Epic

The neon lights of the city street flickered in time with the heavy bass thumping from a pair of towering speakers. In the center of the makeshift stage stood Boyfriend, his signature red-slash cap tilted low over his blue hair. He gripped the microphone with a casual confidence, his sneakers tapping rhythmically against the asphalt. Across from him, a local hotshot tried to keep up, sweating profusely as the arrows flew faster and the stakes climbed higher.

"Beep bop skdoo bep!" Boyfriend chirped, his voice a digital melody that cut through the humid night air.

Every time he hit a "sick" rating, a roar erupted from the sidelines. It wasn't the usual scattered applause of a city crowd. It was a synchronized, high-pitched wall of sound.

"Go, Boyfriend! Show him who the real king is!" Sky screamed, clutching a handmade plushie of the blue-haired rapper so tightly its seams were groaning.

Standing right next to her, Sunday adjusted the strap of her guitar, nodding along to the beat. "His flow is literally impeccable. Look at that posture. He doesn’t even look tired."

Even Sarvente, standing a bit further back with her hands folded in a mock prayer, had a faint, rosy glow on her cheeks. "Such a divine voice," she whispered to herself. "It would be a sin not to appreciate such talent."

Boyfriend, however, was in the zone. To him, the world was nothing but scrolling colorful arrows and the physical sensation of the beat in his chest. He didn't notice that the crowd was composed almost entirely of women he had previously defeated in musical combat. He didn't notice the way Sky was glaring daggers at any girl who stepped too close to the stage. He just saw the next note.

"Bap boop beep-ity!" he finished with a flourish, throwing his peace sign into the air as the final note faded.

The opponent collapsed, breathless and defeated. Boyfriend offered a friendly "Beep!" and a thumbs-up, completely oblivious to the fact that his fan club was currently growing by the second.

As the weeks bled into months, the phenomenon only intensified. It started with the girls from his own world—the ones who had felt the sting of his lyrical prowess and decided they liked the way he took control of the mic. But then, the rifts started to show. Strange glitches in the reality of the Funkin’ universe began to pull in others.

It happened during a battle in an abandoned mall. Boyfriend was facing off against a new challenger when a flicker of static crossed the room. When the air cleared, Cassette Girl was standing there, but she wasn't alone.

"Is that him?" a voice asked from the shadows of the food court.

Miku stepped into the light, her twin teal tails swaying. She didn't look angry or ready to challenge him. She looked mesmerized. "The frequency... it’s so pure."

"Right?" Sky popped up behind them, startling the newcomers. "He’s the best. I’m the president of the club, by the way. You have to sign the registry if you want to stand in the front row."

By the time Boyfriend reached the third song of the set, the "front row" had expanded into a massive semicircle. It was a surreal sight. High-school girls from distant dating sims stood shoulder-to-shoulder with demonic entities and rhythmic assassins.

"Beep ba doo?" Boyfriend blinked, finally noticing that the crowd was getting a bit... crowded. He scratched the back of his head, looking around for Girlfriend.

Girlfriend was sitting on the speakers as usual, swinging her legs. She looked down at the sea of adoring faces and simply smirked, leaning back. She knew Boyfriend was hers, but she didn't mind the ego boost of having a literal army of admirers validating her choice in men.

"Boop beep?" Boyfriend asked her, pointing at the crowd.

"They're just fans, honey," Girlfriend said, her voice smooth and unbothered. "Keep singing. They love it when you hit the high notes."

Boyfriend shrugged. If Girlfriend wasn't worried, he wasn't worried. He turned back to the mic and let out a rhythmic "Skee-beep!"

The reaction was instantaneous.

"He looked at me!" a girl from a different dimension shrieked, clutching her cheeks. "Did you see that? He looked right at me!"

"He was clearly looking at the general vicinity of my soul," another argued, her eyes glowing with an unhealthy intensity.

The obsession was no longer just a hobby; it was a movement. They began to follow him everywhere. When he went to the convenience store to buy a soda, a group of five girls would be hiding behind the snack aisle, whispering about which flavor of chips he preferred. When he practiced in the park, the bushes would rustle with the sound of twenty different cameras clicking in unison.

One afternoon, Boyfriend was walking through the city, humming a new melody. He was headed to a local diner, unaware that a literal parade was forming behind him.

"Look at the way he walks," Monika whispered, appearing from behind a lamp post. She had a notebook out, scribbling down rhythm patterns. "It’s so mathematical yet so free. It’s poetic."

"He’s just a little guy," a tall, muscular woman from a fighting game fandom added, folding her arms. "But he’s got the heart of a lion. I’ve never seen anyone take on a literal god with nothing but a microphone and a hat."

Boyfriend reached the diner and hopped onto a stool. "Beep, bop boop," he told the waitress.

"One strawberry milkshake, coming up," she sighed, already used to his strange dialect.

