Chapter 1

Rain kept tapping the window like it wanted an answer.

I lay on the couch in our small apartment, staring at the ceiling, listening to the building breathe. The air smelled like damp concrete and detergent. Normal smells. Ordinary life smells. The kind that should feel safe.

My right arm rested across my stomach. I could move it. I could lift it. I could grip things. But it never felt right. Like it was attached to me out of obligation, not belonging.

In this world, power awakens in people like breathing. Sometimes early. Sometimes late. Sometimes never.

In my family, “never” was not supposed to exist.

I trained anyway. I swung a sword until my palms tore. I forced my body through drills that made my bones ache. I kept telling myself that effort would be rewarded, because the alternative was admitting that I might be the exception.

Then I became a first-year middle schooler, and the world taught me something I still hated.

Effort does not always matter.

I stopped counting the days after that. Numbers made things real. And reality was a place I didn’t want to stay in.

Almost two years.

The light in the kitchen was still on. Aoba was still awake.

She always was.

I closed my eyes and tried to sleep. Tried to pretend the rain was just rain and not the sound of time passing without me.

My chest felt tight. My right arm felt heavier. I shifted on the couch and heard the fabric creak.

Then everything went too quiet.

Not the kind of quiet that means peace. The kind that means something is about to happen.

I opened my eyes.

I was standing on water.

Not an ocean with waves and wind. Not a lake. Not anything that belonged to the real world. It was a flat, endless surface of dark water under a sky with no moon. No stars. No light. My feet did not sink. The water held me like glass.

A cold breeze brushed the back of my neck.

A voice came from behind me, calm, casual, like we were meeting at a station.

“So you are the one, young kid.”

I turned too fast, and my stomach dropped.

An old man stood a few steps away. Long gray hair. Simple clothing that looked like it belonged in a shrine. His eyes were not kind, but they weren’t cruel either. They felt ancient, like kindness and cruelty were too small for him.

My throat tightened.

“Who are you?”

He smiled a little, like my question was predictable.

“Who am I,” he repeated slowly. “Some people call me Creator. Some call me something else. Some don’t dare to name me at all.”

He stepped closer.

My body wanted to back away. My legs refused.

It felt like the water was holding my feet in place, but the pressure wasn’t coming from below. It was coming from him. From the air around him. From the fact that this place obeyed him.

He looked at me the way you look at an object you’re deciding whether to keep.

“Now look at yourself,” he said. “You became a stupid self-confined corner.”

My jaw clenched. I hated how easily he said it. Like he had been watching. Like my life was something he could judge with a sentence.

“This is a dream,” I said, because I needed it to be true.

“You can call it that,” he replied. “But you cannot escape it.”

My hands shook, half anger, half fear.

“Why do you even care about someone like me?” I demanded. “Judging from your presence, you’re far above me. I have nothing to do with gods. So bring me back.”

The old man tilted his head slightly.

“You want to go back,” he said, “to what?”

The question landed harder than it should have.

Back to the apartment. Back to the couch. Back to Aoba cleaning dishes at midnight. Back to pretending I was alive.

I didn’t answer.

He sighed, like he was disappointed by how human I was.

“What happened to you had to be very shocking,” he said. “Didn’t it.”

My stomach turned.

“No,” I lied.

He didn’t react. He didn’t argue. He didn’t need to.

He took another step forward, and the world changed. The ocean felt colder. The sky felt lower. Like something was pressing down on my skull.

“Tell me,” he said softly. “Do you remember the night your sister died.”

My heart dropped.

I swallowed. “Don’t.”

He kept going, voice smooth, almost bored.

“You trained,” he said. “You believed effort would awaken you. You believed you could protect them. Then you discovered helplessness.”

My right arm trembled as if the word itself reached inside it.

“I said stop.”

The old man’s eyes narrowed.

“You hate that word,” he said. “Because it is true.”

The water beneath my feet rippled for the first time.

My vision blurred at the edges, like the world was tearing.

