Chapter 1: The Double Life of a Bored High Schooler

Okay, listen up. My name is Kenji.

If you look at me right now, walking down this dusty, sun-bleached street in suburban Tokyo, you just see… a guy. A completely forgettable, unremarkable unit of human existence. I have short black hair that refuses to settle down without the application of a literal gallon of industrial-strength gel, and even then, a single cowlick insists on standing up like an antenna searching for a signal. I am wearing a school uniform that is slightly crumpled at the hem, not because I am a rebel, but because I forgot to iron it last night. My eyes are dark, heavy-lidded, and look like they desperately need another three hours of sleep. Maybe four.

I am the definition of "Background Character A" in a budget anime. I am the guy in the crowd scene who doesn't even get a fully drawn face because the animators ran out of budget.

I walk with a slouch. It is a calculated slouch. It says, "Don't look at me. I am not interesting. I am not the hero. I am not the villain. I am just texture for your reality".

I get average grades. Not high enough to be a genius, not low enough to be a delinquent. I sit in the middle of the classroom- not the protagonist seat by the window where the cherry blossoms blow in, and not the cool, mysterious seat at the back where the guy with the tragic backstory sits. I am perfectly, beautifully, painfully mediocre. If you asked my classmates to describe me, they would probably say, "Kenji? Oh yeah. He is… nice? I think? Does he wear glasses? Wait, no, he doesn't. Or does he?".

That is the level of existence I operate on. I am a stealth bomber of boredom.

But here is the thing nobody knows. Here is the glitch in the matrix.

Inside my generic, fraying backpack, sandwiched between a math textbook I haven't opened in three weeks and a stale, plastic-wrapped melon bread that might technically be a biohazard, is a silver USB drive.

It looks like a piece of junk. It has a piece of masking tape on it that says "Homework Backup".

But that USB drive is worth more than my house.

Why?

Because I am Twilight-Senpai.

Yeah, that Twilight-Senpai.

The guy who wrote The Crimson Valkyrie, the light novel series that is currently dominating the sales charts for the twentieth week in a row. The illustrator behind Love in the Time of Mecha, the manga that just got greenlit for a high-budget anime adaptation. The mysterious, recluse creator whose works are currently outselling everything in Akihabara and making my editors cry literal tears of joy into their morning coffee.

Millions of fans online scream about my plot twists. There are forums dedicated to analyzing the symbolism of the color of the protagonist's socks in Chapter 12. There are fan wars being fought right now on Twitter over which heroine is the "best girl". People write essays, compose music, and cosplay as characters I invented in my pajamas at 3 AM.

But if I told anyone at school? If I stood up on my desk and shouted, "I am the god of your fictional worlds!"?

They would probably just laugh. They would look at my messy hair, my tired eyes, and my crumpled blazer, and they would tell me to stop daydreaming and go back to sleep.

So, I keep my mouth shut. I zip my lip. I play the role of Kenji, the NPC (Non-Playable Character).

I adjust the strap of my bag, feeling the weight of the USB drive against my back. It is a heavy secret. Sometimes it feels like it is burning a hole through the fabric.

"Kenji-niisan! Wait up!", a voice shrieks.

I flinch. My shoulders hunch up instinctively.

The sound barrier breaks behind me. I don't even have time to turn around.

Aiko crashes into my back like a heat-seeking missile made of sugar, violence, and sibling entitlement. The impact nearly sends me face-first into the pavement. My little sister wraps her arms around my waist in a vice grip, burying her face in the back of my blazer.

"You walked too fast!", she complains, her voice muffled by the fabric of my uniform. "I told you I needed five minutes to fix my bangs! Five minutes, Niisan! Not three! Do you want me to go to school looking like a drowned rat?"

I sigh, a long, suffering sound that comes from the depths of my soul. I reach back and peel her off me, which is like trying to detach a very stubborn, very loud barnacle.

