“Man, oh man,” I exhaled. It was half past twelve, according to my mobile device. The computer's bright LCD screen lit up my barely sleepy eyes after a full night of anime. Bowls upon bowls, derived from noodles, cover the entire surface of my desk. The bowls left only the lingering send-up of the different flavors of the broth. The one that stood out the most was the kimchi flavored broth. Tasting the smell, it had the flavor of a pickle soaked in brine, with a hint of sweetness from the napa cabbage, and a little kick of heat from the various spices that kimchi is fermented in. Feeling the strange urge to play video games, I decided to load up my JRPG. However, before I started, I felt like someone or something was watching me. Uneasiness slowly crept throughout my body, as if this feeling was imposed on me. Cold, almost freezing, was the only way I could describe it. My body was completely still, as if the blood coursing through my entire body had just frozen. A single drop of sweat running down my nose kept my eyes staring. Plop, the sound rang in my ears like a toll bell as sweat landed on my Nintendo DS. Because with how slowly the discomfort came, it dispersed spontaneously, as if the sweat had triggered something. Because when I was looking down on my game, there was an element that wasn't there before. “The Key to Hell,” I read aloud. The only thing that came to mind was being totally stunned; I had to know more. Put the discomfort behind me; I continued. The playable character was your typical ranger class from any fantasy series, think Legolas from Lord of the Rings. His face was narrow and rectangular, with a jaw capable of chiseling granite. The eyes were deep and sunken with pi...... middle of paper...... first on each branch. Eventually, the demons stopped to camp. Upon closer inspection, the demons were actually not there. Their skin becomes pigmented the color of rose petals. They wore no armor revealing inhuman scars. The scar was not completely healed, still raw and dark scarlet in the center of the scar. Horns extended from the sides of their heads like those of a bull. Their eyes had no pupils; they were completely black like the night sky. Before I could see anything else, one of them had spotted my chink in the armor. When I finally came to my senses, I realized that the man was speaking Japanese. With this in mind I tried to get a much better view. To my utter amazement, the man in front of my corneas was none other than Hayao Miyazaki. It was the first time I saw him in person. Even at his old age, he had no signs of wrinkles of any kind. He had your typical grandfather face,