I tried to breathe. In. Out. In. Out.

The old man raised a hand.

It felt like someone grabbed my head from the inside.

“Watch,” he said.

The ocean shattered.

Cold mountain wind slammed into my face.

The smell of pine and incense hit my nose so hard it almost made me gag. Lantern light flickered in the dark, warm and cruel. I stumbled, catching myself on stone steps.

A shrine.

The one Koushi loved.

My younger sister.

My throat tightened until it hurt.

This was not a normal memory. It was too sharp. Too real. The cold scraped my cheeks. The air burned my lungs. My skin felt every breeze.

I looked down at my hands.

They were smaller.

I was younger.

The old man’s voice floated behind me, distant, like a god speaking through water.

“This is what you buried.”

I turned.

And I saw them.

Koushi stood in the training ground, breathing hard. Sweat shone on her forehead. Her hands trembled as she tried to control her power. Soul power was strange. It was invisible, but heavy. It made the air feel like it was listening.

Beside her stood Kageyama Inori.

Rin.

Back then she was still Rin, loud eyes, confident posture. The kind of girl who moved like the world made room for her. She trained with Koushi like it was normal, like strength was something you could simply demand.

“All right,” Rin said. “Last one for today.”

Koushi nodded. She inhaled, then raised her hands. A faint shimmer clung to her fingers. Not light exactly, more like the world bending.

Koushi smiled, small and proud.

“Finally,” she muttered. “My soul control technique is actually pretty good today.”

I hated that I remembered that line.

Because it was the last time I heard her sound happy.

Koushi’s expression changed. Her smile vanished. Her eyes widened.

“What is this,” she whispered.

The air turned heavy.

Not fog. Not pressure before rain. Something deeper. A spiritual weight that made instinct scream without knowing why.

Rin’s posture shifted instantly. Her casual confidence sharpened into something colder.

“Who’s there?” Rin snapped.

The shadows in the middle of the training ground thickened like oil. Darkness gathered, swirling, condensing, and then tore open like a wound.

A portal.

A man stepped out.

He looked human in shape, but everything about him felt wrong, like a soul wearing a body as a disguise. The lantern flames flickered as if they wanted to die.

His eyes landed on Koushi.

“After a long search,” he said smoothly, “I finally found it.”

Koushi’s legs trembled. She tried to step back, but her feet caught on stone. Her breath turned uneven.

Rin moved in front of her without thinking.

“What do you mean?” Rin demanded. “Who are you?”

The thing smiled.

“You don’t need to know who I am,” it said. “Allow me to tell you one thing. It’s useless to escape.”

Koushi looked around like a trapped animal. Her eyes darted to the trees, the stone steps, the path down the mountain.

Then her eyes flicked toward me.

Toward the place where I stood.

My stomach dropped.

Because in my real memory, I wasn’t standing here.

I was late.

I was always late.

But in this projection, I was here. Close enough to hear, close enough to smell blood before it spilled.

The old man’s voice slid into my ear like poison.

“Do you see it,” he murmured. “Your favorite fantasy. If you were there.”

I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to deny it.

But my body would not move.

Rin’s aura exploded. Power surged around her like a storm.

Koushi’s voice shook.

“Rin, we can’t win.”

Rin didn’t look back.

“Then we don’t win,” Rin said. “We survive.”

The Great Commander laughed softly.

“Good,” it said. “Fight back, even though you know you’re about to die. That is why humans are fascinating.”

Rin attacked first.

Fast. Clean. Violent. Her blade cut the air. The ground cracked where she stepped. It was like watching lightning take human form.

The Great Commander lifted one hand.

Rin’s body slammed into the ground like she had been thrown by a giant.

Koushi screamed.

I tried to move. I tried to run. I tried to do anything.

My right arm refused. My legs didn’t listen.

That disgusting paralysis flooded my chest.

Helplessness.

Not just fear. Not just shock. Something deeper. Like my soul refused to act because it already believed the ending.

The Great Commander stepped toward Koushi.

