Beep. Beep. Beep.
The alarm clock blared through the stale silence of his bedroom. With a groan, he reached out from under the blanket and slammed his palm onto the snooze button. His body ached, not from physical labor, but from the weight of existence. Another day. Another pointless cycle.
He sat up slowly, letting the cold air sting against his bare arms. His dark, messy hair fell over his eyes as he stared at the floor in a fog of fatigue.
"Why do I even bother anymore…" he thought.
Dragging himself toward the closet, he pulled out his wrinkled school uniform, slipping into it robotically. The buttons on his shirt were slightly off, but he didn't care enough to fix them. After tying his laces with a lazy loop, he took a deep breath, pausing by the door.
"Let's get this over with."
He opened it and stepped out into the hallway, where the faint sounds of morning conversation trickled up from the kitchen. The scent of warm miso soup didn't feel welcoming—it was just… routine.
At the table sat his picture-perfect family. His father, always with that blank expression; his mother, ever judgmental; and his younger sister, full of smug superiority. He took his seat quietly, barely making a sound as he picked up his chopsticks. The air was heavy with awkward silence.
His father, breaking tradition, grunted first.
"How's school?" he asked in a flat tone, not even looking up from his newspaper.
"You in any clubs? Sports?"
"No," the boy replied simply.
The scoff that followed was so familiar, it echoed in his soul.
His sister perked up like a performer on cue.
"Well I just got top marks again. And I'm going out with Ryota now—you know, from Class A? He's super popular. Everyone says we're a power couple."
Their mother beamed with pride.
"That's wonderful, sweetie! Now that's how you be successful. You should take some notes from your sister," she said, casting a fleeting glance of disappointment at her son.
He said nothing. Just kept eating, eyes on the bowl.
"I just want to finish and leave."
Every bite tasted like sawdust.
Every second at that table was another scratch on his will to live.
Finally done, he stood and grabbed his bag.
"I'll be late," he muttered, already walking toward the door.
No one said goodbye.
Outside, the sky was overcast—a dull gray that matched his mood. The walk to school wasn't long, but he kept his head down. Not because he was cold or tired. But because the worst part of his day was just around the corner.
"Please… not today. Just one day off."
His prayers went unanswered.
A sudden smack landed on the back of his head.
He didn't flinch. He was used to it.
"Look who's slow today," sneered the boy behind him.
Kaito—rich, athletic, cruel. The leader of the four tormentors who had made his high school life a living hell.
Two boys. Two girls. His personal curse.
Mika, the popular girl with perfect hair and a sharper tongue. She used to be his crush—back when he still believed in things like hope. Now she was just another knife in his side. She sauntered up, leaned close, and kissed his cheek mockingly.
"Miss me, loser?" she said with a sugary venom that made his skin crawl.
She had humiliated him more times than he could count—spreading rumors, mocking him openly, making him the butt of every joke in school.
The others weren't any better. There was Riku, captain of the soccer team, adored by everyone. And Hina, a model and social media darling from an absurdly wealthy family. They all smiled, laughed, and waved to their admiring classmates—just minutes after cornering him like hyenas.
He clenched his fists, eyes on the ground.
"Just keep walking. Ignore it. Endure."
When he finally reached his shoe locker, there was no time to check it—he was already late. As he opened it, a cascade of thumbtacks fell onto the floor.
He sighed. One pierced his finger.
"Could've been worse," he thought bitterly, wiping the blood on his sleeve.
Classroom 2-B. Twelve students. If you didn't count him, that left eleven. Four were his tormentors. The others? Mostly indifferent.
There were some who stood out.
Aloof and beautiful Yukari, with icy white hair and a frozen expression.
Tomboyish Akane, captain of the girls' volleyball team.
Mio, the sweet and soft-spoken girl who still treated him like a person—his childhood friend, though they'd drifted apart.
And finally, Haruka, the strict class rep with perfect posture and high expectations.
Among the boys, there was Taiga, the school's basketball ace.
Kenta, the loud and funny "average guy."
Reiji, the silent genius who always sat near the window.
And Sora, the laid-back assistant rep who balanced everyone out.
No one knew about the bullying. No one knew about the bruises.
Not even Mio.
"I guess I'm good at hiding it."
He took his seat and opened his desk—only to wince in pain again. More thumbtacks. He shook them out onto the floor, expression unreadable.
"Not as bad as last week. No glue in my seat this time."
The bell rang just as the teacher entered, clipboard in hand.
"Good morning, class. Take your seats."
Roll call was routine. A quiet lull before the usual nothingness of the day.
But then… something happened.
The floor beneath them glowed.
A strange glyph—like a magical circle from some anime—spread beneath their desks. The light pulsed, and the temperature shifted.
"What the hell—!?" someone shouted.
He froze.
"Is this a prank? A dream?"
"Is it finally happening? Is this how I die?"
He closed his eyes, bracing for fire, pain, or an explosion.
But instead… silence.
When he opened them, everything had changed.
They were no longer in the classroom.
It was a white realm—bright, surreal, ethereal. Like something out of a god's dream. The ground was marble, the air filled with gentle warmth. Above them shimmered a sky of glowing sigils.
The sound of high heels echoed.
Click. Click. Click.
A woman approached, draped in flowing white robes, her eyes glowing with divine power. Her presence alone felt like standing in sunlight.
"Welcome, chosen ones," she said, her voice smooth and commanding.
"You have been summoned here to fulfill a great destiny… as heroes."
And in that moment, despite the years of pain, humiliation, and emptiness…
He felt something unfamiliar rise inside him.
Hope.