Light of the Dusk

A slow breeze found its way into a dull room, slipping through half-open curtains, moving quickly to replace the air that had already been used. Bold rays of light seep into the room, illuminating it as the sound of birds chirping, dogs barking, and the sky shifting to bring life to the once lifeless and destroyed world.

Even a world torn apart by power, blood, and flame can gain a shimmer, even if it takes time.

Inside the cluttered room, though, the scent wasn’t pleasant.

Pillows and clothes were scattered and tangled like they were room decor, and his desk looked like the splitting image of one of those crime sitcoms you’d see on TV. Crumpled papers and different empty cans and cups were layered across the desk. The silence was broken by a single green army-patterned alarm clock that sent a sound sharp enough to split the atmosphere as it screeched.

SMACK!!

A hand viciously slapped the alarm with concerning accuracy. He didn't even need to lift his head from the burrito of warmth he had made from tossing and turning.

“...Always accurate,” a sleepy voice mumbled proudly.

Sumato Otokin, the now 15-year-old boy, let out a groan of satisfaction as he went deeper into his self-made blanket burrito. His breathing slowed down to get back into his slumber. The world outside could wait just a little longer for him.

But peace, like all things in this world, is short-lived.

“SUMATO! If you keep lazing around, you’ll miss the Kaida entrance exams!”

The old voice— probably in his mid-60s—rang from downstairs like a thunderclap. Sumato’s eyes shot open.

“…Damn,” he clicked his tongue and hesitated as he weighed the consequences of the options he would have to pick from.

Then, like a cat doused with cold water, he jumped out of his bed. The sunlight around the room reflected his silk-white hair and made it shimmer like moonlight. His emerald green eyes glimmered with a personality that is both mischievous and sharply aware—a face that carried equal parts handsomeness and trouble.

With the speed of a child after a slice of cake, he put on his favorite clothes — a sharp black jacket with teal linings and a plain red t-shirt—and paired them with sleek black cargo pants with a white line at the sides.

“I look ready to save the world from a tyrant,” he said, twirling around outlandishly, then bolted downstairs—still brushing his teeth.

The old man named Mikro Otokin stood at the table with a sluggish expression and a stack of steaming pancakes. He raised an eyebrow at his grandson's rushed movements.

“ Let me guess, you forgot to take a bath again? ” he said, slightly annoyed.

Sumato froze mid-step, his toothbrush hanging out of his mouth.

“...Well, no time like the present, I guess,” he said as he dashed back upstairs.

“But I don’t have time for a full bath. Not if the day is today.”

Sumato then stood in the middle of his room as he raised his hands high and spread his fingers wide as he created water from thin air, circling him. The wind zoomed around, lifting liquid soap from the shelves as it lathered him, and the water circled around him.

He rinsed, spun, and picked the moisture off his body with only a hand gesture.

“I’m looking clean and stylish.”
“Maybe, I will it on my grades when I get into the school…”

He dashed down the stairs again. As he opened the front door, Mito called out while pointing at the table.

“What about breakfast?”

“Already done!” Sumato says, gesturing with his hand.

A gust of wind pulled the stack of pancakes into his mouth as he ran past. Mito blinked in disbelief, looked at his now-empty plate, and sighed in defeat.

“That brat... I wonder how strong he can become, if he truly gets into that academy…”

His eyes lingered on the door — a shadow creeping across his expression.
Then softer, barely a whisper:

“...If he only knew what’s buried inside him.”

Mikro looked down to see both plates empty. With an amused but frustrated expression, he looks at the door and shouts Sumato’s name.

Sumato’s bike tore down the road, enhanced by glowing currents of light flowing from his Shinen Core. The tires didn’t just roll — they glided like mini jets across the roadside.

“Kaida High… the birthplace of many greats. The academy that created the Masked Tyrant, The one above himself, and also the Bloodborne Hero…”

He glanced up at the giant building in the distance.

“I’m only an Shoshin now… But after today, I’ll be one step closer to Jukuren. And one day… The Greatest.”

He grinned.

“The title for the strongest Shinen wielder will be mine.”

His eyes now showed a serious determination as he whispered carefully as if telling the wind.

“So I won’t mess up like last time.”

Then, like flipping a switch, he kicked forward and surged down the street in a burst of speed and light.

He arrived at Kaida High’s massive front gates just in time. Students stood in lines waiting to be referred to, tension buzzing in the air.

“—Sumato Otokin!” An Examiner called.

“Here!” Sumato answered quickly, slipping into the line as if he had always been there.

The examiner looked at him suspiciously.

“You were already called earlier.”

“No way,” Sumato said casually, wiping sweat from his brow. “You must’ve misread your notes or something. I’ve been here the whole time.”

The teacher narrowed their eyes.

Sumato turned his gaze up at the giant gates of the Kaida Academy.

They rose high into the sky, sleek towers lined with Shinen-infused conduits. The emblem of Kaida — a wyvern soaring upwards, encircled with a chain and a blade — gleamed against the sky.

“A little longer,” Sumato whispered with a grin.
“This is where I’m going to be. Right here. I’ll become the strongest — no matter the cost.”

[To be continued…]