“Your soul,” it said softly. “It’s good.”

Koushi backed away, breath coming in broken bursts. She raised her hands, trying to gather her power.

Rin pushed herself up, blood on her lip, eyes wide with fury.

“Run,” Rin hissed to Koushi. “Run now.”

Koushi hesitated for half a second.

Then she looked at me again.

Her eyes were wide.

And in them, I saw something that made my throat close.

Disappointment.

It cut deeper than fear.

It felt personal. Like judgment. Like she looked right at me and decided I was nothing.

My vision shook.

“No,” I whispered, but no sound came out.

Koushi wouldn’t look like that.

She wouldn’t.

The old man’s voice laughed softly.

“Isn’t it perfect,” he said. “That is what you believe. That is your truth.”

So it wasn’t her.

It was me.

My guilt wearing her face.

The Great Commander moved.

Everything after that became fragments.

A flash of darkness.

A sound like something tearing.

Heat.

A scream cut off too fast.

Koushi’s body fell.

No heroic last stand.

No miracle.

Just the sound of a body hitting stone, and the world becoming smaller.

Koushi’s lips moved.

“Sorry,” she whispered.

Her eyes flicked toward me one last time.

Even though I knew it was distorted, even though I knew this was my mind turning the knife, I felt it anyway.

I felt her leaving.

Rin screamed Koushi’s name and threw herself forward again, rage turning her movement wild.

The Great Commander ignored her.

It placed a hand near Koushi’s chest and spoke something under its breath.

I couldn’t see the soul, but I felt something rip.

Something invisible being stolen.

The Great Commander straightened.

“My work is done,” it said calmly.

It turned toward the portal.

Then, as if amused, it glanced in my direction.

Not at Rin.

Not at the shrine.

At me.

For a moment, my stomach went cold because it felt like it could see me. Like the distortion had slipped too close to reality.

Then everything snapped.

The shrine shattered like glass.

I was back on the ocean, on my knees, breathing like I had been drowning.

My hands clutched my head.

The old man watched me quietly.

I glared at him through wet eyes.

“You did that,” I said.

“I showed you,” he corrected. “The difference matters.”

“That wasn’t real.”

“It was real enough,” he replied. “You felt it. That is what matters.”

I wanted to hit him. I wanted to scream.

Instead my body shook, and I hated myself for shaking.

The old man crouched in front of me, too close, like he had earned the right.

“You buried your strength beneath your grief,” he said. “You built a coffin and climbed inside. Then you complained it was dark.”

My jaw clenched.

“What do you want from me?” I whispered. “Revenge? Redemption? None of it matters. She’s gone.”

The old man’s eyes softened, but not with kindness. More like pity mixed with boredom.

“I did not bring you here to force you,” he said. “I brought you because you are standing at an edge.”

He placed a hand on my shoulder.

It was warm. Unnaturally warm.

“You speak her name with pain,” he said. “Not fear. That is the first step.”

I swallowed hard.

“Then tell me how,” I said, voice cracking. “How do I begin.”

He smiled faintly.

“You already did.”

The ocean blurred. The sky dimmed. My eyelids grew heavy like the world was pulling me under.

“Your journey begins now,” the old man said. “You may fall. You may hate it. But if your will is strong, the strength within you will answer.”

My vision darkened.

His voice sharpened, suddenly heavier.

“But know this,” he said. “The power in you is not new. It is older. It is deeper. I merely gave it permission to awaken.”

His final words echoed as darkness swallowed me.

“Be careful, Hideki. The strength you seek may save you, or consume you.”

Then I heard it, faintly, like a voice calling from far away.

“Nii-san… Nii-san…”

I gasped.

I snapped awake on the floor.

My cheek pressed against the carpet. My shirt stuck to my back with sweat. The rain was still tapping the window like nothing happened.

My right arm ached.

Not normal soreness. It felt like something inside it had shifted.

I pushed myself up slowly, breathing hard.

“Heeeh…?” I muttered, blinking. “How did I end up down here.”

