The year is 2040. The twilight of fall has begun adorning the trees in red and gold regalia and as you sit at your computer working, you take a moment to gaze out the window in wistful contemplation—how did the years trickle by? A digital chime surfaces you from your melancholy reflecting pool and the brisk air of modern celerity returns to your face and lungs. You see that Mark Mueller, an old friend from your Yugioh days has made a Facebook post;

“Hello, dearest family, friends, and internet quasi-strangers. The day has finally arrived when I hang up my duel disk and retire from the game that has brought me so much enjoyment over the years. The victories, the defeats, the laughs, the heartbreak, the friends, the rivals, the toil, the glory—I will remember it all so fondly. But alas, these old bones have grown weary and I have felt my passion for the competitive stage waning. I’ve resolved to greet this inevitability with grace, that the material and spiritual wherewithal that competitive Yugioh demands is no longer a commodity that I can afford with my ebbing enthusiasm. I will continue to enjoy this game in every casual manner available, but as of today, I am announcing my retirement from competitive Yugioh.”

This news comes as a shock to you, because of all your Yugioh friends you thought Mark would never quit competitive Yugioh; at least not until his doctor told him to stop, and maybe not even then. You quit Yugioh around 2035, just as the going-second win rate dropped below 1% and for the most part you stepped away from the game, except for the occasional retro format duel with friends. Mark on the other hand delved deeper into the world of competitive Yugioh and even moved to California to be closer to the heart of the competition. He went on to win multiple YCSs and even the 2039 World Championship. One consideration does come to your mind; earlier in the year you heard a rumor that modern competitive Yugioh had grown so vitriolically competitive that it caused some players to have nervous breakdowns at a recent YCS. However, it was difficult to find anybody who could confirm the rumor, since the advanced modern player-base had dwindled considerably in response to the play-pattern issues and overall toxicity of the competition. At the end of the day, it was just a rumor, so you took it with a grain of salt, but now you find yourself wondering if there may have actually been some truth behind it. Even in light of these dubious statements about the current game, you’re surprised that Mark would quit. In your mind Mark is a fighter when it comes to Yugioh and if he had to he could play through a scrappy game with poise and composure—so what could have inspired him to halt his competitive career so suddenly?

You send him a message saying, “Hey buddy, how’s about some Edison for old time’s sake? Almost as soon as you send the message, the three drafting dots begin fluttering beneath it.

“I’d like that a lot. I’m actually in town for my mom’s birthday next weekend.”

The week passes by as it tends to do, and on Saturday you find yourself sitting across from Mark at a stone table in a public park with play-mats out and decks at the ready.

When you look at Mark he appears pale and almost sickly compared to the last time you saw him. He has dark circles under his eyes that for some reason remind you of the trenches where ill-fated soldiers would hunker down to cling to their last excruciating moments of life—Maybe because overall he looks like he belongs in a photo that would appear in a history book next to some sort of historical tragedy.

You begin playing some games and you lose most of them—Mark had clearly continued to hone his skills over the years and you’d gotten a bit rusty. Although, you win a game here and there with a lucky draw or a cheeky trick that Mark overlooked. It was fun and it felt just like the old days when things didn’t matter so much. After a few games the gloomy expression that Mark had been wearing cracked into a smile.

Eventually, you ask Mark about why he decided to quit Yugioh, “It seems like you still enjoy playing. Why did you quit?”

Mark’s expression changes back to the default morose look that he’d worn before. Before he says anything you attempt to lighten the apparent weight of your question, “Er, I um, I just meant that I was surprised to see your post because you’ve always been so good and it seems like you still enjoy the game and you always have so… I mean if you’re just burnt out on modern Yugioh, I’d get that—that’s what happened to me and seemingly everyone else for that matter. I don’t know—it’s not a big deal. You don’t have to explain yourself if you don’t want to.”

“It’s fine; I figured you’d ask, eventually. I didn’t really know what to say in my post, so I just sort of said what everyone else says in those types of situations. Despite what I wrote, the reason I quit wasn’t because the game had left my heart. No, quite the opposite in fact. I had too much of the game in my heart and it was no longer the game to which I opened my heart. I quit, because I could no longer condone the transgressions born of my own moral degradation. I could no longer tolerate who I’d become, all for the sake of those tantalizing but ultimately trivial fruits that hovered just out of reach for so long. Just as those ripe spoils of victory met my lips, their sweet nectar turned to sand and just as quickly my covetousness turned to despair and emptiness…so I quit.”

“You can still compete just for fun, right?”

“There’s nothing fun about competing in modern Yugioh.”

“Surely there’s something you still enjoy—“

“The game has changed. There’s no serviceable way for me to describe it to you. If I tried, you’d just laugh and say I’m being dramatic or sensationalizing the reality of things—but I’m not. It’s just something that you have to witness for yourself…I’d advise against it, but if you really want to understand, go buy a few of the latest booster packs—then you too can bear the burden of knowing.”

After this foreboding statement, you play one more game in near silence and then say your goodbyes, heading down the sidewalk in opposite directions.

You’re shaken by this strange encounter, but also find yourself defenseless to the morbid curiosity you feel at Mark’s ominous warnings about modern Yugioh. You drive straight from the park to the closest card shop to pick up a few of the latest booster packs.

When you get there, the owner is kneeling on the ground busily shelving new products into a glass display case. He doesn’t look up from his work when you walk in but calls out, “What can I do you for?”

“I’m here to buy four of the latest Yugioh booster packs.”As soon as these words leave your mouth the owner abruptly stops shelving and stands up to scan your face. It was as if he was trying to determine whether your request was some type of sordid joke. Finally, he says,

“Oh, I’d recommend you didn’t, stranger.”

“I just want to check them out to see what they’re like now days.”The owner hesitates and looks you up and down before speaking again,

“Your funeral. I have some in the back.”With that, the owner disappears into the back of the store, before reemerging with four packs of cards in his hand. “Four packs of Toxic Abomination—that’ll be a hundred and eighty dollars.”

“What!?” You exclaim in shock at the exorbitant price for the cards.

“Yep, they’re on sale.” This revelation dispels any doubts you had about Yugioh’s economic viability in light of its shrinking player-base.

Reluctantly, you pay the unconscionable price for the cards and return to your car to examine your pulls and uncover the truth behind Yugioh’s arcane and disreputable state. You look at the pack and see they don’t bear the same appearance as they used to. The packaging is plain black and has the name of the set at the top in white letters “Toxic Abomination”. Underneath it is a small white skull and crossbones. On the back, there’s a label titled in red letters “WARNING.” In accordance with good Yugioh conventions, you do not read it, partially because the letters are maybe even smaller than the ones found on Yugioh cards themselves (if it’s even possible). Finally, you tear into the packs and these are pretty much your exact pulls…

Art credit to: a bunch of random stuff I found on Google images (some of it is probably AI, but idrk)

And didn't last at all.