase three." At the top of phase three, if he gets really unlucky.
He quits the run and leans back in his chair, sighing heavily. He turns to the stupid Sunday figurine at his desk. Uncle Shit scoffs at him. Well, he was just in his party...
Uncle grumbles at the box, "You seeing this shit?"
Sunday doesn't suddenly come alive to answer him, but his little smile is enough. "It's just a game," it's like he's saying, "take a break and try again later. You can do it."
Uncle stays still in his chair for another moment, before slapping himself loudly over the forehead. What the fuck is he thinking, imagining Sunday talking to him. Running Divergent Universe must've made him go insane. But, he's right. No, not Sunday himself, but the voice in Uncle's head that just sounded like Sunday. A break would be good, a stretch, a fresh glass of water.
He pauses when he stands, then snorts at himself, and pats the top of the box as he leaves his room. If he's having a moment of insanity, he may as well make the most of it.
Oh, it's so close! Sunday needs to get hit here or else he won't get the energy. The add attacks, hits the DPS, hits the other Harmony. Uncle Shit is just about ready to flip his desk. The boss is next, his splash attack hits the sustain... and hits Sunday! That's it, victory! The boss' second attack sweeps across the whole party, and the energy recharges to full. Uncle slams his key to make it go off.
"I will protect you..." rings out and Uncle has never been happier to hear the sound. DPS energy is now full, and one hit will be enough to kill both the boss and its adds.
Uncle sighs in relief, as the 28 cycles remaining flashes on his screen. This boss is fucking difficult! Memory of Chaos sure is getting shittier every time. Just achieving this took about sixty resets. Sixty! For two cycles. Granted, he'd also experimented with different teams, so half the attempt count comes just from that. In the end, it was Sunday who brought him victory. Uncle grins at the box still on his desk. "You did this."
Sunday is still smiling. Uncle decides that this time, it's a smile of pride.
"I know, we're so good," he says with a fake awkward cough. He doesn't necessarily feel good about relying on Sunday like that, but no other support got him this far. The most he reached with others is 3 cycles just past the cycle cutoff. It had stung enough for him to give Sunday a try. He doesn't regret it.
He eyes the figure a little bit longer. He's gotten too used to its presence, the serene smile on Sunday's face ever beside him. Man, Uncle has become such a loser. His greatest enemy has now brought him victory. Has been bringing him victories all this time, whenever Uncle deigns to bring him along at least.
He's still very much looking forward to finally kicking Sunday off his teams but, for now, perhaps he should admit that Sunday is just a tad more useful than he's been giving him credit. It sucks that half of Sunday's kit is complete garbage with upcoming DPS – which is totally correct and absolute truth, no cap – but for what they have right now, he's... fine.
Uncle leans down over his desk, and puts his face up against the transparent plastic of the box. "Look what you've done to me," he whispers into the small space between himself and Sunday.
Sunday, the inanimate object that he is, stays silent. Uncle is not disappointed by that fact but he does wish he could be acknowledged. He wishes Sunday would move, if only to reposition himself in a way that would be unique to Uncle.
Uncle Shit's Sunday only.
His return from a convention comes with new merch for his pookies. The majority of them are Castorice art – posters, stickers, charms, standees – while others got a poster here, a charm there. A few male characters, too, but most of them waifus. Uncle's new hoard that makes him happy.
He carefully brings out and puts away each piece to their rightful place. Stickers are in his drawer for when he wants to use them, standees go on shelves and in showcases, posters and charms are hung up on walls. He takes his time with the process, making sure nothing is damaged and everything is positioned perfectly.
There's a specific set of merch he leaves at the bottom of his bags though, unsure how to handle it. He leaves the bags aside at first, settles back in, makes himself dinner. It's not a collection he wants to display.
Ah, but – he does have an extra shelf in his closet that he can clear out of unorganised clothes and have it be an extra space just for this. A hidden little shrine just for himself.
Yes, he'll do just that.
After he's done with chores, he gets to work. The space is easy to clean, as the shelf only holds an assortment of scattered socks without pairs, some accessories such as his scarf and a hat, and a couple of shirts he'd thrown in when he'd been too lazy to organise them.
One by one, he brings the leftover merch from the bags, and gives each its own spot. This one standee of Sunday, smiling gently at a bird perched on his finger. There's a slight blush on his cheeks. Another standee of a hovering Sunday, hands clasped in prayer while a single tear rolls down his face. A set of chibi stickers that were too cute to pass up. Several charms of varying degrees of chibi and fully rendered art, each more precious than the other. The few posters Uncle had picked up, he'd stuck to the door of the closet. It's only a few postcards, and a couple of medium-sized prints on one door. One giant poster, bigger than a standard large-sized print, gets the other door all for itself.
All the posters are lovely, but this one... Beautiful is not a strong enough word to describe it. The artist had truly put their all into drawing it, and while Uncle hadn't said it to their face, he's insanely impressed. An admirable piece of work like no other.
And Uncle stares at it. Stares, because this stupid fictional man had gotten into his head enough to make him buy merch. This vile, disgusting birdboy, whose canon is so shit to the point where it's nauseating, has even managed to have Uncle to give him a chance. He'd twisted Uncle's priorities and his affection to the point where all those harsh words are no longer applicable, not in Uncle's eyes. The allure of his pretty face and the kindness in his voice have practically seduced him into being a simp.
Uncle now worries when his company contact tells him about the direction they're taking the Trailblaze missions in. He's dreading the moment when the cast changes again, when planets are traveled to and from. When Sunday gets powercrept by a shiny new Harmony. Uncle doesn't know if such a Harmony is in early production, or concept art, or an idea on a blackboard. But this is Powercreep: the game. It will happen eventually.
Careful not to touch the poster, lest he dirties it, Uncle bonks his head against the closet doors and sighs. "Oh, Sunday," he says, committing the curve of the man's mouth to his memory, "we're really in it now."
Later, when he gets embarrassed, Uncle leaves another comment on the forums about Sunday falling off meta. His posts are, as always, met with pitchforks and torches, but they're routine at this point. This sort of exchange now grounds him in a world where Sunday's mere presence makes him float on cloud nine instead.
Fuck Sunday. And as the idiot who fell for him, fuck Uncle too.