A small laugh came from the kitchen.

Aoba stood by the sink, drying her hands with a towel. Hair slightly messy. Eyes sharp despite the hour.

“You were hilarious,” she said. “You fell off the couch.”

I stared at her.

My throat felt tight. My mouth tasted like metal.

“Dreaming,” I whispered.

Aoba’s smile faded. She studied my face like she could read the parts I was trying to bury.

“You look like you saw a ghost,” she said.

I wanted to tell her. I wanted to say Koushi’s name. I wanted to say Rin was there. I wanted to say I couldn’t move again.

Instead, I swallowed it.

Aoba set the towel down.

“Nii-san,” she said quietly. “Today. You’re going to school.”

I blinked.

“What.”

“No,” she corrected. “Not tomorrow. Today. It’s already morning.”

I stared at her like she said something impossible.

“I can’t.”

“You can,” Aoba said, still quiet. That was the scary part. She didn’t need volume. “You just don’t want to.”

My chest tightened.

“Aoba.”

She stepped closer, and for a second, she looked tired in a way she never let herself show.

“Miyamoto Hideki…” she gently clapped my cheek with both of her hands to wake me up.

“You stayed home for almost two years,” she said. “I didn’t drag you out because I thought you needed time.”

I didn’t answer.

“But you are not healing,” she continued. “You are rotting.”

The words hit like a slap because they were true.

Aoba’s voice softened, just a little.

“I’m not going to watch you disappear while I’m still here,” she said.

Silence filled the apartment.

Rain tapped the window.

My right arm throbbed again, like it remembered the ocean.

I looked down at my hands.

I remembered the old man’s voice.

You don’t get to stay asleep forever.

Aoba exhaled slowly.

“Station at eight,” she said. “If you’re late, I will drag you.”

Her lips twitched like it was a joke, but her eyes were not joking.

Then she turned and went back to the kitchen like she had already decided my future.

Morning came too fast.

Sunlight felt wrong on my skin, like I didn’t deserve it.

Aoba stood at the entrance in her uniform, bag ready, hair neat, like she was going to war the way she always did.

I stood behind her, stiff, wearing mine like a costume that didn’t fit.

“You look like you’re going to faint,” Aoba said.

“I might.”

“Don’t,” she replied, simple.

We walked.

Outside was louder than I remembered. People moved like nothing had ever happened. Cars passed. A kid laughed. A dog barked.

I hated how normal it was.

Halfway to the station, I stopped.

Aoba turned.

“…Which way is school again,” I muttered.

Aoba stared at me.

Then she groaned like she had been waiting for this exact moment.

“I knew it,” she said, and kept walking. “Stay behind me.”

The station was crowded.

Aoba scanned faces like she was looking for threats.

"Ah... Rin-san. Touka-san. What a coincidence to run into you here."

Then a voice hit me like a punch.

“Heh? Hideki? This is the real you, right?”

I froze.

I turned.

Rin stood there, grinning like she had been waiting for two years just to confirm I still existed. Same eyes. Same energy. Same habit of taking up space without permission.

Beside her, Matsuda Touka leaned against a pillar, calm as ever, like noise was optional.

Rin stepped closer and poked my shoulder.

“You’re alive,” she said.

“…Yeah,” I managed.

“That’s good,” she said brightly. “I’d be annoyed if you died without telling me.”

Touka’s gaze moved over me once, slow and clinical, like he was checking a bruise.

“You look thinner,” he said.

“Thanks.”

“That wasn’t intended to be a compliment….”

Rin laughed. “See? He missed you. That’s his way of saying it.”

Touka looked at her and looked straight at me.

“Seriously, why now?” he asked.

The question didn’t sound angry. It sounded like he needed the answer to place me back into reality.

I swallowed. “Aoba forced me.”

Aoba didn’t deny it. She just exhaled through her nose like she was tired of being the villain.

Touka’s eyes flicked to her, then back to me.

“So, you didn’t decide on your own.”

