1 Unread Message

Isamu leaned back in his chair, eyes fixed on the screen.

The faint glow of Kage kara no Taitō lit up the room as his character moved through the dark terrain with practiced ease.

Another late-night session.

Another quiet escape.

No voices. No expectations. No one watching him.

Just the game.

Just him.

A small notification blinked in the corner of the screen.

[1 Unread Message]

Isamu frowned slightly.

“…Who now?”

He clicked his tongue under his breath.

I just wanted some peace tonight.

For a moment, he considered ignoring it. Messages weren’t uncommon—but they were rarely worth his time. Random players asking for tips. Invitations he never accepted.

Still…

“…Whatever.”

He opened it.

We are currently looking for a player in your position to join our party.
We’ve observed your playstyle and believe you would be a good fit.

Isamu blinked.

“…Observed?”

He leaned closer to the screen, eyes narrowing slightly.

At the bottom of the message—

Lost Knights

“…That name…”

It felt familiar.

He minimized the chat and quickly opened the ranking page.

A few clicks later—

“…Top 10?”

His eyes widened slightly.

The team was ranked among the top players in the entire game.

Not just skilled.

Elite.

“…Why me?”

That didn’t make sense.

There were countless players better known than him. Players who streamed, who had followers, who actively played in teams.

He was just… solo.

Always had been.

Still, curiosity got the better of him.

He opened Guildnet, the community platform he usually browsed,—a place where players shared clips, news, and discussions.

Typing “Lost Knights” into the search bar, results flooded the screen.

The first post caught his attention immediately.

[Announcement: Lost Knights Recruiting New Member]

“…So it’s real.”

He clicked it.

Apparently, their main position player had left the team to study abroad and wouldn’t be returning.

Scrolling down—

Comments. Thousands of them.

Requests. Applications. Fans practically begging to join.

Pick me!
I’ve been following your team for years!
I can fill any role!

Isamu exhaled softly.

“So many people…”

His gaze drifted back to the original message.

“And they reached out to me directly?”

That didn’t sit right.

“…Weird.”

He leaned back in his chair again, staring at the ceiling this time.

No.

There was no reason for him to get involved.

“I’m solo,” he muttered. “I don’t need to deal with people here too.”

School was already exhausting enough.

Why would he bring that into the only place he could escape it?

“…Yeah.”

He closed the laptop.

The room fell silent again.

And just like that—

He chose to ignore it.

For now.

—

The next morning felt no different. Same uniform. Same routine. Same faces.

And yet—

Something about it felt heavier.

Isamu stepped into the hallway, the usual noise surrounding him. Conversations, laughter, the constant movement of students starting their day.

“Morning, Hokoyumi!”
“Hey, you’re early today.”
“Did you finish the assignment?”

Voices came and went.

Familiar. Predictable. Empty.

Isamu gave the usual responses—small nods, short answers, nothing that invited conversation to continue.

Just enough to keep things normal.

Just enough to keep distance.

—

As he approached his classroom, he slowed slightly.

Voices.

Not directed at him, but close enough.

“…Did you hear what happened yesterday?”

Isamu paused just outside the door.

“…Yeah. The principal called Hoshino-sensei this morning.”

His hand stilled on the door handle.

“…Apparently someone reported him.”

A small laugh followed.

“Well, obviously. No way he gets to talk to Hokoyumi like that.”

Another voice chimed in.

“We had to do something. We’ve got his back, after all!”

Isamu’s grip tightened slightly.

“…My back?” he thought.

He hadn’t asked for anything.

No one had even asked what he thought.

They just… decided.

For him.

Again.

“…Seriously,” one of them continued, “if we didn’t step in, who knows what would’ve happened?”

“Yeah, we’re just looking out for him.”

Looking out for him.

Isamu lowered his gaze.

So this is what they call friendship…how hypocritical.

They weren’t protecting him.

They were protecting the idea of him.

The image.

The name.

Not Hokoyumi Isamu.

Just Hokoyumi.

—

He slid the door open and stepped inside.

The conversation died instantly.

As always eyes turned toward him.

Watching. Measuring. Waiting.

“Morning,” someone said a little too quickly.

“Hey, Hokoyumi,” another added.

Isamu nodded slightly and walked to his seat.

Nothing had changed.

—

Classes passed.

Voices blurred together.

Words he didn’t care about.

Faces he didn’t trust.

Even when someone patted his shoulder during lunch—

“Don’t worry, Hokoyumi. We handled it.”

Handled it.

As if he were something that needed managing.

Not a person.

Not someone who could decide for himself.

Just… something to maintain.

Isamu forced a small smile.

“…Thanks.”

The word felt empty the moment it left his mouth.

—

By the time he returned home, the silence greeted him again.

The same silence as every day.

But now—

It felt colder.

He dropped his bag by the door and walked straight to his room.

No hesitation.

No second thoughts.

He sat down in front of his laptop.

For a moment, he just stared at it.

Then—

He opened it.

The screen lit up the dark room.

Kage kara no Taitō.

A familiar comfort.

A place where things made sense.

Where people were just players.

Not expectations. Not images. Not names.

Just… themselves.

The message was still there, waiting.

“…Of course it is.”

Isamu let out a quiet breath.

Here nothing moved unless he chose it to.

His cursor hovered over the message.

Then he clicked.

The words appeared again.

Simple. Direct.

An invitation.

From people who didn’t know him.

Who didn’t expect anything from him.

Who only saw how he played.

“…At least here,” he muttered softly,
“no one knows who I am.”

No expectations. No pressure.

No one pretending.

Just players.

Just a game.

His finger paused over the keyboard.

For a moment—

He hesitated.

Then…

He started typing.

I’ll join.

A brief pause.

Then—

Send.

The message disappeared.

And just like that—

Something changed.

Not in the world around him.

But in the one he chose to enter.