Chapter 1: Another Boring Cycle

Another thrilling episode of my quiet, crumbling life begins.

Ring... Ring... Ring.

The blaring sound of my alarm clock shattered the silence of my room. My fingers fumbled for the button to silence it, and I groggily pushed myself up, trying to shake off the sleep that clung to my eyelids. The first thing I noticed was the dull, grayish light filtering through my half-closed curtains. The world outside was waking up, but I wasn’t.

Another day, another cycle.

I stretched, feeling the familiar tension in my back. The routine had become ingrained in me, like a second skin. My body moved automatically, doing the same things I had done every morning for months now. The same quiet house. The same breakfast. The same lonely thoughts.

I walked over to my closet, grabbed my school uniform, and slipped into it. The fabric felt familiar and comforting in its ordinariness. A quick look in the mirror, and I ran my fingers through my disheveled hair. I didn’t particularly care about how I looked. I was tall, around 179 cm, and had a face that might be considered handsome by some standards, but to me, it was just… there. It didn’t matter.

The reflection staring back at me looked tired, like someone who had seen the same boring day stretch endlessly before him. I didn’t recognize the excitement in the eyes of a teenager. I was only seventeen, but life felt like it had already passed me by.

I took a deep breath. Focus.

After a quick breakfast, I grabbed my bag and headed out the door, making my way to the bike. The brisk morning air hit my face as I mounted it, the familiar feeling of the handlebars under my hands grounding me. My tires hummed against the pavement as I began the ride to school. The streets were quiet—like everything around me was still asleep, waiting for the day to begin.

I sighed as my legs pedaled rhythmically. I wasn’t sure when the monotony started, but it had been there for months now. Wake up. Eat. Go to school. Finish school. Go home. Study. Video games. Eat dinner. Sleep. Repeat. It was the same cycle over and over again. Nothing ever changed.

God, I wish my life could be more like an adventure…

I found myself thinking that again, the words slipping from my lips like a broken record. I had grown so tired of this life. I longed for something different, something more. A change that could break me out of the suffocating routine. But even as the thought crossed my mind, I knew it was pointless to wish for something I couldn't have.

{If only I’d known that this would be the last time life felt boring.
That wish… would be granted in the cruelest way possible.}

My mind drifted back to my childhood. Back then, life had felt so much more colorful, full of promise and wonder. I used to be happy. My mom was alive, and Dad… well, Dad was Dad. I used to look up to him with admiration, thinking he could do anything. But now, those memories were becoming harder to hold onto.

Mom...

Her face was a blur now, fading more and more as time passed. I could only remember the moments we had together—the warmth of her hug, the sound of her voice. She died when I was just two years old, too young to remember much, but old enough for her absence to leave a hole in my chest.

Ever since then, it had just been me and Dad.

I tried to push the sadness away as I continued to pedal. I was used to it now—the hollow feeling that crept up when I thought about the past. It wasn’t like I could change anything in the present.

But what I couldn’t escape was Dad’s struggle. The way he tried to hide the truth from me, acting like everything was fine when it clearly wasn’t. It was killing me. I could see it in his eyes—the exhaustion, the stress, the secret burden of his debt. It wasn’t just the bills that piled up on the kitchen counter that told me something was wrong. It was the way he smiled at me, like he was trying to convince both of us that everything was okay.

But it wasn’t.

It had been hard to watch him pretend for so long, but what could I do? I was just a kid. The only thing I could do was worried, and that only made things worse. And yet… I couldn’t stop myself. I knew that no matter what I did, I couldn’t make it better.

I clenched my jaw, forcing back the tears. One single tear had slipped down my cheek the night I first saw the full extent of the debt. I quickly wiped it away, pretending it hadn’t happened. It was just one tear, after all. Just one.

As I arrived at the school gates, I shook my head and forced a smile. I couldn’t let anyone see my pain. Not here. Not at school. Not when I had my friends.

The bell rang, signaling the start of the school day. I walked towards the entrance, adjusting my bag on my shoulder, trying to push away the weight of the morning's thoughts. Life felt heavier these days, but school… school was just another part of the cycle.

The usual crowd had already gathered near the school entrance. I was always a bit later than everyone else. The same students filled the same spaces, chatting about whatever they were interested in that day. Their voices blended into the background hum, a sound that was oddly comforting in its predictability.

"Haruki!" I heard Daiki ’s voice over the chatter. I turned, and there he was, jogging towards me with his usual grin plastered across his face.

"Late as usual," he teased, though there was no malice behind it.

