Haruto hunched over his desk, the dim glow of a desk lamp casting shadows across his cramped bedroom in Tokyo's Shinjuku district. The May air was warm, cicadas humming through the open window, mingling with the faint aroma of miso from his mother's kitchen. His sketchbook, a worn treasure hidden under his math textbook, lay open to a half-finished ninja, its scarf flowing like Naruto's defiant grin.
The Entertainment System's translucent screen hovered in his mind, its quest pulsing: Draw 5 manga pages. Reward: 50 XP, 50 proficiency. Haruto's pencil scratched, but his lines wobbled, smudging under sweaty fingers. Two pages—messy panels of a ninja leaping through a forest—earned a measly 25 proficiency points. The system's feedback was blunt, a cold whisper in his head: Simplify your strokes. Proficiency: 125/1,000. He sighed, rubbing his eyes. Earth's shonen manga burned in his heart, but his hands couldn't keep up.
At 13, Haruto felt like a shadow in Earth Prime's vibrant Tokyo. His classmates at Shinjuku Middle School obsessed over the latest ceremonial anime—stiff tales of court dancers that made him yawn. He kept his doodles secret, tucking his sketchbook away during class, his plain face blending into the crowd. Only Yumi Sato, his sole friend, noticed him at all. Yumi, with her messy ponytail and oversized hoodie, was a burst of color in his gray world, always rambling about her favorite niche anime, Tales of the Bamboo Grove.
During lunch, under the school's cherry trees, she plopped beside him, munching on a melon bun. "You're quieter than usual, Haruto," She said, tilting her head, her brown eyes sharp despite her goofy grin. "What's up? Failing math again?" Haruto forced a smile, shrugging. "Just tired," He mumbled, his sketchbook burning a hole in his bag. Yumi's empathy, honed from years of being the "weird" anime kid, caught the lie, but she didn't push, instead launching into a rant about bamboo spirits. Haruto relaxed, grateful for her chatter, but his secret weighed heavy.
His mornings were a different battle. The system's fitness quest—10 push-ups, 10 sit-ups, 10 bodyweight squats, 1 km run—loomed like a mountain. Before dawn, Haruto slipped into a faded blue tracksuit and jogged to Yoyogi Park, Tokyo's skyline, a faint silhouette against the pink horizon. The park's gravel paths crunched under his sneakers, cherry blossoms drifting like snow. He started with the system's warm-up: five minutes of arm circles, leg swings, and high knees, his movements jerky, drawing curious glances from early joggers.
The push-ups were a disaster—knees on the grass, he managed four before collapsing, arms trembling like noodles. Sit-ups burned his core, each rep a grunt; squats left his legs wobbly, knees creaking. The 1 km run was worse—a shaky jog for 400 meters, then a panting walk, his chest heaving as sweat soaked his shirt. He stretched on a bench, hamstrings quaking, the cool-down easing his aches. The system chimed: Fitness Quest Complete. 2 XP gained. XP: 322/10,000. Physical Enhancement: +1% Endurance (Level 1, 10% progress). Haruto gasped, sprawled on the bench, a flicker of pride cutting through the pain. A familiar jogger, the kind woman from yesterday, tossed him a water bottle. "You're back!" She said. Haruto nodded, too winded to reply, but her smile lingered in his mind.
Back home, Aiko was already in the kitchen, her apron dusted with flour as she shaped onigiri. She glanced at Haruto, sweaty and flushed, and her warm eyes crinkled. "Early morning again?" She asked, sliding him a rice ball with sesame flecks. Haruto mumbled a thanks, noticing a new pencil set on the counter—simple, wooden, no note. Aiko's subtle nod confirmed it was hers, a quiet rebellion against Hiroshi's stern rule. Haruto's chest tightened; her support was a lifeline, but Hiroshi's shadow loomed larger.
At school, Haruto drifted through classes, his notebook free of doodles to keep his secret safe. Yumi's chatter at lunch was a brief escape, her animated gestures mimicking anime heroes. "You gotta watch Bamboo Grove's new episode," She insisted, waving her chopsticks. "The spirit dance is so cool!" Haruto nodded, half-listening, his mind on the system's new quest: Share a Sketch: Show a manga page to someone. Reward: 50 XP, 10 proficiency. His stomach knotted. Yumi was his only friend, but what if she laughed at his messy ninja?
After school, he lingered in the school library, it's quiet shelves a haven from the noisy courtyard. Yumi joined him, lugging a manga about feudal poets. "Study session?" She teased, plopping down. Haruto hesitated, then slid his sketchbook across the table, heart pounding. "Don't laugh," He muttered, revealing a page of his ninja leaping mid-battle, scarf trailing.
Yumi's eyes widened, her grin fading to awe. "Haruto, this is… wild!" She said, tracing the lines. "It's nothing like our boring comics. Where'd you get this idea?" Her voice, usually playful, held genuine wonder, her love for stories seeing what others missed. Haruto blushed, mumbling about "imagination," too shy to mention Earth's manga. The system pinged: Share a Sketch Complete. 50 XP, 10 proficiency gained. XP: 372/10,000. Proficiency: 135/1,000. Yumi's excitement sparked a fire in him, her belief a shield against his doubts.
That evening, Haruto helped at Yamato Press, the office above the noodle shop thick with ink and stress. Hiroshi sorted invoices, his glasses glinting under fluorescent light. "Focus, Haruto," He snapped, pointing to a stack of unsold Edo Carpentry books. Haruto shelved them, but his sketchbook peeked from his bag, tempting him. He stole a moment to draw, only for Hiroshi to catch him, his voice sharp. "This isn't a game, Haruto! Yamato Press is on the brink, and you're doodling?" Haruto froze, shoving the sketchbook away, guilt twisting his gut. Hiroshi's exhaustion—dark circles, slumped shoulders—hit harder than his words. The system stayed silent, offering no quest to ease the tension.
Back in his room, Haruto found Aiko's pencil set on his desk, a quiet anchor. He opened his sketchbook, the system's glow casting light on his ninja's defiant eyes. Yumi's awe echoed in his mind, drowning out Hiroshi's scolding. He gripped a new pencil, its wood smooth under his fingers, and drew lines steadier than before. The system pulsed, tracking his resolve: XP: 372/10,000. Proficiency: 135/1,000. Outside, Shinjuku's neon hummed, and Haruto's heart burned. His manga dreams were a secret worth fighting for, and he'd prove it—one page at a time.