“…I showed up,” I said.

“That’s not what I asked.”

Rin lifted both hands. “Touka, don’t scare him. He just came back.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Touka replied, still flat. “I’m just trying to confirm something.”

He took a small step closer. Not aggressive. Just enough that I felt pinned in place anyway.

“You’ve been gone almost two years,” he said. “No messages. No sightings. No nothing. So tell me. Are you here because you’re ready, or because you ran out of places to hide.”

My jaw tightened.

Aoba’s voice cut in, low but sharp.

“Touka-san.”

Touka didn’t look away from me.

“I didn’t mean to say that far, I’m just a bit worry,” Touka continued, “if he’s coming back, then he’s coming back into our mess too. I want to know what kind of state he’s in before the mess touches him.”

Rin’s grin softened. For the first time her voice lowered.

“He’s in a bad state,” she said. “You can see that.”

Touka nodded once.

“Then I’ll ask simple things,” he said to me. “Can you still swing a sword.”

I hesitated.

“Yeah,” I said, because the alternative was admitting I’d become nothing.

Touka watched my hesitation like it was an answer by itself.

“Can you run.”

“Yes.”

“Can you keep your head when something goes wrong.”

My throat tightened.

“I don’t know,” I admitted.

Touka’s expression didn’t change. But his voice got a little quieter.

“That’s fine,” he said. “Not knowing is better than lying.”

Rin leaned forward, peering at my face like she was trying to steal my mood and carry it for me.

“So,” she said, forcing brightness back into the air. “School. Same train. Same station. Same us. It’s like you never left.”

The word left made my stomach twist.

Touka glanced at the platform screen, then back at me.

“One more thing,” he said. “If you’re back, you don’t disappear again without saying anything. Understood.”

It wasn’t a threat.

It was a boundary.

“I mean…, am I wrong to be pissed because you’re gone just like that without telling us anything? Don’t you think we worried about you too? If you do that again, I’m gonna drag you out, hehe.”

I stared at him for a second, then nodded.

“…Understood.”

Rin smiled like she won a game. “See? Easy.”

Aoba’s shoulders relaxed by a fraction.

The train arrived.

We stepped in.

I sat by the window, hands clenched, trying not to shake. Aoba sat beside me, solid and quiet. Rin sat across from us, smiling like nothing could hurt her. Touka stood near the door, arms crossed, watching the city like he was already thinking ahead.

The city slid past outside.

Rin pointed out the window.

“Hey, Hideki. Look.”

I followed her finger and my breath caught.

A massive tower rose in the distance, silver and sharp, cutting into the skyline like someone stabbed the sky.

“That’s… new,” I murmured.

Rin smirked.

“Two years is a long time,” she said. “And the people on top changed.”

I swallowed.

“The Pillars,” I said, half question.

Rin’s eyes glinted.

“Yeah,” she replied. “The Pillars.”

Touka spoke, quiet but heavy.

“This era is different,” he said. “Not safer. Just different.”

Aoba’s gaze stayed forward, but her grip on her bag tightened slightly.

Rin leaned forward, elbows on her knees, like she was about to tell me gossip instead of something that could rewrite my life.

“Sixth Pillar, Hiyouchi Nami,” Rin said. “Fifth, Kageyama Tomoe.”

Aoba’s expression shifted at the name. Just a flicker.

Rin continued.

“Fourth, Yamasaki Fueta.”

Touka’s eyes narrowed a fraction.

Rin smiled wider.

“These people are not just strong,” she said. “They’re what happens when the world refuses to die quietly.”

The tower grew closer.

My right arm throbbed again, like it remembered the ocean. Like it remembered the old man’s hand on my shoulder.

I didn’t understand what any of it meant yet.

But I understood this.

I left my room.

I boarded a train.

I looked at a city that kept moving without me.

And for the first time in almost two years, I felt something other than shame.

Not hope.

Something sharper.

Something that whispered, quietly, in a voice that didn’t belong to me.

Wake up.