July 18, 2029.
2PM.
Ren Kisaragi had spent three years preparing for the end of the world—he just hadn't expected it to arrive while he was choosing cup ramen.
The phone's incessant buzzing dragged him from sleep like a particularly vindictive alarm clock. Forty-seven missed calls. All from the same number. His mother's contact photo glared at him from the screen—a woman whose disappointment could be weaponized if the military ever figured out how.
"Still alive," he muttered, sliding the phone to silent without answering. "Sorry to disappoint."
His apartment was a monument to mediocrity: six tatami mats of space cluttered with the detritus of a life spiraling gently downward. Empty convenience store bento boxes formed precarious towers. Light novel volumes lay scattered like casualties of war. His laptop sat open on the low table, screen dark but no doubt hiding another dozen emails from the university about his "academic situation."
Academic situation. Such a polite way to say 'complete failure.'
He stumbled to the laptop, squinting against the afternoon sun that had the audacity to shine through his blackout curtains. The email preview alone was enough:
URGENT: Final Notice Regarding Enrollment Status
Delete.
Re: Re: Re: Missing Final Examinations
Delete.
Career Counseling Services - We're Here to Help!
Delete with extreme prejudice.
"Three years of computer science down the drain," he said to the empty room. "Sixty-seven percent attendance rate. That's a passing grade in some countries, right?"
The room didn't answer. It never did.
He opened a new browser tab instead, muscle memory navigating to his usual isekai webnovel site. The latest chapter of My Cheat Skill Lets Me Rule the Apocalypse! had updated. At least fictional NEETs were having a good time.
Unlike me, they get overpowered abilities and harems. I get disappointed parents and student loan debt.
The news played on his phone—he'd forgotten to close the app. Something about unusual weather patterns worldwide. Scientists baffled. Conspiracy theorists ecstatic. The usual end-times playlist.
"—unprecedented atmospheric phenomenon observed simultaneously across all continents—"
"—purple aurora borealis visible even in equatorial regions—"
"—deep-sea expedition in Mariana Trench reports discovery of substance that 'violates known physics'—"
Ren snorted. "Violates known physics. Everything violates known physics if you're bad enough at physics."
Like him. Another deleted email confirmed it: Physics II - Final Grade: F
His stomach growled, reminding him that self-pity wasn't nutritionally complete. When had he last eaten actual food? Yesterday? Two days ago? Time blurred together when you had nowhere to be.
The clock read 2
PM. Perfect NEET hours.
He grabbed his wallet—twelve hundred yen and some lint—and shuffled toward the door. His reflection in the hallway mirror looked like a character designers would create to represent 'bad life choices.' White hair that defied both gravity and styling products stuck up at angles that challenged euclidean geometry. Three-day stubble. Dead eyes that had given up on finding meaning somewhere between failing Calculus III and watching his girlfriend walk away.
"I can't do this anymore, Ren. You're not even trying. You're just... existing."
Yui's last words, delivered with the kind of surgical precision that only someone who'd loved you could manage. Two months ago. He'd deleted her contact but kept the photos, because apparently he enjoyed emotional self-harm.
Today's mission parameters, he thought, forcing himself into the mock-military mindset that helped him function. Objective: Acquire sustenance. Secondary objective: Don't think about Yui. Tertiary objective: Remember to buy cup noodles for Grandpa's memorial.
Tomorrow marked four years since the old man died. The only person who'd never looked at Ren with disappointment. Who'd ruffle his white hair and say, "Different doesn't mean wrong, kid. Sometimes it just means the world hasn't caught up yet."
World still hasn't caught up, Grandpa. Starting to think it never will.