"Not really," I muttered, waving him off. I didn’t mind Daiki’s teasing. I never had, really. He was my childhood friend, after all. We’d known each other since we were little, so he could get away with more than anyone else.

Daiki had always been the sporty, active one between us. He was always jumping from one activity to the next, whether it was basketball, soccer, or whatever else caught his attention at the moment. He was athletic, and it showed. His short, messy brown hair and his tanned skin were a testament to the hours he spent outside, always looking for something to do.

"Seriously, man, you’ve gotta start showing up earlier," he said, his eyes twinkling with that same playful energy. "You’ll never survive this school year if you don’t get your act together."

I grinned back at him, though I wasn’t entirely sure what he was talking about. Same boring cycle, same old Daiki.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll try to work on that,” I said. He gave me a thumbs up before walking off to join his usual spot with a group of classmates. Daiki was the type to make friends easily—he never stayed still for long.

It wasn’t long before I heard Kaito’s soft voice behind me. He wasn’t as loud or enthusiastic as Daiki, but I knew that he, too, was part of my inner circle.

“Morning,” he said, his voice barely more than a murmur. Kaito was always quiet, always observing the world more than participating in it. He was the kind of guy who would sit in the corner of the room, reading manga or analyzing an anime episode, offering deep insights when he felt like speaking.

Kaito had this air about him—one that made it hard for people to understand him, but once you got to know him, he had a sharp intellect that made him far more interesting than most. He had messy black hair that always looked like it needed a comb, and his glasses were slightly askew, like he’d never bothered to fix them. There was something endearing about that though, as if his disarray reflected how little he cared about appearances.

“Morning, Kaito,” I responded, offering a small smile. He gave a slight nod but didn’t say much else, which was typical of him. His face was partially hidden behind a book, the latest volume of some light novel series that he was obsessing over Mushoku Tensei. If you could get Kaito to open up, you’d hear a lot of fascinating theories about the world, but if you didn’t know him well, you’d just see him as a quiet, somewhat aloof guy.

But that’s why I liked him. He was insightful when you got him talking. He had a way of seeing things that most people missed.

“We should grab lunch later,” I said, more out of habit than anything else. It was something I did with him almost every day. Despite his quiet nature, Kaito was dependable—he always kept me company during lunch.

He glanced up from his book, his gaze momentarily meeting mine. “Yeah, sure,” he said, then returned to his novel without another word. There was no need for further explanation. With Kaito, silence was never uncomfortable. It was a language of its own.

I turned toward the school building, looking for my last friend. Natsumi.

She was leaning against the wall near the entrance, arms crossed, her eyes scanning the crowd. Her gaze locked onto mine almost immediately, and despite the casual stance, I knew better than to mistake her for anything less than confident. Natsumi had a presence about her.

She wasn’t just any girl at school. She stood out—her sharp features and no-nonsense attitude made her someone people noticed the second she walked into a room. She was more than just a pretty face. She was brash, bold, and she didn’t take anyone’s crap.

Natsumi had this energy about her that could light up—or burn down—a room depending on her mood. Her sharp, chestnut-colored hair fell just past her shoulders, and her bright eyes always seemed to carry a hint of mischief. But there was more to her than the bold, brash persona. Beneath it all, I knew there was something softer, something more vulnerable, something that I was starting to love.

I often noticed the way she held herself in class—shoulders squared, her gaze confident. Yet sometimes, in quieter moments, she’d glance toward others when she thought no one was looking. Like she was trying to read the room, to gauge how much of herself she could afford to show. It was subtle, but it was there.

She looked at me for a moment, her lips curving into a small, teasing smile.

“Late again, Haruki?” Natsumi called, crossing her arms more tightly.

I shrugged, trying to make light of it. “Same as usual.”

“Lucky you,” she replied with a smirk. “No surprise there.”

“You’re such a guy, Haruki,” she continued with a roll of her eyes. “Do you ever try to change up the routine?”

“Not really,” I admitted with a half-smile. “Same boring cycle, you know?”

Natsumi chuckled lightly and shook her head. “You’re way too serious for your own good.”

“I’m not serious,” I protested, though deep down, I knew she was right. The constant thoughts about my father’s debts, my routine, my own lack of excitement—yeah, maybe I was serious, and maybe that was why I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing.

“Yeah, whatever. You should try to loosen up sometime, Haruki,” she said, poking me lightly in the chest. “You’re too uptight. I’ll help you with that, don’t worry.”

