Kyle, the Believer

Section 1: A Good-Looking Freeloader

It was a brutally hot summer day. Outside, the heat hung heavily over the streets, but inside the shopping mall, the air conditioning kept everything cool and comfortable.

On one of the wide pedestrian walkways, a familiar figure sat peacefully against a marble column.

Dinello.

He wore his signature Zhongshan suit—not a single button fastened. His bangs drooped over his forehead. In his hands, he held a stainless steel rice bowl.

The bowl was empty.

“Spare a little rice money… kind folks…” he called lazily as he gently shook the bowl.

A striking young woman, about 168 centimeters tall, passed by. She wore a fully buttoned Zhongshan suit, with a katana strapped diagonally across her back. Her long ponytail swayed behind her as she walked.

It was Jessica.

She stopped in front of Dinello and looked down at his empty bowl.

“What are you doing here, Canelo?” she asked with a playful smirk.

Dinello’s eyebrow twitched.

“Come on. We’ve been dating for months. You’re still calling me the wrong name?”

Jessica grinned. “I’m just teasing you.”

She gently pinched his cheek, then pulled a folded twenty-dollar bill from her pocket and dropped it into his bowl.

“There. At least now you’ve earned something. I think I saw a couple coins stuck in your bangs too.”

Jessica leaned a little closer and lowered her voice.

“If you’re really that bored, you can always come to my place. You know… for fun.”

Dinello looked up at her, completely unfazed.

“Didn’t we already have a fearless battle in bed for hours last night?” he said flatly. “I’m still recovering. Rain check.”

Jessica pouted, then brushed aside his messy bangs and planted a soft kiss on his forehead.

“Fine. I’ll wait.”

She turned and walked away.

Dinello watched her disappear into the crowd. For a moment, he felt genuinely warm inside.

Jessica really was one of his better girlfriends.

Then silence.

Dinello stayed there for nearly half an hour, gently shaking his bowl.

“Spare a little rice money… kind folks…”

But no one else dropped in a single coin.

Just as he was getting bored with his little begging game, he heard a familiar voice.

“Jesus Christ! Is that you, Canelo?”

Dinello looked up.

A man about 158 centimeters tall, with a scruffy beard and a camera slung across his chest, was walking toward him. His face was still dotted with acne scars.

It was Kyle, Dinello’s former middle school classmate.

Dinello’s eyebrow twitched again.

Being called Canelo still bothered him. Deep down, it probably always would. But today, he couldn’t even be bothered to correct him.

After all these years, the two old friends were face to face again.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. They simply looked at each other.

Section 2: Old Pals Catchup

A few minutes later, Dinello and Kyle were crouching side by side near the edge of the mall walkway, catching up like old times.

Dinello glanced at him.

“So, what happened to that girl you used to like? The one you kept buying flowers, stuffed animals, and milk tea for?”

Kyle’s expression immediately darkened.

“Oh… her.”

Dinello nodded. “Yeah. Her. You used to bring her homemade lunch too, right?”

Kyle sighed.

“Yeah. I kept bringing her lunch, buying her drinks, sending her gifts… Eventually, she told me I was being too desperate and creepy. She asked me to stop bothering her, but I never gave up.”

Kyle paused and swallowed.

“Then she hired a couple of local gangsters to beat me up. That was the last time I ever saw her.”

Dinello stared at him for a second.

“Oh. That’s… unfortunate. Well, on to the next one, I guess.”

Kyle scratched his beard.

“Oh, anyway, Joey got married last year.”

Dinello frowned.

“Oh, fuck that loser. He never told me or invited me. I guess he never saw me as a friend—not even an old classmate.”

He paused for a second.

“Next time I see him, I’m gonna beat him up.”

Kyle chuckled.

“So what about you? Do you have a girlfriend?”

Dinello thought about it for a moment.

There were plenty of women in his life, but he had never wanted to settle down with anyone. At least, not yet. So he wasn’t quite sure whether the answer was yes or no.

“I guess… sort of no?”

Even after saying it, Dinello wasn’t entirely sure that was the right answer.

Kyle smiled, looking relieved.

“Well, at least I’m not alone. I guess we’re both losers when it comes to relationships.”

Before Dinello could respond, a teenager walking past them suddenly spat in their direction.

Somehow, the spit flew straight into Kyle’s open mouth.

Kyle froze.

The teenager laughed and kept walking.

“I hate lazy beggars like you! Go get a job!”

Dinello raised one hand toward the teenager.

A powerful suction force burst from his palm.

The teenager was suddenly yanked backward, his feet leaving the floor as he flew straight toward Dinello.

Dinello caught him by the collar.

Slap!

Slap!

Two quick slaps cracked across the teenager’s face. His lip split, and he went limp.

Dinello casually tossed him aside.

