The school bell rang with a half-hearted buzz, as if even the building was tired of another long Tuesday. Students spilled from classrooms like water breaching a dam—some buzzing with energy, others dragging their feet like half-dead zombies.
Among them walked Lucas Grey, hands in pockets, bag slung over one shoulder, blending into the crowd with the ease of someone who had mastered the art of invisibility—of being perfectly, intentionally average.
He wasn't popular.
He wasn't bullied either.
He wasn't a top scorer, nor was he the class clown.
Just a student with average grades, average friends, and an unremarkable life—and that was exactly how he liked it.
"Yo, Lucas!"
He turned just in time to catch a packet of chips flying at him. It was from Mark, his friend since middle school—loud, overly dramatic, and obsessed with conspiracy theories about aliens living under supermarkets.
Lucas caught the chips effortlessly. "This is a bribe. You want help with your homework again, don't you?"
"Guilty," Mark grinned. "What would I do without your mildly-above-average math skills?"
Lucas snorted. "Repeat a year, probably."
They laughed, walking together toward the school gate. They passed a group of students playing soccer, others gossiping near the fence, and a teacher desperately trying to calm down a squirrel that had invaded the staff room.
Just another day. Just the way he needed it to be.
After they split ways, Lucas took the shortcut home through a quiet alley behind a row of houses, humming to himself. He kicked a pebble, narrowly missing a cat that glared at him like it now had a personal vendetta.
By 5:20 PM, he reached the familiar small two-story house he called home.
He unlocked the door and stepped inside.
"I'm home!" he called out.
"In the kitchen!" came the reply from his mom.
He walked in and found his parents setting the table. His mother, Marissa, worked as a customer support team leader for a tech company—she could handle three angry customers while brewing coffee and yelling at Lucas to clean his room. His father, Gerald, was an accountant at a mid-sized logistics firm—quiet, methodical, and always misplacing his glasses.
"How was school?" Marissa asked, ladling soup into bowls.
Lucas shrugged. "Fine. Math teacher gave us a surprise quiz. I only panicked twice, so... progress."
His dad chuckled. "Panic in moderation. That's the spirit."
Dinner was simple—rice, miso soup, stir-fried veggies, and grilled chicken. The kind of meal that smelled like home.
They ate and chatted about little things—office gossip, neighborhood updates, and a dog from two houses over that had somehow learned how to open mailboxes.
Afterward, Lucas helped clean the dishes, then washed up and retreated to his room.
It was nothing fancy—single bed, study desk, bookshelves filled with more novels than textbooks, and posters of fantasy games he never had time to finish.
He flopped onto his bed, arms spread like a defeated knight, staring at the ceiling as if it might answer the question he hadn't asked.
Then his eyes drifted toward the wall.
Two calendars hung side by side.
One was digital, cold and factual: April 11th.
The other, hand-made, was personal—a countdown from 1,825 days. Now, only one page remained.
Lucas stood up slowly, walking toward the countdown calendar.
He stared at it for a moment. The quiet hum of his room made the silence feel heavier.
"One more day," he whispered.
Then he turned off the light, lay back down, and closed his eyes.
Tomorrow…
Everything would begin.