The Boy Who Was Not Chosen PART-1

There are people who are born surrounded by love.
There are people who grow up believing that someone will always be waiting for them.
And then there are people like me.
People who learn how to live before they ever learn what it means to be loved.
My name is Akira Nakamura.
I was eighteen years old, a high school student living in Osaka, and, as far as I knew, there was nothing particularly special about me.
I was not a genius.
I was not an athlete.
I was not popular.
I did not possess a hidden talent that would suddenly change my life.
I was simply a boy who woke up every morning, went to school, worked until late, and returned to a small apartment that never felt completely like home.
That morning began like any other.
My alarm rang at 5:30 a.m.
I opened my eyes, stared at the ceiling, and wondered whether five more minutes of sleep could somehow solve all my problems.
It could not.
So I turned off the alarm and got out of bed.
Another day had begun.
And I had no idea it would be one of the last ordinary days of my life.The room was still dark when I stepped out of bed.
The alarm clock displayed 5:36 a.m.
I had lost six minutes.
That was acceptable.
Six minutes would not destroy my schedule.
Probably.
I folded my blanket, placed it at the side of the futon, and opened the curtains. Osaka was still wrapped in the pale darkness before sunrise. A few windows in the neighboring buildings were illuminated, while the streets below remained mostly quiet.
I stood there for a moment, watching the city.
Somewhere, people were still sleeping.
Somewhere, people were already preparing for work.
And somewhere, someone was probably complaining about having to wake up early.
I understood that person.
Unfortunately, I was not allowed to join them.
"First, breakfast."
Talking to myself had become a habit.
It was not a particularly good habit, but there was no one around to complain about it.
I walked into the small kitchen and opened the refrigerator.
Inside were half a carton of milk, two eggs, a few vegetables, and a container of leftover rice.
I stared at the contents.
"...A luxurious feast."
The refrigerator offered no response.
As expected.
I took out the rice and placed it in the microwave. While it heated, I checked the small notebook beside the kitchen counter.
It contained my weekly expenses.
Food.
Transportation.
School supplies.
Electricity.
Water.
Rent.
Every amount was written carefully.
Every mistake mattered.
I opened my wallet and counted the money inside.
Then I counted it again.
The result remained unchanged.
"Still poor."
I closed the wallet.
There was no point being disappointed by something I already knew.
The microwave beeped.
I prepared a simple breakfast of rice, a fried egg, and miso soup from an instant packet. It was not impressive, but it was warm, filling, and inexpensive.
That made it perfect.
I sat at the small table near the window.
There were two chairs.
Only one was being used.
The second chair had been there for as long as I could remember.
It belonged to my grandfather.
Daichi Nakamura.
He had found me when I was a baby and raised me as his own. At least, that was what I had been told. I had no memories of my biological parents, and I had never felt much curiosity about them.
My grandfather had been my entire family.
He had taught me how to cook, how to clean, how to repair broken things, and how to avoid wasting money.
He had also taught me that burnt rice could still be eaten if you added enough seasoning.
That lesson had questionable value.
But I remembered it.
I looked at the empty chair.
"...Good morning, Grandpa."
The words left my mouth before I could stop them.
The room remained silent.
I lowered my eyes to the breakfast in front of me.
My grandfather had died eight years ago.
I knew that.
I had accepted it.
At least, I thought I had.
But sometimes, ordinary habits survived long after the people who created them were gone.
For a moment, I imagined him sitting across from me, complaining that I was eating too quickly.
Chew your food properly, Akira.
You'll hurt your stomach.
And stop staring at the clock while you eat.
I almost smiled.
Then the image disappeared.
The second chair was empty.
I finished my breakfast, washed the dishes, and placed them on the drying rack. Before leaving the kitchen, I checked the gas stove twice and the front door once.
My school uniform hung beside the entrance.
It was clean, though the fabric had begun to show signs of age. I put it on, adjusted my tie, and checked my reflection in the narrow mirror.
Black hair.
Tired eyes.
A face that looked older than eighteen on some mornings.
"...You look terrible."
I paused.
"Thank you."
Again, no one answered.
I picked up my schoolbag and stepped outside.
The morning air was cold against my face.
The city was beginning to wake.
And another ordinary day of my life had officially started.The neighborhood was quiet when I stepped onto the street.
The sky above Osaka had begun to brighten, changing from dark blue to a pale shade of gray. The streetlights were still glowing, though the sunlight was slowly making them unnecessary.
A bicycle passed me.
Then another.