Kyle stared at the unconscious teenager for a moment, then swallowed.

“Wait… did I just swallow something?”

Dinello glanced at him.

“Don’t worry. Just a little protein. Nothing harmful.”

Section 3: It Deeply Sucks

Dinello stood up and stretched.

“Come on. Let’s go get some hotpot.”

Kyle shook his head.

“Hotpot? Nah. Too heavy. And I’m broke anyway. Let’s just get McDonald’s.”

Dinello looked at him.

“Broke? Didn’t you make over a hundred grand last year?”

“Yeah, but I donated like ninety thousand of it to the church.”

Dinello’s jaw dropped.

“What? That much?”

Kyle nodded.

“Yeah. And now I’m almost out of work. There’s this AI company called Deepsuck. They built a new AI for professional photography and videography. It’s cheap, fast, and almost completely automated. A lot of my clients started using it instead of hiring people like me.”

Kyle sighed.

“So lately, I barely have any work left to do.”

Dinello looked at him.

“Oh. That really deeply sucks.”

Kyle sighed again.

“Sometimes I wish I’d learned Kung Fu instead. At least AI can’t replace that.”

He paused.

“Not yet, anyway.”

Dinello glanced at him.

Kyle looked down at himself and gave a weak laugh.

“Then again, look at me. I’d probably get my ass kicked on the first day.”

He rubbed his beard.

“Maybe I should just become a full-time beggar.”

Dinello suddenly remembered something.

“Wait. Isn’t Deepsuck doing some kind of tech presentation here today?”

Kyle looked up.

“Yeah. I think it’s at the food court.”

Dinello stood up.

“Let’s go take a look.”

Kyle shrugged.

“Sure. I don’t see why not.”

The two headed toward the food court.

Section 4: Deepsuck Origin

By the time Dinello and Kyle reached the food court, a small crowd had already gathered around a temporary stage.

Several cameras, robotic arms, and other pieces of equipment were arranged across the stage. A large screen behind them displayed the Deepsuck logo.

A host stepped forward with a microphone.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the founder and CEO of Deepsuck—Karl!”

A few people in the crowd clapped.

A motorized wheelchair rolled slowly onto the stage. Seated in it was a young man dressed neatly in a dark suit and tie.

This was Karl, the founder and CEO of Deepsuck.

Karl suffered from ALS, a disease that had severely weakened his muscles and left him with very little control over his body. His thin arms rested motionless against the wheelchair, and his head tilted slightly to one side. A small device mounted near his face allowed him to operate the computer in front of him and communicate through a synthetic voice.

The crowd fell quiet.

A synthetic voice came through the speakers, speaking in a crisp British English accent. It sounded strangely classy, yet a little creepy coming from the machine.

“Good afternoon, everyone. My name is Karl, the founder and CEO of Deepsuck. You may be surprised to hear this, but I’m not even thirty years old.”

The crowd listened in silence.

“I still have dreams. I still long for love… and sex.”

A few people in the audience exchanged awkward glances.

“But that’s just me. Let’s talk about the company.”

“Many people have asked me why I named this company Deepsuck… suck… suck… suck…”

Karl’s computer voice kept repeating the word “suck” every couple of seconds.

Several people in the crowd stared at him in surprise, then exchanged confused looks. They couldn’t tell whether the CEO was trying to say that life sucked, or if his computer had simply malfunctioned.

“Suck… suck… suck…”

A staff member quickly rushed onto the stage and adjusted the device in front of him. The voice finally stopped, and a few seconds later, the system returned to normal.

Karl continued as if nothing had happened.

“Anyway, life is like a dick. Sometimes it gets hard. And no matter how hard life gets… we must suck deep. Only by sucking deep until the very end can we finally taste success.”

Karl paused for a few seconds, waiting for applause.

A few awkward claps trickled in.

“I have developed powerful AI robots. Our next step is to merge AI with biology. If successful, I may be able to cure my ALS, stand on my own feet again, and reclaim my life.”

His words hung in the air with mechanical sincerity.

The speech went on.

And on.

For nearly thirty minutes, Karl talked about innovation, resilience, funding, and the future of technology. The crowd gradually began losing interest. People wandered off. Even the robots onstage looked bored.

Kyle yawned. Dinello started rubbing his eyes.

By then, both of them had completely lost interest. Karl’s synthetic voice continued in the background, but neither was really listening anymore.

Dinello stretched his arms and yawned.

“Man, this is even more boring than that sermon your young pastor gave. What was it, like two hours long?”

Kyle turned to him.

His expression immediately became serious. Dinello could tell he had crossed a line.

“Don’t say that,” Kyle said in a low, heavy voice. “His words were powerful.”

Dinello studied his face for a moment, then forced a small smile.

