Darkness.
Again.
That was all there was.
An endless void stretched infinitely in every direction—a world without light, without sound, without air. It was neither warm nor cold, neither alive nor dead. Just silence. The kind of silence that pressed against the skull until it hurt to think.
Hiroki floated aimlessly in the nothingness. His body felt weightless, his breath nonexistent, and yet his mind screamed for understanding.
Where am I?
The thought echoed through the emptiness, but the void swallowed it whole. No answer came. Only more silence, suffocating and deep.
He tried to move, but his limbs refused to obey. Or perhaps there were no limbs to move. He couldn't tell anymore. It was as if existence itself had blurred at the edges.
Then—
Something stirred.
It began as a tremor, a vibration that rippled through the darkness like a heartbeat. Faint, at first. Then louder. Stronger. Until the sound wasn't sound anymore—it was presence. Something massive was breathing in the dark.
A low, ancient rumble filled the void.
And with it came a word.
"...Weak."
The voice was deep enough to make his soul vibrate. It wasn't merely heard—it was felt, crawling along his bones, coiling around his heart like cold smoke.
"W-what... was that?!" Hiroki's voice cracked, his fear bleeding into the silence. He turned—if "turning" was even possible here—and shouted into the abyss. "Who said that?!"
Then he saw it.
A light bloomed in the blackness. Small at first, like a dying ember. Then it opened—an eye.
A single, massive, crimson eye, its glow burning like molten lava. The pupil was vertical, sharp as a blade, and easily ten times larger than his entire body. When it blinked, the motion stirred the entire void.
"W-what the... what is that?!"
The shadows began to move. They twisted and folded upon themselves, shaping into something colossal—scales as black as obsidian, streaked with lightning that pulsed like veins through the dark. Wings unfolded behind it, vast enough to drown entire worlds in shadow.
The creature's breath rumbled through the void, hot, suffocating, and ancient beyond reason.
A dragon.
Its presence alone crushed him, its gaze digging through his mind as though peeling back layers of his soul.
Hiroki trembled, every instinct screaming at him to flee—but there was nowhere to run. No ground. No sky. Only it.
Then came the voice again, thunder given form.
"Pathetic."
"HUH?! WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN—"
The dragon's eye flared. Its mouth opened slowly, revealing rows upon rows of glowing fangs. Blue lightning danced between them, arcs of energy that split the void like veins of living power.
Then it roared.
The sound was beyond sound—a cataclysm, a symphony of destruction. The void itself trembled, tearing apart like shattered glass. Hiroki screamed, clutching his head as the force tore through him.
"STOP! STOP—!"
The dragon lunged, jaws wide open, swallowing everything—light, sound, and Hiroki's very being.
A blinding white flash consumed it all.
"GAAAH! DRAGON! Wait—HUH?!"
Hiroki shot upright, drenched in sweat. Sunlight stabbed through the curtains like blades, searing his eyes. His heart hammered against his ribs.
For a moment, he could only stare around the room, disoriented. No void. No dragon. Just tangled bedsheets and a pillow soaked with drool.
"Ughh... it was just a dream...?"
He groaned, dragging his hands down his face. But the fear wouldn't fade. The sound of that roar—the weight of that gaze—it had felt real.
He glanced around the massive, unfamiliar bedroom. Golden drapes. Polished floors. Furniture that screamed money.
This wasn't his house.
This wasn't his life.
The faint memory of that red eye flickered again behind his eyelids, burning like a warning.
Hiroki swallowed hard.
"What the hell was that... thing?"
He didn't know. But something told him that dream hadn't been a dream at all.
Then, a pounding on the door nearly sent his heart leaping into his throat.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The noise tore through the morning silence like gunfire. Hiroki jolted upright, clutching the blanket like it was a shield.
"Wha—hey! What the hell!?" he blurted, voice cracking.
A sharp, irritated voice came from the other side, muffled but commanding.
"Oi, loser! Time for school!"
He froze mid-yawn. The audacity of that sentence alone made him blink.
"…What?" he muttered, squinting at the door like it had just personally offended him.
Whoever was out there didn't bother waiting for an answer. The sound of retreating footsteps echoed down the hall — each step full of annoyance and authority.
He rubbed his temple as faint memories began to seep in — not his memories, but fragments of the boy whose body he now occupied. A girl's face appeared in his mind: sharp brown eyes, long dark hair, always wearing that permanent scowl that could melt steel.
He groaned softly.
"Oh… right. That's my sister. The one who hates my guts."
The words left a bitter aftertaste on his tongue. He dragged a hand through his messy hair, the exhaustion from last night still clinging to him like cobwebs.
"Of course," he muttered. "Can't have a peaceful morning in this world."
