Departure

It was yet another swelteringly unbearable summer day. Yuki Nakamura, a third-year middle school student, trudged homeward with deliberate slowness. His measured steps were not a response to the oppressive heat and humidity, which were commonplace in Japan during mid-July. For the past two years, his daily walk home had been haunted by the same relentless thoughts, yet he could never arrive at a definitive answer in his mind. As the summer holidays approached—along with the looming transition to high school—these thoughts grew increasingly difficult to ignore. All his anxieties converged on a single, fundamental question, one that could be distilled into a simple sentence:

"What is the point of my existence?"

Yuki did not consider himself exceptional in any way, a sentiment echoed by the countless aptitude tests that permeated the education system and the opinions of those around him. He was of average height, slightly above average in weight, with a face that could only be described as unremarkable. His dark brown eyes and black hair were the most common in Japan. He was neither a delinquent nor a truant, but he was far from an academic star. In sports and the arts, he blended seamlessly into the background among his peers. Even in his beloved video games, he achieved no notable success; despite his passion and the hours he poured into them, he knew he could never become an esports champion. He preferred playing games on medium difficulty—not because “Easy” was too trivial, but because “Hard” was simply too challenging. 

What stung him most was that every one of his classmates and acquaintances seemed to have something—however small—that set them apart. Some ran faster, others were praised in music class, and a few even won awards at interschool competitions. Meanwhile, some of his peers were already leading what seemed like “adult” lives, with boyfriends or girlfriends, which brought its own share of drama but still distinguished them from the crowd. Yuki, however, had nothing of the sort.

With each step toward home, his reluctance grew, his feet dragging ever more heavily. Things at home were far from ideal. His parents were decent people, free from vices like alcoholism and rarely prone to arguments. Yet, even in what might appear to outsiders as a nurturing environment, the seeds of his discontent had taken root.

As he passed a playground, Yuki’s gaze inadvertently lingered on it. Young children laughed boisterously, playing in the sandbox, while their mothers sat on a nearby bench, engrossed in lively conversation. The sight made Yuki wince, and he quickly turned away.

Just over two years ago, the Nakamura family had welcomed a second child. Yuki was already thirteen at the time. He had never particularly wanted a sibling, though he hadn’t been strongly opposed to the idea either. For years, he had been raised as an only child, basking in the undivided attention of his parents and relatives, which suited him perfectly. So when his father knelt before him one day, placed his hands on Yuki’s shoulders, and, with an awkward smile, announced, “You’re going to be a big brother!” Yuki was momentarily stunned, unable to process the news. Seconds later, he burst into loud, desperate sobs, though he couldn’t fully grasp why such emotions overwhelmed him. Perhaps, even then, he sensed the changes this would bring.

His reaction proved prophetic. Over time, his parents’ attention shifted entirely to his newborn sister. Where once Yuki could rely on his mother, Natsuki Nakamura, or his father, Tadayoshi Nakamura, to help with homework in the evenings, such support became unimaginable. His mother devoted herself entirely to Hiori—named after their paternal grandmother—and even the smallest requests for help were met with irritation and promises of “later,” which were inevitably forgotten. His father, to provide for the growing family, took on extra shifts at work, returning home even later than before. Yuki no longer dared burden him with his troubles.

This shift took a toll on Yuki’s academic performance. Previously, though average, he had been closer to the top students. After his sister’s birth, his grades plummeted, aligning him more with the struggling students. This added further strain to his relationship with his parents, who frequently chastised him for “not trying hard enough.” Yuki swallowed their reproaches countless times, fighting back tears as he hung his head in silence.

Intellectually, Yuki understood that neither his parents nor his sister were to blame, and he did his best to help however he could. He prepared and warmed bottles, changed diapers, and watched Hiori when his parents had urgent errands. Yet his efforts seemed to be taken for granted; not once did he hear a simple “Thank you.” Any hesitation or refusal to comply with their requests sparked a torrent of criticism, invariably punctuated with the same refrain: “You’re the older brother!”

Pausing mid-step, Yuki muttered to himself through clenched fists:

 - But I never wanted to be…

As if this weren’t enough, another misfortune befell him. The one solace in his home had always been Kokoro, their white Persian cat. As far back as Yuki could remember, she had been a constant presence, an integral part of his life. Kokoro’s affection for him never wavered; she greeted him at the door after school, rubbing against his leg, and when he retreated to his room in distress, she would scratch at the door, meowing plaintively until he let her in. Unable to resist her mournful cries, Yuki would open the door, and she would dart to his bed, curl up in the center, and fall asleep. To lie beside her, Yuki had to contort himself uncomfortably, but as he drifted off to the warmth of her purring, he would awaken to find she had shifted to the edge of the bed, as if making space for him to rest comfortably.