“Yeah… especially with those giant pecs pushing through that tight dress shirt. What are they now, C cup?”

Kyle didn’t laugh. He actually thought about it for a second.

“Yeah. About C-cup size. But they’re solid. Pure muscle. Not soft like breasts at all.”

Kyle’s expression remained serious.

“He’s the most devoted man I know. He saved my life once.”

Dinello looked at him for a moment. Seeing that Kyle genuinely meant it, he toned down the joking.

“Alright, alright. I’m just saying… the guy looks like a mix between a prophet and a pervert.”

Kyle looked away.

“Whatever you think of him, he’s still the reason I got through last year.”

Dinello didn’t reply. For once, he let the subject drop.

A few minutes later, Karl’s synthetic voice finally rose above the background noise.

“Thank you all for coming. May Deepsuck take you deeper than ever before.”

Silence.

Nobody clapped.

Dinello looked down at the stage for a moment, then turned back to Kyle.

“Anyway, what was your pastor’s name again?”

Section 5: Faith to Humbleism

Dinello scratched his head.

“Wait… I remember now. His name is Semen. You know, like that sticky liquid that comes out when you masturbate. Or when you ejaculate. Yeah, semen.”

Kyle’s entire face darkened. His fist came down against the railing almost instinctively.

“Hey. Watch your mouth. It’s Simon. ‘Si’ as in ‘sigh.’”

Dinello glanced at Kyle’s expression and forced a small smile.

“Right, right. ‘Si’ as in ‘sigh.’ My bad.”

He leaned back against the railing.

“So… does this semen guy really tell you guys to donate, like, ninety percent of your savings?”

Kyle nodded without the slightest hesitation.

“Yeah, of course.”

“But I barely made any money this year, so I haven’t donated a single cent.”

Kyle lowered his head, genuinely ashamed.

“I feel terrible about it. He helped me when I was at my lowest, and now I can’t even give anything back.”

Dinello looked at him.

Seeing how serious and devoted Kyle was, he suddenly didn’t know what to say next.

Dinello stayed quiet for a few seconds.

But in the end, he still couldn’t help himself.

“Ninety percent? Man, with that much money coming in, I bet your pastor is vacationing in Hawaii, Okinawa, somewhere else in Japan, or Europe right now.”

Kyle turned toward him, his eyes filled with hostility.

Dinello noticed the look, but continued anyway.

“Probably staying at some luxury hotel, drinking champagne, getting massages… maybe banging a couple girls while he’s at it.”

Kyle’s face darkened again.

“Watch your mouth. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His voice was firm.

“God has His own plans for that money. Pastor Simon is only carrying out His will.”

Dinello raised both hands slightly.

“Alright, alright. Calm down.”

He looked back toward the stage.

“Your religion is called Humbleism, right?”

Kyle nodded.

“Yeah.”

Dinello glanced at him again.

“Fine. Believe whatever you want. Just be careful with your money. You barely have any work left.”

He paused.

“And if you end up completely broke one day, don’t come asking me for money.”

Kyle didn’t seem bothered at all.

“Don’t worry. Humbleism will guide me. God will provide.”

His voice was completely sincere.

“Money isn’t a problem. As long as we have faith, even if we have nothing to eat, we’ll survive. And whenever we get sick, even without medicine, our faith will cure us eventually.”

At this point, Dinello simply gave up arguing with him. He decided not to continue the conversation any further.

Section 6: The Holy Transaction

Meanwhile, in Hawaii.

Inside a luxurious five-star hotel suite overlooking the ocean, Pastor Simon sat comfortably on a large sofa with a glass of red wine in his hand.

A young woman sat on either side of him, while another sat casually on his lap. The four of them were drinking wine and chatting together as the afternoon sunlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

A half-empty bottle of expensive red wine sat on the table in front of them, along with several glasses.

One of the women leaned closer to Simon.

“Lord Simon… how are you this successful? This suite, the ocean view, the wine… You must be making a fortune.”

Simon took a slow sip from his glass and smiled.

“It’s all thanks to my flock,” he said. “Those sweet, generous little lambs.”

He paused.

“They give. I receive. That’s the divine exchange.”

The woman sitting on Simon’s lap laughed.

“Good thing we’re not believers.”

Simon smiled.

“You’re believers too. And so am I. Everyone is a believer in something.”

The three women exchanged puzzled looks.

“But we’re not part of your cult,” one of them said. “We don’t believe in your Humbleism.”

“You don’t have to,” Simon replied. “Everyone believes in something. You just happen to believe in something much simpler.”

The woman on his lap tilted her head.

“What do you think I believe in, then?”

Simon smiled.

“Money.”

She laughed.

“Then what about you? What do you believe in?”

Simon rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“Hmm…”

A small smile appeared on his face.

“Power.”