Kurosawa Ren

That morning began with the annoying alarm, as usual. I hit snooze a third time before finally giving in and dragging myself out of my shabby futon. My tiny apartment was still dark, lit only by the glow of LED strips around my collection of figurines on the shelf.
“Shit, what time is it?” I muttered while grabbing my phone. 7:15 AM. School starts at 8:00, and the train ride takes 30 minutes.
As usual, I’m late.
Kurosawa Ren, 17, a third-year student in Class 3-A at Sakura High School. Not a model student, not troubled—just there. Like a background character in an anime who never gets any important lines.
After a quick shower and scarfing down toast while sprinting out the door, I managed to arrive at school alive. Class 3‑A was already buzzing with the usual morning chatter—gossip about the newest idol, complaints about tough homework, plans for after-school karaoke.
I slipped into the classroom just seconds before the bell and sat in my seat as usual. Nobody noticed me, and nobody said hello.
“Good morning, Ren.”
A familiar voice greeted me. I’d forgotten him—Kenji, the nerdy-looking guy with glasses and straight black hair. He sat at the back corner, a strategic spot to avoid attention.
Matsuda Kenji, the only person in this class I can actually talk to about anime and light novels. Unfortunately, he’s also the favorite target for bullies because of his shy nature and scrawny frame.
“Morning,” I replied as I took the seat next to him.
“Have you read the latest volume of Skeleton Lord?” I asked, pulling the book from my bag.
“Not yet… I’m still saving up to buy it,” he replied, casting a nervous glance toward the front of the room.
I followed his gaze. Mogami Shinji stood at the front with his gang—Hiroto and Tanaka. The most feared trio in Class 3‑A. Shinji is 180 cm tall, athletic from the basketball club—a textbook perfect asshole who asserts dominance the wrong way.
“Oi, Kenji,” Shinji sneered, turning to us. “Did you finish yesterday’s math homework?”
Kenji swallowed. “Y-yes…”
“Good. Lend it to me for a bit. I forgot to do mine.”
He didn’t forget. Shinji never does his homework. He just likes to take answers from others—especially from Kenji, who always studies hard.
“But, Shinji‑kun… Sensei Yamamoto will notice if we—”
“You gonna refuse?” Shinji stepped closer, his aura highly intimidating. “Or do you want me to give you another ‘lesson’ like yesterday?”
I saw the bruise on Kenji’s arm, hidden under his cardigan. Yesterday, after school, Shinji and his gang “had a chat” with Kenji behind the gym. I don’t know the details, but judging by how Kenji walked this morning, it was definitely not pleasant. Sad. The world doesn’t need demons when ordinary people are already cruel enough.
Kenji handed over his homework with trembling hands.
“Good boy.” Shinji took it and patted Kenji’s head like a dog. Disgusting. But no one laughed. Maybe because everyone knows they could be Kenji tomorrow.
But…
I grabbed Kenji’s notebook from Shinji’s hand, stopping him.
“What are you doing, Ren?” his eyes locked onto me. I could sense murder in them.
Years of resentment, I suppose, had piled up.
Not that I didn’t feel the same.
I always felt the same way.
“Isn’t it obvious?” I replied.
At my words, Shinji and his gang erupted in laughter.
“Haha… you think you’re a hero now? Don’t you remember what happened to you last time you played that hero card?”
That memory flashed briefly in my mind. The incident happened a few… exactly when I was in second-year middle school.
“I could never forget. A coward who lost bringing his friends to attack the winner. Heh… pathetic.” Shinji shoved the notebook back into Kenji’s hands and stepped toward me, detaining me in his gaze.
“Do you really miss living in a hospital? Because I could take you there again.”
I just smiled at that.
“That sounds interesting. But it seems you don’t have time for it.”
“Huh?!”
Suddenly the bell rang, signaling the start of first period. Shortly after, our middle-aged teacher walked in.
“That’s what I meant.” Seeing the teacher, they left and moved to the front.
Actually, I wanted to say more, but…
“Sorry…” Kenji whispered. “I am a coward.”
I tossed his book onto his desk.
“You’re fine. They’re the problem,” I reassured softly.