An elderly woman walked toward a nearby convenience store, carrying a reusable shopping bag.
The world was waking up one person at a time.
I adjusted the strap of my schoolbag and began walking toward the station.
My school was not close enough to reach comfortably on foot, but taking the train every day cost money. Since I was already trying to reduce my expenses, I usually walked part of the way and took a cheaper route from there.
It added approximately twenty minutes to my journey.
Twenty minutes was not a long time.
Unless you were tired.
Then twenty minutes became an enemy.
I passed a row of small houses, a closed ramen shop, and a vending machine standing beneath a faded advertisement. The machine's lights were brighter than the morning around it.
I stopped in front of it.
Coffee.
Tea.
Water.
A sports drink that cost more than it deserved.
I reached into my pocket, felt the coins, and stepped away.
"Not today."
The vending machine continued shining as if it had not heard me.
That was probably for the best.
At the next intersection, the traffic light turned red. I waited beside a group of students wearing uniforms from different schools.
Two girls were discussing a television drama.
A boy was showing his friend something on his phone.
Another student was yawning so dramatically that I wondered whether he had slept at all.
Their conversations drifted around me without ever including me.
I did not mind.
At least, that was what I told myself.
The light turned green.
Everyone began crossing.
I followed them.
The streets became busier as I approached the station. Buses stopped beside the sidewalk, bicycles moved between pedestrians, and office workers hurried toward their destinations while staring at their phones.
Osaka was already full of people who had somewhere to be.
I wondered what it would feel like to have someone waiting for me at the end of the day.
Not because they needed something.
Not because I had promised to complete a task.
Not because they were checking whether I had paid a bill.
Just because they wanted to see me.
I quickly dismissed the thought.
It was too early in the morning to become sentimental.
Besides, I had a test today.
That was a much more immediate threat.
When I reached the station, I checked the time.
7:18 a.m.
I still had enough time.
I entered the station, passed through the ticket gate, and stood on the platform with the other students.
The train arrived several minutes later.
As the doors opened, everyone moved forward at once.
I stepped inside and found a place near the window.
The train began moving.
Buildings slid past the glass. Signs, rooftops, electrical wires, and narrow streets blurred together. For a while, I watched the city without thinking about anything in particular.
Then my phone vibrated.
A message from my part-time job.
Can you work an extra shift tonight?
I stared at it.
My first thought was to say no.
My second thought was to check my wallet.
My third thought was to calculate how much the extra shift would help.
I typed a reply.
Yes. I can work.
The response came almost immediately.
Thank you. See you later.
I placed the phone back in my pocket.
The train continued toward school.
Outside the window, the morning sun finally appeared between the buildings.
For a brief moment, its light reflected across the glass and illuminated my face.
I looked at my reflection.
A boy in a school uniform.
A schoolbag resting against his knees.
A tired expression.
Nothing unusual.
Nothing remarkable.
Just another student traveling to school.
I turned away from the window.
At the time, I believed that an ordinary life was something that continued simply because the days kept arriving.
I did not yet understand how fragile an ordinary day could be.By the time I reached school, the corridors were already filled with noise.
Shoes struck the floor.
Classroom doors opened and closed.
Students called out to one another from opposite ends of the hallway.
Someone was laughing loudly near the stairs.
Someone else was complaining about an upcoming exam.
It was the usual morning chaos.
I preferred it when the school was quiet.
Unfortunately, arriving early enough to enjoy silence required waking up even earlier, and I had already made several sacrifices for education.
There was no need to sacrifice my remaining sleep as well.
I entered my classroom and walked toward my seat near the window.
"Morning, Nakamura."
A boy passing by gave me a brief nod.
"Morning."
He continued walking before either of us had a reason to say anything else.
That was the nature of most of my relationships at school.
We recognized each other.
We exchanged greetings.
We occasionally shared notes or answers about homework.
But recognition was not the same as familiarity.
I placed my schoolbag beside my desk and sat down.
The classroom was gradually filling up.
A group of boys near the back were discussing a popular game. Two girls were comparing pictures on their phones. Someone had opened a window, allowing the cool morning air to enter.
I took out my notebook and checked the schedule.
Japanese.
Mathematics.
Modern Society.
Physical Education.
Then a test during the final period.
I stared at the last item.
"...A wonderful way to end the day."
"Are you talking to yourself again?"
I looked up.
A girl standing beside the next row of desks was looking at me with mild amusement.
"No."
"You definitely were."
"I was speaking to the test."
"That makes even less sense."
"The test started the conversation."
She blinked.
