Akero Nanami sat in the last row, alone. History class dragged on, the teacher's voice nothing more than a dull hum in the background. His eyes wandered to the window, tracing the heavy gray clouds that hung low over the city. Rain was coming.
The classroom buzzed with quiet chatter—muffled laughter from the boys in the front, the soft giggles of girls nudging each other as they shared pictures on their phones. No one ever spoke to Akero. They didn't bully him, didn't tease him. They simply ignored him.
Sometimes, he thought that even teasing would be better. At least then they would notice him. Silence, however, made him invisible.
Just another ordinary day, he sighed inwardly.
When the bell rang, the classroom erupted. Students spilled out into the hall like a flood, their laughter echoing against the walls. Akero waited until the room emptied, then gathered his things at his own pace and headed home.
By the time he stepped outside, the city was drenched. Streetlamps cast fractured reflections across the slick pavement, and the damp air smelled of ozone and rain. His footsteps echoed softly as he walked the narrow streets, hood pulled low, hands buried deep in his pockets.
His mind replayed the scene from class—their laughter, the easy way they connected with one another. Something twisted in his chest.
He wanted that. Someone who would see him, understand him. Maybe even love him. But then came the familiar sting: Who would ever look twice at the quiet weirdo from the back row?
The rain thickened, drumming against asphalt. But as he walked, something felt… off. No cars. No dogs barking. No rustling wind. Only the hollow sound of his own steps.
Why can't I have what they have?
He stopped.
And then it happened.
The ground ahead shimmered, as though reality itself had been stirred. Darkness bled from a jagged crack in the air, a lightless glow spilling into the street.
A metallic wail echoed, chilling his blood. The rift widened, stretching into an unnatural oval. From within stepped a figure cloaked in shadow, its face hidden except for two burning red eyes.
"So, you are Akero Nanami," the figure said. Its voice was a whisper that seemed to echo through empty cathedrals.
Akero's breath caught. His body refused to move, legs heavy as stone.
"W-who are you?" he managed to stammer.
The figure's laugh was low, cold.
"I am Vorath, servant to the Unknown—the King of the Dead. I come from another world to deliver a message: my master will destroy everything you hold dear."
Akero's stomach clenched. Images of his parents, his small apartment, the fragile warmth of home—everything—flashed through his mind. Fear and anger tangled in his chest.
"Why… why tell me this?" he demanded, voice cracking.
Something inside him shattered. Loneliness, frustration, despair—all the emotions he had bottled up for years erupted. His heart pounded so hard it roared in his ears.
And then—time stopped.
The rain halted midair, a droplet suspended inches from his cheek. The world froze in silence. Akero stared in disbelief at his own hand, raised as if he had silenced the storm.
It lasted only three seconds. But it was enough.
Vorath smiled. "I was not mistaken. The Source has awakened."
He stepped closer. "Listen carefully. My master grants you a choice. You have ten years to master your power. Ten years to grow strong. When that time ends, you will face him. Do you accept?"
Slowly, he lifted his head. Determination sparked in his eyes.
"If that's the only way to save them… I accept."
Vorath's grin was cruel. "Excellent. Then we will meet again, Akero Nanami—in ten years."
The rift sealed with a hiss, leaving the street in silence once more.
Akero stood trembling, his hand still raised. For a heartbeat, a faint blue sigil shimmered on his skin before fading into nothing.
In the distance, through the rain, Vorath's laughter echoed—low, mocking, eternal.
That night, Akero Nanami understood: his life would never again be the same.