prolougue - the weight of waiting

Enshin wakes before dawn in his parents' modest home. Before his eyes fully open, he buckles worn weight straps to his wrists and ankles. The ritual is automatic, ingrained from months of repetition. His body is lean and athletic, built not from gym machines but from stubborn, brute-force training.

He moves through the house with purpose. Weighted lunges from kitchen to hallway. Pull-ups on a bar mounted in a doorframe. He times himself doing dishes, sweeping floors, folding laundry. Each chore becomes a trial. His mind frames breakfast as a quest, washing dishes as endurance training, sweeping as discipline worthy of a chosen hero.

His internal monologue is rapid and enthusiastic, full of isekai tropes he has absorbed from countless anime episodes. He imagines a magic circle appearing beneath his feet, a goddess calling his name, a truck driven by fate itself arriving to transport him. He is funny not because he is foolish, but because he is completely sincere. He has decided the universe will notice him.

His parents are at work. The house is quiet. He keeps it clean, helps around the home, refuses to be lazy even while waiting for a life that has not started yet. The weight straps chafe and irritate, but that discomfort fuels him. If he hates wearing them, that hatred becomes determination.

Evening arrives. He stands on the front porch, staring at the empty street with coiled, expectant energy. He waits for something to happen. Nothing does.

He goes back inside. His expression is not defeated but patient, the patience of someone who has decided the wait is temporary. Tomorrow, he will wear the straps again. Tomorrow, he will train. Tomorrow, the magic might come.