“Good morning, everyone. Nakamura.” Yamamoto-sensei called out to a student in the center row. “Could you hand out the graded quizzes?”
Nakamura Takeshi—the golden boy of Class 3‑A. Tall, handsome, smart, athletic, and most importantly, respected by everyone. He’s the soccer club captain and consistently ranks in the top three. The perfect protagonist type you see in school-life anime or shoujo.
But even someone who seems perfect can be a bystander when someone else is in trouble.
Unless that person is a girl or his close friend.
“Certainly, Sensei.” Nakamura stood with a confident smile and began distributing quizzes, occasionally offering encouraging comments.
“Well done, Yuki-chan! Your math score improved,” he said to Taniguchi Yuki in the second row.
Yuki is the classic nice girl—kind to everyone, helpful, empathetic. She’s one of the few who occasionally talks to Kenji without feeling awkward.
“Thanks, Takeshi-kun,” Yuki smiled sweetly. “You must have done well too.”
“Well enough,” Takeshi replied modestly.
When he reached me, he handed my quiz to me with a brief smile. “Kurosawa-kun, you got an 86. You’re doing great.”
“Thanks,” I replied briefly. An 86 isn’t bad by my standards, but compared to Nakamura’s 95+ or Sasaki’s perfect score, I still have a long way to go.
Sasaki Miku sat at the very front, posture always straight and attention focused. She’s the most ambitious student in class, always aiming for a top university. The type of successful, career-driven woman who intimidates.
“Excellent, Miku-chan. Another perfect score,” Nakamura said, slightly impressed.
“Just the standard,” Miku replied coldly. She doesn’t like socializing and prefers academics.
Yamamoto-sensei began the lesson on derivative functions. I tried to focus, but my mind kept drifting to the light novel I’d read late last night. The story of an ordinary high‑schooler suddenly transported to a fantasy world, discovering a unique power.
Cliché? Definitely. But something appealing about the idea of escaping a boring reality.
“Kurosawa-kun.” Yamamoto-sensei’s voice snapped me back. “Can you solve question number three?”
Shit. I hadn’t been paying attention at all.
“Uh… which one, Sensei?”
A few classmates let out quiet chuckles, including Shinji. Yamamoto-sensei sighed—that familiar expression to me.
“The integral of 2x + 3, Kurosawa-kun. Basic.”
“Oh, that’s… x² + 3x + C?”
“Correct. But next time pay attention to the lesson—not that novel you’re hiding behind your book.”
Damn, I got caught.
Somehow, I managed to get it right.
“Nice, Ren,” Kenji whispered. “You always somehow do it.”
“Luck,” I shrugged.
Recess.
Some went to the cafeteria, others ate packed lunches or homemade food. I just had a piece of chocolate bread and a canned coffee.
“Aren’t you tired of eating and drinking that, Ren?” Kenji asked with concern.
“Not really. It’s good enough,” I replied, taking another bite of the chocolate bread.
He offered some of his lunch. “If you want, you can—”
He stopped himself, and I understood why: someone approached and draped an arm over my shoulder. I might have been happy if it were a cute girl, but it was the last person I wanted to see.
“Ren, looks like you’re having fun with your little friend.” It was Shinji.
“Like what you see?” I replied.
He leaned in smugly.
“I thought you’d stopped talking to me, but looks like this time is different. Don’t you usually turn a blind eye when your friend messes with me? Why are you standing up to me now?”
“Because I’m sick of it. I have my limits.”
Punch!
A fist landed on my face, slamming the back of my head into the window. A metallic taste filled my mouth—blood. Luckily, the window didn’t shatter, though fine cracks spidered across it.
“How fitting. I feel the same.” I spat; a drop of blood hit the floor.
“I’ve wanted to do this for a long time.”
“W-wait! What are you doing, Mogami‑kun?!” Kenji shouted, voice shaking. His face drained of color, as if he realized things had gone from bullying to something far worse.
“Stop it, Mogami‑kun!” Yuki cried, standing up, her face terrified.
The same face I had grown sick of seeing.
Only then did the other students react. Chairs screeched as they shoved back, creating a safe distance from the inevitable fight.
“Mogami‑kun, you’ve gone too far!” Nakamura shouted, though his tone lacked conviction. He knew it had been a long time coming.