As he waited, the door to the diner swung open. And then it stayed open. A line of women filed in, filling every single booth and stool until the tiny establishment was bursting at the seams. They didn't order food. They just sat and watched him.

Boyfriend took a sip of his milkshake through the straw. He felt a prickle on the back of his neck. He turned around slowly.

Fifty pairs of eyes were locked onto him. Some were sparkling with admiration, others were narrowed in deep analysis, and a few—like Sky’s—were wide with a terrifying, shimmering devotion.

"Bop...?" Boyfriend squeaked.

"Don't mind us, darling," Sarvente said from a corner booth, sipping a glass of water. "We are simply here to ensure your vocal cords remain hydrated and your environment remains peaceful."

"Yeah!" Sky jumped onto a table, pointing at the cook. "If that milkshake is too cold and gives him brain freeze, I’m burning this place down!"

The cook dropped a spatula. Boyfriend blinked, his large black eyes darting from left to right. He looked back at his milkshake. He felt like he should be scared, but honestly, he was mostly just confused. He took another sip.

"The way his throat moves when he swallows is so rhythmic," someone whispered from the back.

"I need to record that sound," another added, holding up a high-end parabolic microphone.

Boyfriend finished his drink in record time. He hopped off the stool, tossed a few coins on the counter, and made for the door. "Beep beep!" he called out, waving a hand as he hurried out into the fresh air.

"He said 'see you later'!" the crowd cheered, pouring out of the diner like a tidal wave.

The "Harem," as the internet had begun to call them, followed him to his next gig. It was a high-profile battle against an eldritch horror that had crawled out of a television set. The creature was terrifying, draped in shadows and emitting a static hum that made the teeth ache.

Boyfriend stood his ground, his small frame dwarfed by the monster. He took a deep breath, readying his lungs.

"You think you can challenge the void?" the creature hissed, its voice echoing with a thousand screams.

Before Boyfriend could even "beep," a voice boomed from the audience.

"Hey! Ugly!"

The monster paused, looking toward the crowd. Sky was standing at the front, her hair glowing a faint, angry pink. Behind her stood an army. There were ninjas, pop stars, demons, ghosts, and high schoolers, all united under one banner.

"You're off-key!" Sunday yelled, holding her guitar like a club.

"Your aesthetic is trash!" Miku added, crossing her arms.

"If you scratch his hat, I will personally delete your source code," Monika said with a sweet, terrifying smile.

The monster blinked, visibly taken-back. It looked at Boyfriend, then back at the thousands of angry women who looked ready to tear it limb from limb if it so much as breathed too hard on the blue-haired boy.

"I... I just wanted to rap," the monster muttered, its intimidating aura flickering.

"Then do it better!" the crowd roared in unison.

Boyfriend looked at the creature, then at his fan club. He didn't quite understand the politics of the situation, but he knew one thing: the beat was dropping.

"Skdoo-bep!" he shouted, kicking off the track.

The battle was legendary. The monster, terrified for its life, put on the performance of a lifetime, but Boyfriend was untouchable. Supported by the rhythmic clapping of a thousand fans, he hit notes that shouldn't have been physically possible. The energy in the air was electric, fueled by the collective obsession of the crowd.

Every time Boyfriend hit a long note, the girls would sway in unison. Every time he did a little "v-sign" pose, a dozen fans would faint and be promptly carried to the back by others so they wouldn't miss the next song.

When the song ended and the monster retreated back into the static, sobbing quietly, Boyfriend wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. He felt great. The adrenaline was pumping, and the cheers were louder than they had ever been.

He looked out at the sea of faces. He saw Sky weeping with joy, Sarvente nodding in approval, and a hundred others he didn't even recognize but who were all screaming his name—or at least, their version of it.

"Boyfriend! Boyfriend! Boyfriend!"

He stepped to the edge of the stage. He didn't know their names. He didn't know why they followed him from city to city, or why they looked like they wanted to either protect him or kidnap him. But he knew they liked the music.

He lifted his microphone high. "Beep boop bap!" he shouted at the top of his lungs.

The roar that followed was deafening. It was a sound of pure, unadulterated devotion.

As he walked off the stage, Girlfriend met him with a kiss on the cheek. "Good job, babe. You really drove them wild tonight."

"Beep bop?" Boyfriend asked, tilting his head toward the crowd that was currently fighting over a sweatband he had dropped.

"Don't worry about it," she laughed, taking his hand. "Let's go get some pizza."

As they walked away, the army followed at a respectful—yet incredibly close—distance. They moved like a single organism, a shadow cast by the boy in the red-slash cap.

Boyfriend hummed a little tune to himself, his sneakers clicking on the pavement. He was just a guy who liked to rap. He didn't realize he was the center of a multiversal cult. He didn't realize that at that very moment, three different girls were arguing over who got to keep the air he had just exhaled into a plastic jar.

He just looked at the stars and thought about the next beat.

"Boop," he said softly.

Behind him, a thousand voices whispered back in a terrifying, loving chorus: "Boop."