I didn’t say anything back. It was easier just to let her think what she wanted. Besides, she had her own charm—her tough exterior hiding a softer side that she didn’t often show. I didn’t have to say anything. Natsumi was Natsumi. She was part of the same cycle as me, even if she pretended otherwise.

“Well, are you coming or what?” Natsumi said, pushing me toward the school doors. “Let’s get to class before they lock the doors on us.”

I grinned and followed her inside.

Students shuffled into the classroom, taking their seats and chatting amongst themselves as the teacher, Mr. Kuroda, shuffled through his papers at the front. The classroom was spacious, as was expected of a school like this—bright white walls, neat rows of desks, and windows that looked out into the well-kept schoolyard. It wasn’t my favorite place, but it was one of the few that felt familiar, even if every day felt the same.

I sat in my usual spot near the middle of the room, close enough to hear everyone but far enough away to keep some distance. My friends had scattered across the room—Kaito in the far corner by the windows, Daiki in the front, eager to engage with the teacher. Natsumi sat behind me, close enough that I could feel the faint weight of her gaze from time to time. Her quiet attention was typical of her—sharp, observant, and never missing a thing.

“Alright, class,” Mr. Kuroda said, his voice carrying over the murmurs. “Today, we’ll continue from where we left off last time. Everyone takes out your notebooks and get ready to work.”

His voice was one of those monotonous types that blended into the background for most students. Not me, though. I always listened. This school, despite how boring it had become recently, was still one of the best in the country.

I looked around the classroom for a moment, taking in the view. A good portion of my classmates came from families with wealth or influence. That was the thing about this school: it wasn’t just any normal institution. It was prestigious. The academic standards were high, and the competition was fierce. The pressure to succeed was constant, but I didn’t mind it much. It kept my mind active, and as much as I didn’t show it, I appreciated that. I wasn’t one for slacking off, and this school kept me sharp.

I rested my chin in my palm, staring at the blackboard as Mr. Kuroda continued to lecture on complex functions and their applications. As usual, my mind wandered back to my current situation—my father, the debts piling up, and how trapped I felt. But I quickly shook myself out of it. I had learned long ago that focusing on things I couldn’t change would only make me more miserable.

Instead, I decided to focus on the lesson. As much as I hated the constant repetition of my life, the classroom was one place where I didn’t have to think too much. Things came easy to me here.

Before long, the lesson ended, and the class took a brief break before the next period. I used this time to pull out my math test papers that had been handed back. As the students gathered their belongings or chatted amongst themselves, I turned the paper over to look at the grade.

The number was no surprise. I had practically breezed through the test. The questions had been straightforward, and the problems, though challenging to some, were simple to me. As always, I found myself wondering if the rest of the class ever had to struggle with these things. For me, math came naturally. The formulas, the equations—everything just clicked without much effort. I didn’t have to stay up late studying or cram last minute like others did. I could understand the material the first time it was explained.

I looked around at my classmates, some of them pouring over their own papers in disappointment, while others seemed satisfied with their scores. Daiki was talking animatedly with some friends in the front, unaware that the math paper was still open on his desk. Kaito, on the other hand, had barely looked at his test paper before returning to his book, as usual. He probably didn’t even care much for the grade; he was always more interested in ideas and theories than the rigid, structured tests that everyone else was so focused on.

My thoughts lingered on the test for a moment longer. I really do belong here, I thought. This school wasn’t just a place for the privileged and rich—it was a breeding ground for the brightest minds. The competition was cutthroat, but it had sharpened me over the years. It was a place where intellect was recognized and rewarded. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that while school was easy, life outside of it was anything but.

A shadow flickered across my desk. I looked up to see Mr. Kuroda standing by my side, looking down at my test paper. He had a small smile on his face, though it was more of a recognition of my consistency than praise.

“Another perfect score, Haruki?” he asked, voice tinged with a touch of approval.

I shrugged nonchalantly, though inside, I couldn’t help but feel a small swell of pride. “Just another test.”

Mr. Kuroda nodded. “Your performance is always impressive. Just don’t get too comfortable.” He winked before moving on to check the other students’ papers.

I knew he was just trying to motivate me, but it was the same line I’d heard a hundred times before. It was easy for me to brush off because I knew I wasn’t about to let it go to my head. Being here, in this elite school, was a constant reminder that while I had the brain for this, the real struggles in my life were outside the classroom.

The day passed in its usual monotonous rhythm. History class was long, as usual, filled with dry lectures about ancient civilizations. I could feel my eyelids growing heavy as the teacher droned on about some obscure battle from hundreds of years ago. I knew the material, of course, but that didn’t make it any less dull. I glanced at Natsumi behind me. She was scribbling something in her notebook, likely making notes about something unrelated to the class.