Then she laughed softly.
"Right. Of course."
I gave a small shrug and returned to my notebook.
She walked away, apparently satisfied with that explanation.
I was not particularly good at conversations.
Not because I disliked people.
I simply never knew how much of myself I was supposed to reveal.
If someone asked about my weekend, I could say I had worked.
If someone asked about my family, I could say I lived alone.
If someone asked what I enjoyed doing, I could say sleeping.
None of those answers encouraged a second question.
That was usually convenient.
A few minutes later, three boys entered the classroom together. One of them glanced toward me before leaning closer to the others.
I could not hear the beginning of their conversation, but I heard one sentence clearly.
"Does Nakamura actually live by himself?"
"Probably."
"That's strange."
"Maybe he has relatives somewhere."
"Then why does nobody ever come to school for him?"
Their voices lowered.
I returned my attention to the notebook.
The page contained a list of mathematical formulas.
Formulas were easier to understand than people.
If the numbers were correct, the answer would eventually make sense.
People were different.
You could do everything correctly and still receive an answer you did not understand.
"Hey, Nakamura."
I looked up again.
One of the boys was standing beside my desk.
"Did you finish the math homework?"
"Yes."
"Can I see number seven?"
I handed him my notebook.
He scanned the page.
"Thanks. You're a lifesaver."
"Just don't copy the entire thing."
"I won't."
He paused.
"Probably."
I stared at him.
He grinned and returned to his seat.
I watched him leave.
That was another thing about school.
People could think you were strange and still ask you for homework answers.
Human relationships were surprisingly efficient when they involved mathematics.
The bell rang.
The classroom gradually settled down as the teacher entered.
I placed my notebook on the desk and looked toward the window.
The sky was clear.
The sunlight rested against the rooftops beyond the school grounds.
Everything looked ordinary.
The kind of ordinary that people rarely appreciated until it was gone.
"Good morning, everyone," the teacher said.
The class responded in a scattered chorus.
I lowered my eyes toward the textbook.
Another lesson began.
Another hour passed.
And somewhere in that ordinary classroom, a small part of my life was moving toward a future I could not yet imagine.The first two lessons passed without anything particularly memorable happening.
I answered a few questions, copied notes from the board, and tried not to fall asleep during Modern Society.
The last part was more difficult than expected.
My eyelids had begun to grow heavy when someone gently tapped the back of my head with a pen.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
I continued looking at the textbook.
Tap.
"...If you do that again, I'm going to report you for academic harassment."
A quiet laugh came from behind me.
"Academic harassment? That's a new one."
I turned around.
A boy with short brown hair was leaning back in his chair, smiling as though he had just discovered something entertaining.
His name was Ren Takahashi.
He had been my classmate since the beginning of high school.
Unlike most people, Ren had never seemed particularly interested in the rumors surrounding me.
He did not ask why I lived alone.
He did not ask where my parents were.
He did not look at me as if I were some kind of unsolved mystery.
He simply talked to me.
Sometimes too much.
"Did you sleep at all last night?" he asked.
"A little."
"How little?"
"Enough to confirm that I am technically alive."
"That doesn't answer the question."
"Then the answer is classified."
Ren leaned closer.
"You worked again, didn't you?"
I looked back at the textbook.
"That information is also classified."
"You know, normal people just say yes."
"Normal people have different operating systems."
Ren laughed.
The teacher glanced toward us.
"Takahashi. Nakamura. Is there something amusing?"
"No, sir," Ren answered immediately.
I nodded.
"Absolutely nothing."
The teacher narrowed his eyes.
"Then pay attention."
"Yes, sir."
As soon as the teacher turned back toward the board, Ren whispered:
"You're terrible at lying."
"I wasn't lying."
"You said absolutely nothing."
"That was the truth."
Ren covered his mouth to keep from laughing.
I returned to my notes, but the corner of my mouth lifted slightly.
Ren noticed.
He always noticed.
During the lunch break, the classroom became noisy again. Chairs scraped against the floor, lunch boxes opened, and students gathered into their usual groups.
Ren pulled his chair beside my desk.
"Come on."
"Where?"
"Lunch."
"I have lunch."
"I can see that."
"Then why are you asking?"
"Because you're eating alone."
"I'm aware."
Ren stared at me.
I stared back.
Finally, he sighed.
"You're surprisingly difficult to invite anywhere."
"You invited me to eat. I declined."
"You didn't decline. You questioned the structure of the invitation."
"That sounds like a decline with additional research."

Ren shook his head.