Prologue: Dull Reality and Radiant Tales
One day, seven colossal spears descended from the far reaches of the universe.
These weapons, known as the Yvelshaska Spears, were said to be the greatest trial cast down by a wrathful god upon an arrogant and insolent humanity.
The spears unleashed two types of unknown particles that swiftly engulfed the Earth.
One, the dark particle Goble (Death Essence), gathered in the planet’s stratosphere, forming an invisible domain called the Delta Server (Field of Non-Interference Poison).
The other, the radiant particle Canaan (Holy Essence), coalesced near the spears, creating another imperceptible realm known as the Fiona Server (Shining Sea of Counterattack).
The former birthed grotesque monsters, while the latter, true to its name, opened a path for humanity’s counteroffensive.
And so, by drawing upon the ancient power of the Fiona Server, humanity developed Cosmo Gear (Radiant Divine-Arms)—devices that granted them the strength to stand against the monstrous aberrations. Blah, blah, blah.
…Too many proper nouns. It’s almost laughable, imagining a bunch of researchers racking their brains to come up with names that would appeal to middle schoolers.
But in his world, such peculiar terminology didn’t exist. This was just a flight of fancy, a story he’d read on some ordinary blue afternoon.
In Shibuya, people clad in trendy fashions captured their latest drinks and meals on their smartphones, seeking thrills in theme parks when they craved something beyond the mundane.
Japan was mostly peaceful. Occasionally, news of foreign civil wars clouded people’s minds, while variety shows featured funny people saying funny things. Dramas sometimes depicted giant monsters emerging from the sea, but in reality, the biggest uproar came from a seal appearing in a river.
People fretted over packed trains the next morning and lamented impending final exams. But there were no young warriors dancing in a dazzling battlefield, no impossibly strong boys striving for a slow life, and no kind-hearted villainesses winning over those around them.
「Ah, if it isn’t Nakahara.」
「…O-oh, Kiyosato. L-long time no see.」
And so, in this drab reality—living in an even drabber corner of it—was Nakahara Kasane.
Now twenty-one, with university nearing its end, he stood at the very back of a bus stop line, blending seamlessly into the backdrop of society. As the girl waved and approached, he replied, acutely aware of the eyes around him.
Sweat poured out more than usual. Of all times to forget a handkerchief—this was the worst.
Kiyosato Akane. A classmate since middle school and a fellow otaku.
Since they went to different universities, this was their first meeting in three years—since graduation. To put it crudely, she’d become quite the looker.
Her clothes and bag were far more stylish and casual than the familiar uniform she used to wear. Her hair had grown out, now dyed a light brown. Her figure, too, seemed subtly fuller. The once-pure girl had matured into a confident woman.
「Nakahara, you haven’t changed a bit.」
Those words, tossed out after a few polite exchanges, lodged a tiny thorn in Kasane’s heart. Whether she meant anything by it or not, the sting lingered.
The bus arrived. They boarded, exchanging idle chatter about their respective universities.
As usual, the bus was mostly empty. He offered her the window seat in the back, but she waved it off with a laugh—「Don’t play the gentleman now.」—so he took it himself.
With the driver’s muffled announcements in the background, the bus began its slow climb up the slope.
「What’s that?」
His eyes fell on the pendant dangling from Akane’s neck. She popped it open, revealing a small photo inside, though the glare from the window made it hard to see clearly.
His chest tightened.
「Y-your boyfriend?」
「Well, something like that. Someone precious to me. Kinda cheesy, huh?」
Kasane forced a smile, mumbling some vague reply as he turned his gaze to the gray cityscape flowing past the window.
Kiyosato Akane had always been the one he longed for. And back in high school, she might’ve felt the same.
All it would’ve taken was one step forward. But he’d hesitated—too afraid to act—and let it slip away. Now, his heart squirmed with a dull, sickening ache.
He’d known this was coming ever since they drifted apart. But facing it head-on still hurt.
Akane’s phone buzzed mid-conversation, flashing a name—probably a guy’s.
「You’ve got a call.」
「…Ah, probably just my family. They freak out if I don’t reply right away. I’ll call them back later.」
Her mother was a single parent, and if he remembered right, she’d remarried just before graduation. Kasane couldn’t see her expression as she tucked the phone away, but her voice was cheerful.