Tragically, just over a year ago, Kokoro passed away from old age. Her sudden death struck Yuki, already disheartened by his sister’s arrival, like a thunderbolt. He fell ill for weeks, so severely that his parents had to call his grandmother to care for him in place of his perpetually occupied mother. Even in his feverish, disoriented state, Yuki noted that his parents paid him little attention, though he lacked the strength to dwell on it.

Thus, the question that consumed him was, "What is the point of my existence?" His parents seemed to have no need for him, the last being who loved him unconditionally had passed on, and he stood out in no way—lacking both plans for the future and any notable prospects. Even his favorite pastimes—video games and anime—no longer brought him joy. He continued them out of habit, a fleeting attempt to escape the thoughts that tormented him.

With just over 500 meters left to his house, Yuki approached a busy road. People on both sides stood absorbed in their smartphones, waiting for the traffic light to change from red to blue. A dog barked loudly across the street, but its sound was swallowed by the roar of passing cars. Yuki stared blankly ahead and whispered, almost inaudibly:

- If only I could escape to another world…

Like most boys his age, Yuki was a fan of the *isekai* genre and secretly dreamed of finding himself in a world of swords and magic, where he would be needed, where he could unlock his true potential.

- Look, a cat! - a voice called out to his right.

One of the two schoolgirls in his school’s uniform pointed toward the middle of the road. Yuki’s gaze followed, landing on an ordinary stray cat. Its fur was matted, its frame emaciated, and its trembling legs suggested it was on the verge of collapse from hunger. Cars sped by, occasionally honking, causing the cat to dart back and forth in panic. Yuki’s heart clenched, his palms were sweating, but he knew rushing into traffic would be suicidal. He stood frozen, gripping his satchel tightly.

Suddenly, the flow of cars stopped, leaving the cat alone on the road. The schoolgirls sighed in relief, and Yuki relaxed slightly.

- A truck! - one of the girls screamed.

Yuki didn’t need to look to know; the roar of a powerful engine and incessant honking came from his right. The truck barreled forward, too fast for the driver to stop. Yuki glanced at the cat, hoping it had fled, but it remained frozen in place, paralyzed by fear. His fists and teeth clenched, yet he couldn’t bring himself to move. *Someone, do something!* he thought desperately, but the onlookers merely watched in horror. The truck closed in, seconds ticking away, and Yuki remained rooted in indecision.

Then the cat turned its head and locked eyes with him. Its emerald eyes, identical to Kokoro’s, brimmed with despair and terror.

In that instant, without thinking, Yuki dropped his satchel and bolted forward. The schoolgirls gasped, a man in a suit shouted, “Hey, kid, what are you doing?!” and reached to grab him, but Yuki was too quick. In seconds, he was in the middle of the road, his heart pounding, his temples throbbing. All he cared about was saving the cat.

"Just a little more!…"

Yuki crouched, arms outstretched to scoop up the cat and escape the truck’s path. But as he grabbed it, the cat snapped out of its stupor, hissing and scratching his face. Startled, Yuki’s grip faltered, and the cat leapt from his arms. Now he froze, barely registering the truck’s blaring horn, the screech of brakes, or the crowd’s screams. He didn’t notice their worried faces, only watched as the cat he’d tried to save darted into an alley.

Time seemed to slow. Yuki turned toward the approaching truck, its massive grille and unfamiliar logo looming larger. To his surprise, he felt no fear. He glanced at the driver, whose face was contorted in horror, then closed his eyes and thought, *Maybe this is better for everyone.*
Suddenly, Yuki plunged into darkness. Astonishingly, he felt no pain. Unable to see, hear, or feel, he wondered if he was dead or merely unconscious.

He lingered in this state for an unknown time. Occasionally, he thought he heard a faint hum far above, but it faded too quickly to discern. Eventually, silence and darkness enveloped him completely. For once, his mind was nearly still, and he found the void oddly comforting. The only thought that occasionally surfaced was, *Is this what it means to be dead?* The absence of Heaven or Hell didn’t trouble him, but a fleeting sadness struck when he realized he might never see his family or Kokoro again.

Then, a tiny light appeared above, like a lone star. Having been in darkness so long, Yuki barely noticed it at first. Once his gaze locked onto it, he couldn’t look away, though he wasn’t sure he even had eyes in this state. The star began to grow, and Yuki held his breath, sensing its profound significance. Suddenly, it expanded rapidly, and an unseen force pulled him upward. The light became blinding, and Yuki instinctively closed his eyes, only to panic at the thought that he shouldn’t have. He forced them open again…

…and found himself staring at an endless blue sky. Vast, snowy clouds drifted lazily above. Something tickled his cheeks, and glancing down, he saw blades of green grass where he lay, arms and legs spread wide.

For several minutes, Yuki lay bewildered, gazing at the sky, which seemed impossibly majestic.