Aiko is fifteen. She is in her last year of junior high. She has long black hair that is perfectly styled (despite her complaints), big expressive eyes, and she is cute enough to have her own unofficial fan club. She is popular, energetic, and possesses a brother-complex so strong it probably violates several laws of physics and possibly the Geneva Convention.

"You took twenty minutes, Aiko", I say, adjusting my bag which she nearly knocked off. "And get off. People are staring. You are embarrassing me".

"Let them stare!", she pouts, releasing me but immediately grabbing my arm instead. She fixes her bangs with a small pink comb she produces from nowhere. "They are just jealous that I have the best big brother in the universe. A brother who provides for his family! A brother who is a legend!"

She leans in close, standing on her tiptoes to whisper in my ear.

"Did you finish the manuscript last night? Did you? I made you coffee, but you locked the door! I was standing outside with the tray like a sad waiter!"

"Shh!", I look around wildly. My heart rate spikes. We are on a public street. There are students everywhere. "Keep it down. We are in public. Do you want to destroy my life?"

Aiko giggles, skipping alongside me. She is the only person in the world besides my editor who knows the truth. She knows that the gloomy guy who eats instant ramen is actually the genius behind the nation's obsession.

And honestly? She is my biggest fan. It is terrifying. It is wholesome, yes, but mostly terrifying.

"The new chapter is fire, Niisan", she whispers loudly, ignoring my plea for silence. "The way the protagonist saved the princess? When he jumped off the dragon's back and caught her in mid-air? Ugh, my heart. I literally stopped breathing. You are a genius. Why can't real boys be like the ones you write? Why are real boys so… dumb?"

"Because real boys have back pain, deadlines, and anxiety", I grumble, rubbing my neck. "And we can't jump off dragons because dragons don't exist, Aiko".

" excuses", she sniffs. "You could be more romantic if you tried. You have the brain for it. You just lack the motivation".

"I use all my romance energy for the readers", I say. "I have nothing left for reality. I am empty. I am a husk".

"You are a drama queen", she corrects me, poking my cheek.

We reach the intersection where we have to split up. Her junior high is to the left, past the bakery that smells like burnt toast. My high school is to the right, up the steep hill that makes my calves burn every morning.

Aiko stops. She grabs my hand and squeezes it tight. She looks up at me, her eyes shining. For a second, she drops the bratty sister act and just looks proud.

"Do your best today, okay?", she says softly. "I know you are tired. I know the deadline is tomorrow. But you can do it. You are Twilight-Senpai".

I look at her. She is annoying, loud, and clings to me like a koala on a eucalyptus tree, but she keeps me sane. If it wasn't for her making sure I eat and sleep, I would probably have dissolved into a pile of ink and pixels by now.

"Yeah, yeah", I mutter, looking away to hide the fact that I am slightly touched. "I'll try not to fall asleep in math".

"And don't let Yoshi-bakeru steal your lunch money!", she adds, her tone suddenly sharp. "That parasite! He always eats your side dishes!"

"He's my friend, not a bully", I roll my eyes. "And his name is Yoshi. Stop calling him a monster. Go to school, Aiko".

She waves frantically as she runs off down the left street, her school bag bouncing against her hip.

"Bye, Niisan! Make me proud! Write a good confession scene!", she screams over her shoulder.

I wince. Several pedestrians turn to look at me. I pull my collar up to hide my face.

I watch her go until she disappears around the corner. A small smile creeps onto my face, unbidden.

Then, I turn toward the hill.

My high school looms ahead. The massive concrete gate looks like the entrance to a fortress. Or a prison. Or just a really boring building where I have to spend eight hours pretending to be interested in calculus.

I take a deep breath. I roll my shoulders back. I fix my expression into one of practiced neutrality.

Time to put on the mask.

Goodbye, Twilight-Senpai.

Hello, Kenji Sato, the painfully average student who forgot his homework.

I start walking up the hill. The sun is too bright. My bag is too heavy.

Just another day in the life of a secret legend.