Shinji grabbed my collar and dragged me closer, his breath hot and smelling of cheap cigarettes. “What’s wrong? Still don’t want to fight? Or… can’t?”
“No…”
“Huh? Say it clearly!” Shinji shouted, white-knuckled.
“I’m not hurt at all,” I raised my head, smiling thinly knowing it would enrage him. “Even a mosquito bite hurts more than your punch.”
“Hahaha…” His laugh was hollow, lifeless. “You’re still the same, always making me sick when I see your face.”
“You’re the same too—always making me want to vomit. By the way, you know your breath stinks? Maybe it’s all the bullshit coming out of your mouth.”
His face flushed red. He clenched my collar with both hands, lifting me until my feet dangled inches from the floor.
“Did you forget what you did to me back then?” he whispered, voice low and threatening.
“Impossible to forget when someone hit me over the head with a baseball bat, cracking my skull.” I could feel the scar throbbing on the back of my head remembering the moment. “Three stitches, if you must know.”
“Glad to hear you’re not amnesiac.”
“Yeah, too bad. I wish I could forget someone like you in my life. But unfortunately, some trauma is hard to erase.”
His face grew angrier, veins bulging at his temples. I felt curious about him. Shouldn’t I be angry instead?
I first met him back in middle school on day one. From the start, he acted like a fallen king.
That is why I hated him. He lived guilt-free and believed he was always right. The world, to him, revolved around his desires. Others were mere extras in his drama.
Who does he think he is? He’s not even good. Average grades, no special athletic talent. Just an egoistic kid who lives on the fear of others, thinking violence makes him important.
If he were a character in a story, he’d be a minor antagonist defeated early—too shallow to be a true adversary.
Yet for some reason, I became his favorite target. I understood why. He even ended up in the same high school as me—too “coincidental.”
Was it really coincidence? I don’t think so. He probably chose this school on purpose. Partly because of me, and partly because of that person.
“If you really want me out of your life, I’ll help you.” His voice was dangerous, like a demon’s whisper.
“Wow… that would be helpful,” I replied, smiling. “But before that, can I ask you something?”
He frowned, trapped by curiosity even if he wouldn’t admit it.
“Aren’t you bored?” I continued. “I mean, doing the same thing over and over to the same person. Isn’t it boring? Even for someone like you?”
For a moment, something flashed in his eyes—maybe confusion, maybe a spark of recognition. But then his rage-mask slid back on.
“Shut up.”
Suddenly…
Bink!
The whole classroom filled with bright light.
“Huh?” I looked down. Complex circular patterns covered the floor, glowing with strange symbols.
“What is this?” Yuki, still terrified, suddenly looked confused.
“Something’s wrong with the floor!” Nakamura yelled, pointing to the brightening patterns.
Students who had evacuated started flowing back in panic.
“Everyone, calm down!” Nakamura shouted, though uncertain.
Sasaki cried out, voice uncharacteristically panicked, “What’s happening?!”
“What is this?!” someone demanded.
A student tried to leave, but an invisible wall blocked the door.
“Damnit! What the hell is this!?” he screamed.
Another by the window tried to open it, but it wouldn’t budge, as if locked.
“This window won’t open!”
I saw it too from where I stood. Other buildings were bathed in the same eerie light.
As everyone panicked, I watched their faces with an expressionless face. I felt strangely cool in this moment.
Then the most shocking thing happened—one student screamed in delight amid the chaos.
“Finally, this has happened to me!”
It was the moment I will never forget. It was the day I changed the genre of my life.
A deafening roar filled my ears. Memories flickered through my mind like jigsaw pieces falling into place.
I looked around again—saw Shinji’s annoying face in front of me, Kenji’s terrified face in the back, the cracked window to my side.
But in the cracked reflection of the window I saw myself… or maybe another me.
Me, grinning. A wicked grin.
“EVERYONE, DON’T MOVE!” Nakamura yelled, but it was too late.
The floor patterns grew brighter, and I began to feel something familiar. This… this looked like a summoning circle from anime and light novels. I felt enveloped in its light, and soon after, I was no longer in that classroom.
“This can’t be…” I whispered.