He swung his legs over the bed and finally took in his surroundings. The bedroom was absurdly large — easily the size of his old apartment's entire floor. Everything gleamed with that rich, sterile perfection money always seemed to buy: polished floors, decorative rugs, a pristine desk stacked with untouched books and framed certificates.
Even the air smelled expensive.
"Still not a dream, huh?" he said under his breath, glancing at the king-sized bed he'd woken up in. "Great. I'm actually in the body of the spoiled brat that dies."
The words came out half-joking, half-resigned.
He shuffled toward the window and pulled the curtains wide open. Morning light flooded the room, blinding and golden, brushing everything in soft warmth. For a brief second, the sunlight made him feel alive — like maybe this really could be a new start.
He leaned forward slightly, looking over the city below. Rows of modern buildings stretched far beyond the horizon, the streets already moving with early traffic and the distant hum of life. It was beautiful, alive… and yet he felt completely foreign to it.
"Alright," he whispered to himself, "new day, new life. Let's try not to die."
But as soon as he said it, the image of the dragon flashed through his mind — that massive silhouette in the void, and those glowing red eyes burning like molten suns.
He flinched. The chill ran through his spine before he could stop it.
"…What was that thing, anyway?" he muttered.
No answer. Only the distant hum of the city below.
He sighed and shook his head. "Forget it. First things first — I need to get through the day."
He rubbed his eyes and turned to look around again. His lips twitched as he muttered, "Man… this guy's room looks like a boutique exploded."
The joke felt necessary — anything to keep his brain from spiraling.
He wandered toward the wardrobe and opened it, only for his jaw to drop.
Rows of neatly hung clothes stared back at him — pressed shirts, tailored coats, perfectly folded uniforms, shoes that looked untouched.
"Damn… rich kid," he mumbled. "Even his hangers look expensive."
Then his gaze landed on one item in particular — a neatly folded uniform: dark blue and white with golden buttons, a red tie draped neatly across it. The Rose Academy insignia gleamed faintly on the chest pocket, the golden threads catching the light.
"Rose Academy…" he muttered, recognition dawning. "That elite school for geniuses and rich brats. And apparently… for poor unlucky bastards like me who can't escape fate."
He held it up and sighed. "Guess that's me now."
He paused, frowning. "Wait… should I shower first?"
His nose twitched. He sniffed his sleeve, then grimaced.
"Yeah, definitely shower first. Can't start my rich-boy life smelling like regret."
Laying the uniform carefully on the bed, he crept toward the door and cracked it open just a little, peeking out like a spy on a secret mission. The hallway stretched endlessly, pristine white marble with gold trim, quiet enough to hear the faint ticking of an antique clock.
"Alright… coast is clear," he whispered.
He tiptoed out, the floor cold under his feet, when suddenly—
"What are you doing?"
He froze.
Every muscle in his body locked up like a badly coded video game character. Slowly, he turned his head to the voice.
A boy with messy black hair streaked with faint crimson stood there, leaning against the wall. His eyes, half-lidded but sharp, studied Hiroki with quiet judgment.
Hiroki forced a nervous grin. "Uh… morning! I was just, you know… going to the bathroom."
Kenji didn't blink. He simply stared at him — expression unreadable, silence heavier than any scolding.
In Hiroki's head, alarms blared.
Say something! Anything!
Kenji finally sighed, brushing a strand of hair out of his face.
"…Whatever."
And then he walked off.
Hiroki stood there, still frozen, until the echo of footsteps disappeared. Then he clutched his chest and exhaled, whispering, "Man, that was awkward as hell."
He hurried into the bathroom, locking the door behind him.
Steam soon fogged the mirror as warm water cascaded down. He peeled off his shirt — and froze again.
His reflection stared back at him.
The body he now inhabited was covered in scars. Some old and faded, others fresh — bruises on his ribs, faint cigarette burns on his shoulder, cuts that hadn't fully healed.
His breath hitched.
"Damn," he whispered, tracing one of the marks. "This body's a mess…"
He remembered — flashes of fists, laughter, humiliation. The original Hiroki's pain bleeding through faintly in memory. Bullied, beaten, and broken. The same pain that had led him to end it.
"I forgot this dude gets bullied too…" he muttered softly. "Poor bastard."
The water beat down on him like rainfall, and for a moment, he let it wash away the lingering dread. It was the only sound in the room — steady, gentle, almost comforting.
When he finished, he dried off, wrapped a towel around his waist, and peeked into the hall again. Empty.
"Nice. Round two successful," he whispered with a small grin.
He slipped back into his room and dropped onto the bed, letting out a sigh of relief. His eyes drifted to the uniform neatly laid out. He smiled faintly.
"Alright," he said, pulling the clothes on, "time to blend in."
He buttoned the shirt, straightened the tie, and stood before the mirror. Something still felt off. He tilted his head.