Everything was going well for her. Family, studies, love—everything.
「Life’s just too much sometimes, y’know?」
(What the hell am I even doing?) 「…Yeah. Sure is.」
His dry reply to her familiar catchphrase only underscored the truth.
He really was just… some dull nobody.
His parents were long gone, claimed by illness. A broke college student scraping by on part-time wages and what little inheritance remained.
He had friends—not many, but enough. Guys and girls who shared his hobbies.
No money, but no starvation either. Not lonely. Not despairing. Just… stuck.
He hated standing out, resented those who shone at the center of life’s stage, while he lurked in dusty corners with practiced detachment.
A man who felt perpetually strangled by the air itself.
If this world had a protagonist, he’d be one of those nameless mob characters who die offscreen in some incident. No—not even that. He wouldn’t even appear in the story’s margins.
But there were countless others like him. Nothing special.
Nothing had changed since back then. And precisely because so many others lived the same way, his youth felt hollow.
No dreams. No desire to strive. No great rises or falls—just being dragged along by time, doing only what was necessary to survive.
A life as murky and translucent as the sky beyond the bus window.
He hated that faded existence. Hated himself for trudging through it so complacently.
Even if he wished to shine like a hero, he loathed the part of himself that settled for the mundane.
If he died now, who would weep for him? Who would collapse in grief?
If only there were even one person who would—
「————」
「Huh?」
A faint voice—Akane’s?—reached his ears just as—
—The bus lurched violently.
What the—? Before he could even process it, his vision reeled.
Through the chaos, he barely caught sight of the sharp curve ahead.
Passengers shrieked, the sound piercing his skull.
Then came the grinding screech of metal tearing into asphalt, drowning out everything else.
A weightless sensation. His organs lurched sickeningly. Something cold splattered against his arm.
And then—
Static swallowed his sight.
Agony devoured his body.
Suffocation. Terror. Pain—clawing into him before rapidly fading, as if ripped away at high speed.
His head pounded, but even that felt distant, like alarm bells ringing muffled across a river.
When his swimming vision cleared slightly, what he saw was—
The bus, mangled into an unrecognizable shape.
His own bloodied arm, flung through the shattered window, bent at a grotesque angle against the pavement.
The sky alone remained oblivious to the carnage below, stretching clear and vast overhead. Yet its pale, dull blue seemed to mirror the emptiness of Kasane’s own life.
His own pained gasps sounded unnervingly distant. The glass embedded in his hand might as well have been on the other side of a screen. A pain like drowsiness tugged at his consciousness, pulling him toward the abyss.
Crawling through the chaos, he dragged himself forward.
(…What am I even doing?)
He asked himself again. It was absurd—clinging to life when he’d built nothing worth preserving.
Yet when he saw Akane collapsed ahead, he wanted, at the very least, to know she was safe.
She was wiping her bloodied hand against her neck. Her wounds seemed shallower than his. A flicker of relief.
「Ki…yo…sa…to… 」
Kasane reached out to her.
Akane… was clutching her pendant tightly.
His outstretched hand froze.
He realized it then—he wasn’t needed.
The one she’d want holding her when she woke in the hospital… wasn’t him anymore.
The emptiness was crushing. All because he’d run from that moment years ago.
There was no one for him. No one to weep and embrace him if he woke.
Suddenly, his body grew heavier. His eyes, fixed on his limp hand against the pavement, slowly began to close.
So tired… so tired… sinking into an endless, dark tunnel.
(…What a lonely life. I hate this kind of ending…)
Alone in the silent dark, he thought:
If there was another life after this—
He wanted to shine. Like the people bustling through the city, like the radiant protagonists in stories.
He wanted to live a life he could be proud of. A life where someone needed him.
To strive for it. To live without regrets.
And so he’d never feel this way again—so his deathbed wouldn’t be steeped in regret—if he ever loved someone, he’d tell them without holding back.
No more running. He’d face them and never look away.
With that wish—and one last prayer for Akane’s safety—Nakahara Kasane stepped into the tunnel.
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