"How had I never noticed its grandeur before?"
His reverie broke when he saw a massive silhouette soaring above the clouds. As it descended, slicing through a cloud, he beheld something unimaginable: a dragon. Its dark red scales gleamed, its wings spanning twenty meters. It glided majestically toward the direction of Yuki’s feet. As it vanished from view, his gaze followed, and he slowly sat up. Before him stretched a breathtaking vista: snow-capped mountains on the horizon, likely the dragon’s destination, and a towering black spire piercing the sky. More astonishing were floating islands, adorned with forests and mountains, defying reality as he knew it. Around him spread an endless plain of lush grass and scattered trees, one of which shaded him. A bird perched on a branch, singing unfamiliar notes, its movements oddly unnatural, though Yuki dismissed the thought.

Standing slowly, he surveyed his surroundings. A river gurgled to his left, and to his right, a denser forest lay a couple of kilometers away. Squinting, he noticed a faint column of smoke rising from the forest’s far edge. With no better plan, he began walking toward it.

As he moved, his mind buzzed with questions: "What happened?", "Where am I?" and "Was that really a dragon?". No one could answer, of course. Yet with each step, his pace quickened, and an inexplicable joy welled within him. He couldn’t fully believe his deepest wish had come true, but the evidence was undeniable. Soon, he broke into a run, arms outstretched, the cool breeze caressing his face and rustling the grass and leaves. His eyes widened, and a genuine smile spread across his face. Taking a deep breath, he shouted with all his might:

- I’M IN ANOTHER WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORLD!

Startled birds took flight from nearby trees, but Yuki didn’t care—no one else was likely to hear him. Laughing, he ran, the wind at his back seeming to guide him. Exhausted—he wasn’t particularly athletic—he collapsed onto a grassy clearing at the forest’s edge.

In the back of his mind, he knew he should be cautious, consider food, shelter, and protection, and seek out civilization. But for now, he lay there, breathing heavily, feeling truly alive for the first time in two years. Closing his eyes, he focused on calming his breath, still smiling.

Something tickled his left cheek. Thinking it was grass, he realized the clearing’s grass was shorter than the plains’. A sweet, unfamiliar scent reached him. Slowly, he opened his eyes.

Golden, sunlit strands—someone’s hair—brushed his cheek. Opening his eyes wider, he saw a face above him: a girl with vivid green eyes, her expression faintly curious. Her gaze darted over him, and Yuki froze, breathless at her beauty.

What struck him most were her long, pointed ears. They twitched slightly as her eyes moved, and Yuki could scarcely believe they were real. She appeared about his age, leaning over him with her hands on her knees, wearing a simple green dress embroidered with golden threads matching her hair.

Realizing his position, Yuki scrambled out from under her, stumbled, and rolled backward. Embarrassed, he shot to his feet, standing rigid and staring at the sky, too nervous to meet her gaze. His mind raced, urging him to make contact, but he doubted an elf-like girl from another world would speak Japanese. Grasping at his limited English, he gestured awkwardly and stammered:

- H-Hello! M-My n-name is Y-Yuki! W-What’s y-your n-name?!

The girl tilted her head, blinking her long golden lashes in surprise. Then, in flawless Japanese, she said

- What, are you some kind of idiot?

***

A vast, dimly lit room filled with endless rows of computer-laden desks. People in white lab coats worked at many of them, some rising hurriedly to leave, others typing furiously or making calls. A central aisle led to a massive wall of oversized monitors forming an even larger screen, its light—along with the glow of computer screens—illuminating the room and its occupants.

At the center stood an unremarkable man in a white coat, hands in his pockets, staring at the giant screen. A predatory grin played across his face, accentuated by sharp eyes and disheveled hair. He tapped his shoe rhythmically, as if anticipating something momentous.

On the screen, a boy lay unconscious in the grass under a tree, limbs splayed. 

- Come on, come on! - the man muttered impatiently, unnoticed by those around him.

Suddenly, the boy’s eyes snapped open. The man reacted exuberantly, crouching slightly, pulling his hands from his pockets, and clenching them into fists. His eyes widened, his grin broadening but retaining its menacing edge.

- Yes! Yes, yes, yes!

He bounced from foot to foot, barely containing his excitement. Most in the room ignored his antics, except for one woman in the back row, who glanced disapprovingly between him and the screen.

The boy on the screen seemed to look directly at the camera. Unable to contain himself, the man threw his head back, clutching his arms, and shouted, 

- Finally! FINALLY!

After a moment, he lowered his head and arms, then flung them wide, bellowing:

 - Let "Isekai Project" begin!

His voice carried both exhilaration and an undercurrent of inexplicable malice, incomprehensible to those around him. His badge read: "Hondju Irikawa, Head of Isekai. Project"

The woman in the back row fixed her gaze on the boy, now running joyfully toward a forest. She swallowed nervously and mouthed silently:

- May luck be with you…