Then, an idea struck.
"If I'm gonna survive this school," he murmured, grinning, "I need to look… average."
He rummaged through the drawers and found a pair of fake glasses. Perfect. He slipped them on and stared at his reflection.
He looked… painfully ordinary.
"Nice," he said, smirking. "I look like one of those guys who show up in episode one and never again."
He adjusted his hair so his bangs fell slightly over his eyes.
"Perfect. Total NPC energy."
For a fleeting moment, he actually felt good.
Then he noticed it.
Up above, half-hidden by the ceiling lamp, something dangled — a piece of rope, frayed and tied into a noose.
His breath caught. The faint smile vanished.
"…Right," he whispered. "That's how he tried to end it."
He stood there in silence, eyes fixed on it. Then, quietly, he dragged a chair over and untied the rope. His hands trembled slightly as he folded it and tucked it deep into a drawer.
"Rest easy, my dude," he murmured softly.
When he looked back into the mirror, his reflection stared back — same eyes, same uniform, but somehow… different.
Maybe it was the way he stood now, shoulders straight, eyes steadier. Or maybe it was just the fragile determination in his smile.
He adjusted his tie, exhaled deeply, and whispered:
"Alright. Time to survive a day in anime hell."
He opened the door, light spilling in from the hallway. For a second, he hesitated — then stepped forward.
The door clicked shut behind him, leaving the quiet room and its shadows behind.
Then-
The aroma hit him first.
Butter melting on freshly toasted bread, bacon sizzling with that perfect crackle, and the rich, heady smell of freshly brewed coffee curling through the air like a tantalizing promise. Utensils clinked softly against fine porcelain, the faint chatter of cutlery and conversation echoing in the vast dining hall.
Hiroki sniffed deeply, straightening the stiff collar of his Rose Academy uniform.
"Smells good… alright, rich people breakfast time," he muttered, his voice carrying just enough sarcasm to make himself feel slightly less out of place.
He descended the grand staircase cautiously, each polished step creaking faintly beneath his weight. His eyes widened as he took in the scene below — it was nothing short of intimidating. A tableau of perfection stretched out before him, frozen in a pose so deliberate it could have been lifted straight from a business magazine cover.
At the table sat the Kanzaki family, each member poised like a living painting.
Tsubaki Kanzaki, the matriarch, her black hair tied in a severe bun, clad in a crisp black suit, sipped her tea with an icy stare that could have frozen hell itself.
Shinji Kanzaki, the father, glasses perched perfectly on the bridge of his nose, quietly spreading some kind of green paste on toast while his eyes scanned a newspaper with the precision of a sniper.
Jiro, the sister, black hair streaked with a single white strand, lounged with the casual arrogance of someone born with designer clothes and a phone in hand, scrolling with complete disinterest.
Kenji, the younger brother, calmly ate his eggs, almost regal in his stillness.
And finally… Eren. White hair, calm blue eyes, the embodiment of effortless charisma, and, of course, the main character of this world.
Two maids glided silently around the table, refilling tea, placing dishes, moving with a grace that seemed almost supernatural.
Hiroki's eyes widened. "Man… this looks like a fancy mafia breakfast scene. All that's missing is a violin soundtrack."
He froze at the base of the stairs, unsure of whether to announce his presence or slink away like an inconspicuous shadow. Of course… someone noticed.
Kenji glanced up. Nothing. Just a fleeting look, then back to his eggs.
Then Jiro's head tilted. She blinked once, twice, and squinted.
"Huh? Who are you?" Her voice cut through the room like a scalpel.
Hiroki's stomach dropped. "Lady, I literally live here!!"
The room seemed to pause. Tsubaki's teacup hovered midair. Shinji's paper wavered. Even the maids froze, as if sensing a disturbance in the natural order of the universe.
"Oh great," Hiroki thought, sweat beading at his temple. "Now I look like a trespasser in my own house. Beautiful start to the day."
Then, like a beacon of light cutting through a storm, Eren rose from his chair. His smile… it could have lit up the darkest alleyways of Tokyo.
"Hiroki!" he called, cheerful and warm. "You're awake! It's been a while since you came down for breakfast."
Hiroki blinked, his mind blank. "His smile… too bright… could burn retinas."
Before he could respond, Jiro snorted and sipped her juice.
"What's with the look? You actually look like a loser now." She laughed lightly, a teasing melody, clearly amused by the absurdity of his new appearance.
Hiroki's inner monologue screamed. "Wow. Sister of the year award goes to you. I knew they wouldn't recognize me."
He remembered why — the old Hiroki had slicked-back hair, no glasses, and the kind of cocky smirk that belonged to every anime bully you've ever hated. Now, with glasses perched on his nose and hair casually framing his face, he might as well have been a completely different person.
