Hiroshi's Tragic Failure (1) - Great Encounter Battle Arc (Included Author's Note)

*Hello readers! Thank you very much for reading this chapter (and the others before it!) I just wanted to thank you all for one thousand views on my story! Wow! I never dreamed I would have this many views and likes from everybody! You are the reason the story is still going strong, and I really appreciate you even reading a paragraph of it! Thank you once more :). Now, prepare for Hiroshi’s backstory!*

Tomokazu was almost in a daze as he heard his father’s voice in the distance. He always hated the God of Darkness. Becoming the bane of existence in the world, when he used to be a symbol of hope always angered him on the inside when he was growing up. He never knew that his father and the other Gods has been corrupted too. He sank even further in his slump and spoke the facts to the group.

“My father doesn’t need to stack his Carte Blanche…I can tell by the power he has. He only needs one…The Gods…why?” he asked in despair. The others looked at him in disappointment and sympathy.

Kuro-Yami couldn’t move as the arena was shrouded in darkness. It was almost as if a veil had been cast over the arena and resembled a black dome. He smirked with a sense of irony.

“Take advice from me much?” he grunted at Zetsubo, who was enjoying this in a sadistic fashion.

“We only achieved this power after we switched our powers. This was always the way to go,” Zetsubo replied coldly as he floated over to Kuro-Yami’s helpless body. He put his hand on Kuro-Yami’s forehead. “Why don’t we see what traumatic experiences your friend has?”

Before Kuro-Yami could protest, Zetsubo smashed his hand inside of the body’s brain. His hand came out the other side, and Bibi yelped in fear before covering her mouth to stifle the sound. Wisteria sunk to her knees, and Alexander was whimpering in fear. However, no blood was shed in the attack. As if nothing happened, Zetsubo took his hand back out of Kuro-Yami’s head. There was no hole in his brain, and no sign of damage. It was an absolute miracle.

Kuro-Yami and Hiroshi’s body was completely lifeless, standing limp in the arena. Kuro-Yami was just about conscious, and could see the events unfolding in front of his tired, dead eyes. At that moment, static began forming about thirty feet into the sky, right above Kuro-Yami’s head. The hidden group looked up in curiosity at what was happening. It almost resembled a television screen back in Hiroshi’s world.

Then the static stopped, and an image of Hiroshi was shown, and began playing like a movie. The audience looked on in fear and awe.

The film started out with Hiroshi waking up. His alarm went off. He yawned loudly and got out of bed. He looked down and grunted, realizing he had fallen asleep with his uniform on again.

“I need to stop working so hard,” he grumbled to himself, walking into the bathroom to brush his teeth. The audience watched the video as he left the house, without saying a word to anyone. They gasped at the cars and other vehicles on the roads. Hiroshi’s world was so colorful and pretty.

“Huh? Is this even our world?” Tomokazu and Bibi asked, getting more confused by the second. Wisteria shook her head softly from side to side.

“No, he was transported here against his will, I believe. He never talked to me about his old world, or his past in general,” she told the other two, shivering as she did so. Why did he never mention anything about his old world? Surly, he would compare both of the worlds at some point, wouldn’t he? These were some of the many questions floating around Wisteria’s brain.

Those questions would be answered shortly.

Hiroshi walked all the way to his high school. He plopped his books on his desk and put his worn backpack on the ground. He took one, solitary sad looking pencil out of his pocket. He put his head in his arms and laid them on the table, not making a sound. The class was erupting in talking and forms of mischief.

Shortly after that, a crumpled ball of paper flew through the air, landing on Hiroshi’s head. He looked up and seen three boys giggling and laughing to themselves. He didn’t even care. He just looked down and continued getting pelted by crumbled balls of paper.

The video skipped to the day ending. Hiroshi went home and worked hard. He worked hard all the way into the night, where he collapsed on his bed, and once again fell asleep in his uniform, over the covers.

The next day, the same cycle happened. And again. And again. His life was meaningless. He had no parents to care about him, just his foster parents. He never ate dinner with them, and they didn’t care. He had no friends to play with. No goals or achievements.

His life was a waste. Useless torment. Nothing.

As he went back to sleep once more, again in his uniform, he put his hand over his face.

“I just wish I had meaning. If I wasn’t here, who would care?” he asked himself as he fell asleep. He woke up again, and walked to school as usual. He plopped his books in the exact same spot and opened his book. He took out his pencil and started doodling.

 He began drawing a circle, then some lines horizontally, then some eyes, mouth and face. As he started sketching the hair, another crumbled piece of paper hit him in the head. He grumbled to himself, and continued sketching. Another piece of paper hit him again, this time in the face. He ignored them and continued sketching.

One more crumbled piece of paper came flying at Hiroshi. He closed his eyes, expecting to be hit once more.

The paper never came.

He looked up in awe. A woman had caught the piece of paper with one hand. She threw the paper back at the boys in disgust.

“Stop acting so childish! I have never seen Hiroshi do anything like that to you! Stop it! He doesn’t deserve it!” she yelled at the bullies, who turned around and pretended as if they didn’t do anything.

The woman turned around and looked at Hiroshi. She had black hair, with purple tips on the end, with bangs to match. She had kind, brown eyes, and a soft, rosy face. She was wearing her uniform, but unlike Hiroshi’s, it was neat and tidy.

“Thank you…I…you know my name,” he stuttered, trying to comprehend what just happened.

“Oh well of course I do! The name’s Blossom, pleased to meet you!” she yelped joyfully, sticking her hand out with a smile.