The zipper clicked shut, the sharp sound echoing in the cramped room. John Markus bent down, catching his faint reflection in the full-length mirror leaning against the wall.
The pale gray uniform wrapped around him, stiff and heavy with a musty smell. The fabric itched against his skin, like it was accusing him of the years he'd left it forgotten.
It's been so damn long since I wore this.
His fingers slid along a frayed seam. The cloth was rough, threads sticking out, reminding him this used to be what he put on every single day before stepping out of the dorm, blending into the crowd of students.
Just the tiniest movement, and memories surged back.
A blazing schoolyard, thick green trees, cicadas screeching so loud they drowned out the speakers. Kids in the same uniforms, running, laughing, sweat soaking through their backs. Bright hallways, blackboards smeared with chalk, desks carved with knife marks.
I stood there too, but I never belonged.
He shook his head and sat down at the wooden desk. A thin layer of dust covered the surface, and on it lay an old calendar. The red numbers marking December were still clear. He flipped a page. The paper crackled, then snapped back, falling into place.
That was the month of awakening.
His chest tightened.
The auditorium that day was packed. Lines of students, everyone restless. Floodlights blazed from above, pouring down heat. A digital board glowed in the center, each line of text jumping to announce the results.
"Warrior!"
"Mage!"
"Support!"
Cheers, claps, shouts crashing together like waves. Every time a name came up, friends jumped and hollered. The air was electric, like a festival.
And him?
He stood tall, eyes forward. His face was calm, but his heart was pounding hard. With the memories of his past life, with all the careful prep, he was certain the result would be something people admired.
Light enveloped him. His vision blurred for a moment. The board flared, then words appeared:
Parasite: ChickenEvaluation: E – not recommended.
The world went silent. Not solemn silence, but stunned silence. Then the laughter burst out.
"Chicken? For real?"
"No way, even a chicken can be a parasite beast?"
"He's done. Totally done."
John stayed still. But cold sweat slid down his spine, soaking into his collar.
No. That can't be right. Must be a mistake.
He told himself that, but his ears couldn't block out the whispers. The weight of hundreds of eyes pressed down, some pitying, most amused.
He stepped off the stage. Applied to the Warrior class, got rejected. Tried Mage, turned away. One last shot, he threw everything into Trainer. But the returned slip had only one line: "Your beast is a chicken, it has no combat ability whatsoever."
Yes. Exactly that line. The line that cut down every hope.
In the dark room now, John shut his eyes, repeating those words inside his head. When he opened them, his gaze fell to the corner.
An old iron cage sat there, covered with a silver cloth. Something white shifted inside.
He walked over and yanked the cover. A chicken lifted its head, round black eyes glinting as it stared at him, unblinking.
You… always the same. Nothing ever changes. I fell from the peak to the pit, and you just peck like nothing matters.
He sighed, pressing his palm to the cold bars. A faint smile flickered across his lips, short, half mockery, half helplessness.
At least you're still here with me.
But the memories didn't let go.
Rachel Anderson.
She appeared in his mind, black hair brushing her shoulders, a shy smile. Back then, she'd handed him a loosely knit scarf, cheeks burning red.
After the awakening, her eyes changed. No more sparkle, only avoidance. Her words were short, sharp like a blade: "I'm sorry, but let's stop here."
Stop. And she really meant it.
John's chest weighed heavy, like stone pressing down. He staggered back a step, sucking in air. His eyes lifted to the window.
He pulled the curtain. Streetlights spilled in, painting the room gold. The walls cracked and stained, his shadow stretched long and crooked. Outside, car horns cut through the night.
Inside, only silence.
A loudspeaker blared from the hallway, harsh and flat: "Announcement: enrollment for the advanced class of the new term will be held…"
The sound froze his heartbeat.
It keeps going. Even if I stop, the world doesn't. A new term is starting, and I'm still stuck here, locking myself away.
He raised his head, catching his reflection in the glass. Pale face, tired lines, but his eyes were different. Harder. Like a pulled string that couldn't be loosened.
How much longer are you gonna hide?
A long breath escaped him. Then he whispered aloud:
"It's time."
His voice was low, slow, but clear, like an oath witnessed by no one but himself.
He ripped the cloth off the cage. The chicken flinched, wings flapping wild. White feathers scattered, falling to the floor. The sound filled the room, strangely lively.
Yeah. Even if it's just you, I can't hide anymore.
It's time for John Markus to face the past.