Shinji finally spoke, without even glancing up from the paper.
"Are you going to school today?"
Eren, however, bright as the sun itself, cut through the tension.
"Are you? If you are, do you want to walk together?"
Hiroki straightened up, chest puffing out ever so slightly. He decided to lean into the absurdity of politeness.
"Yes, I will be attending school, Mr. Kanzaki," he said, bowing with such formal precision that the room collectively froze.
Jiro blinked. Tsubaki lowered her teacup. Shinji's glasses slipped slightly as he looked up.
Eren's brow furrowed.
"W-wait, Hiroki? Why are you talking like that?"
Hiroki waved a hand dismissively, smiling awkwardly.
"Uh… formality. Respect your elders. You know."
Before any further discussion could occur, he made a break for it.
"Wait, Hiroki! Aren't you going to have breakfast?" Eren's voice called after him.
Hiroki froze at the door. He glanced at the spread before him — eggs, toast, bacon sizzling to perfection, and whatever else was on those gleaming plates. It probably cost more than his apartment back home.
"Tempting… but staying means talking. Talking means bonding. Bonding means plot. Nope."
He forced a flat smile.
"I'm not hungry."
With that, he slipped on his shoes and practically sprinted out the front door. The click of the door behind him sounded like a starting gun.
Inside the estate, silence fell. Eren sank slowly back into his chair, troubled. Jiro chuckled softly, offering him a piece of bacon with exaggerated cheerfulness.
Tsubaki murmured, contemplative, "He seemed… different today."
Shinji adjusted his glasses with a sigh, dismissive. "He's probably acting out again."
Outside, Hiroki had already vanished into the morning, lungs burning, heart hammering.
"Nope! Nope! Nope! I'm not sticking around the main character death zone!" he shouted to the empty streets, hands on his knees.
"If I get dragged into Eren's plotline, I'm doomed. Background character of the year, guaranteed!"
A few minutes later, he arrived at the massive gates of Rose Academy. The building rose like a modern castle — polished marble, golden gates, a fountain taller than most apartment buildings, water cascading in precise arcs.
"This… this is supposed to be a school? Looks more like a small city owned by billionaires," he muttered, squinting.
Banners fluttered in the wind: Rose Academy.
"Ah yes… the academy for rich kids and 'exceptionally gifted' types. Translation: place where poor smart people go to suffer."
He adjusted his glasses and stepped through the gates, into the sprawling courtyard.
Marble benches, angel-shaped fountains, gardens of blooming roses — even the grass looked manicured to perfection. Students strolled past, dressed in designer uniforms, their conversations low and polished.
Hiroki murmured to himself:
"Calm down… you're a background character. Blend in. Be NPC. Repeat after me: I am irrelevant."
And so he walked. Careful. Measured. Practically invisible.
But then —
He froze.
"…Is that… a girl on a tree?"
Sure enough, high up in an oak tree, a girl cradled a small white cat, smiling as if she were in a serene commercial.
Hiroki squinted. "What is sh—"
Then her foot slipped.
The cat jumped to a safer branch, but she… wasn't so lucky.
Hiroki's instincts screamed.
"HEY—!!"
"She's too high! She's gonna—oh crap, crap, crap!"
Lightning sparked faintly around him — subtle, barely perceptible, yet enough to make the air vibrate.
In a flash of blue, he vanished from the ground below.
In an instant, he appeared just beneath her, arms outstretched.
"Got you!" he gritted, bracing for impact.
They hit the ground with a thud. Hiroki slid, skidding across the grass, the girl safe in his arms, the cat landing with a startled meow on his chest.
"Ow, ow, ow!"
He rubbed his head, wincing, and froze. Her eyes were closed, probably dizzy.
"Please tell me she's not who I think she is…"
She stirred, opening her eyes. And then…
Hiroki's stomach dropped.
"…No way. Hinata? One of the main love interests?! Of course. Fate hates me."
He swallowed hard. "I literally said I wanted to be a background character five minutes ago! Why is fate speedrunning my death flags!?"
Hinata blinked at him, soft and confused.
"You… saved me?"
Hiroki frantically pulled his jacket collar over his face.
"Uh… y-yeah!"
He gently helped her to her feet, dusted himself off, and bowed in the most ridiculous, over-the-top way imaginable.
"Please excuse me! I have to… um… water my existent plants!"
Before she could respond, he sprinted away, zigzagging across the courtyard like a man possessed.
Hinata stood there, holding the cat, blinking.
"…I didn't even thank him," she murmured.
From an upper classroom window, a figure leaned against the frame, smirking as his sharp eyes followed Hiroki's retreating form.
"Interesting… so there's a new hunter at our school, huh?" he murmured, turning away, grin widening.
"How fun," he added, voice low and ominous.