{Only if I knew she was writing about me }

Next came science, which was more engaging, even though the subject didn’t exactly thrill me. I always had a soft spot for physic and chemistry, though my interest in them was academic more than anything else. I didn’t care much for the theories only the practical applications behind them. How did everything fit together? How did the world around me work in such a precise, ordered fashion? It was the kind of thing that fascinated me but didn’t give me any true sense of purpose in life.

Finally, the lunch bell rang, and I gathered my things, looking around for my friends. Daiki was already on his way to the cafeteria, probably joining his usual crowd. Natsumi was speaking with some of her classmates, and Kaito—of course—was absorbed in his book.

"Let’s eat together later?" I called to Kaito.

He gave a lazy nod in acknowledgment, his gaze never leaving his book. “Sure, Haruki.”

I walked out of the classroom, the hum of the school day continuing around me. Another cycle. Another day. But as I made my way through the hallway, something about the predictability of it all felt more suffocating than usual.

The same people, the same voices, the same bland routine. I couldn’t tell if I was really tired or just numb to it all.

By the time I reached the cafeteria, Daiki was already waving me over. Natsumi joined us a moment later, flopping into her usual seat with a sigh. Kaito drifted in last, a book still tucked under his arm.

As usual, we claimed our spot in the corner — a table tucked just far enough away from the noise to feel like our own little refuge.

Natsumi grabbed the last tuna sandwich with a triumphant smirk, brushing off Kaito’s half-hearted protest. “Too slow, genius,” she teased, biting into it with satisfaction.

Kaito gave her a look but didn’t argue. “I’ll survive,” he muttered, settling in and pulling out his lunch.

“So, Haruki,” Daiki said through a mouthful of food, “you breeze through that math test again?”

I shrugged. “It wasn’t too bad.”

Natsumi raised an eyebrow. “Translation: he got another perfect score and wants us to pretend it’s no big deal.”

I chuckled, not bothering to deny it. “I try.”

We fell into our usual rhythm — Daiki talking about sports, Kaito half-listening while flipping pages, Natsumi snarking at everyone but still smiling in that half-teasing way.

It felt… familiar.

Comforting, in a strange way.

And yet, that suffocating feeling still lingered. Like this ordinary moment was the calm before something none of us were ready for.

We finished up our food quickly and made our way outside to the field for P.E. It was a sunny day, perfect for a little exercise. As we walked to the locker room, I couldn’t help but notice how different the day felt from the usual routine. The air seemed to have a little more pressure to it—but I brushed it off.

Natsumi and I were joking around, Kaito occasionally chiming in with a dry comment, and Daiki was cracking jokes like always. It felt like a perfect day—one of those days that made me wish life could always be like this.

We changed into our gym clothes and headed out to the football field, where our classmates were already lining up, preparing for the match. Today’s class was going to be a casual one, with a little friendly competition between our class and another.

The whistle blew, and I felt the familiar rush of adrenaline kick in. My muscles moved with a rhythm I’d built over time. I wasn’t the best on the field, but I always gave it my all. Exercise was one of the only ways I could release the pressure building inside me—the kind that never seemed to go away.

As the game went on, I jogged across the field, my eyes on the ball, focused.

A sharp, distant pop cracked through the air. I froze mid-step, my breath catching. The sound echoed faintly from the direction of the school.

“What was that?” Natsumi’s voice was tense now, her confident tone replaced by unease.

“I think it’s just the track team practicing,” Daiki offered quickly, trying to brush it off, though his eyes didn’t match his voice.

Then it came again.

Louder. Sharper. More deliberate.

“That’s not the track team,” Natsumi said, almost whispering. Her face had gone pale, her hands trembling slightly as she instinctively took a step back.

“That’s gunfire.”

And just as she spoke, more shots rang out. Rapid. Violent.

I felt my heart slam against my chest, like someone had yanked it out of rhythm. The world around me didn’t just slow—it stuttered, fragmented.

This wasn’t a drill. My legs locked beneath me, refusing to move, and a cold numbness spread from my fingertips. My ears rang as if the sound had echoed straight through my skull. For a second, everything felt underwater—distant, warped. I could hear my breath, shallow and quick, like I was drowning on dry land.

Panic clawed at the edges of my thoughts. Run. Move. Do something. But I couldn’t. My body lagged behind my mind, stuck in a limbo between shock and terror.

This was real.

{That wish I made this morning? I take it back.                                                                                       I wished for change but I never thought it would come at gunpoint}