The rain wasn't the poetic kind; it was a cold, persistent drizzle that turned the narrow streets of the Ota ward into a maze of slick asphalt and gray shadows. Ren pulled his school blazer tighter, trying to hide his frayed cuffs. He didn't live in a slum, just a part of town where the convenience store lights flickered a bit too much and the apartments were built too close together.
As he turned the corner toward the school entrance, a heavy hand slammed against the corrugated metal wall beside his head.
"Oi, Ren. You're late," a voice sneered. It was Kenji, flanked by two others. They weren't monsters, just bored boys with expensive sneakers and cruel streaks.
"I… I had chores," Ren muttered, his eyes fixed on his damp shoes.
"Chores? Or was your old man using you as a punching bag again?" Kenji laughed, flicking Ren's ear hard. "You smell like cheap beer and failure. It's sticking to your uniform."
"Leave it alone, Kenji," Ren whispered.
"What was that? Speak up, 'Ghost Boy.'" Kenji shoved him back against the wall. "Don't think because your mom works double shifts at the diner that you're special. You're just a stain on the class ranking."
Ren stayed silent, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. He waited until they grew bored and sauntered off toward the bike racks before he dared to move.
Life in their small apartment was a game of treading on eggshells. Because the walls were so thin, Ren learned to move like a ghost. He knew which floorboards creaked and exactly how loud the TV had to be to mask the sound of his father's heavy, uneven breathing.
One Tuesday evening, Ren was at the small kitchen table trying to finish his math homework. His mother, Clara, stood at the stove reheating a small pot of miso soup.
"Ren-kun," she whispered, leaning over to drop a small, soft-boiled egg into his bowl. It was an extra she'd tucked away from the diner. "Eat quickly, before he wakes up."
"What about you, Mom?" Ren whispered back, eyes darting toward the sliding door where his father lay passed out.
"I had a snack at work," she lied, her smile tired but warm. She reached out, her thumb tracing the faint red mark where Kenji had flicked his ear earlier. "Just a little longer, okay? I'm saving. I have a tin hidden in the closet. By spring, maybe we can move closer to the seaside."
The sliding door slammed open. Ren's father, Hiroshi, stood there. His undershirt was stained with yellowed sweat, and his eyes—bloodshot and sunken—tracked the movement of the egg in Ren's bowl.
"Where'd that come from?" he growled, his voice like grinding gravel. "I thought we were out of groceries."
"It was a gift from the manager," Clara said quickly, stepping in front of Ren.
"A gift? Or did you steal it like a common thief?" He stepped into the kitchen, the smell of stale shochu filling the cramped space. He reached past her, grabbing Ren's homework and shoving it off the table. "Look at this. Waste of paper. You think you're going to be a scholar? You'll be lucky to scrub floors."
"He's studying, Hiroshi. Let him be," Clara said, her voice trembling but firm.
Hiroshi turned on her, his hand raised. "Don't tell me how to talk to my son in my own house." He didn't strike her—not yet—but he loomed over her until she flinched. He grabbed the pot of soup and took a long, messy drink from the rim, letting the rest splash back onto the stove. "Tastes like dishwater," he spat, before retreating back into the darkness of the inner room.
The next day at school, the rain had cleared into a pale, watery sunlight. Ren found Akari, a childhood friend with a quiet strength, tucked under the eaves of the old gym building. They sat together, hidden behind the industrial HVAC units.
"He was bad last night," Ren said, picking at a loose thread on his sweater.
Akari handed him half of her sandwich—two slices of white bread with a thin layer of jam. "Mine was loud, too. My mom's boyfriend threw a plate. I spent forever picking up the ceramic shards so the cat wouldn't cut its paws."
They sat in silence for a moment, the sounds of the school's baseball club practicing in the distance.
"Hey," Akari said, her shoulder brushing his. "If we ever get that train… the one you talked about… can we go somewhere where the air smells like salt? I've never seen the ocean."
Ren looked at her. The sunlight caught the amber in her eyes, making her look less like a victim and more like a girl with a future. "I'll take you there," he promised. "I don't care if I have to walk the whole way."
The rain returned on Friday—a heavy, tropical downpour. Clara was late. She had called the neighbor's landline to leave a message: "Double shift. Extra tips. Tell Ren I'm bringing home the good curry."
Ren waited by the window. His father was pacing, jittery and mean. "Where is she? I need tobacco. She has the money."
"She's working, Dad. She'll be home soon," Ren said.
Outside, the intersection was a mess of glare and shadows. Clara was hurrying, her umbrella tilted low against the wind. She didn't see the black sedan hydroplane.
When the police arrived twenty minutes later, Ren opened the door to see the flashing blue and red lights reflecting in the puddles.
"Ren-kun?" the officer asked softly, holding a wet plastic bag containing a single, dented container of curry. "There's been an accident."
The silence that followed was louder than any scream. Ren took the bag of curry, his fingers numb. His father didn't cry. He just looked at the police and asked, "Who's going to pay for the funeral? I don't have a yen to my name."
The days following the funeral were a blur of cold rain and colder stares. Without Clara, the apartment felt like a tomb. His father had stopped pretending to be human; he was just a storm of violence and resentment that broke over Ren every time the man realized the fridge was empty or the bottle was dry.
One evening, after a particularly brutal confrontation that left Ren gasping on the kitchen tiles, his father kicked him out into the storm.
"Don't come back without money! Or I'll kill you, you hear me?!" he roared, the door slamming shut with a finality that felt like a death sentence.
Ren wandered the streets of Ota, his vision blurred by blood and rain. He ended up near the tracks, the neon lights of the city bleeding into the wet pavement like spilled ink. He pulled out his old flip phone—a gift from his grandmother—his fingers shaking as he sent a single text to Akari: I don't think I can wait for the train anymore.
He slipped the phone back into his pocket and stopped at the edge of a busy intersection near the station. Cars hissed past, tires slicing through standing water. He didn't step forward. He just stood there, breathing hard, the weight in his chest unbearable.
Headlights suddenly flared.
A heavy delivery truck skidded into view, swerving violently to avoid a cyclist who had darted into the road. The driver slammed the brakes, the horn blaring as the truck fishtailed—stopping just inches from Ren.
"HEY!" the driver shouted, leaning out the window, rain plastering his hair to his face. "Kid! Get the hell out of the road! You trying to get yourself killed?!"
Ren flinched back, heart pounding. "S—sorry," he stammered, bowing his head instinctively. "I wasn't— I didn't—"
The driver cursed under his breath, shaking his head as traffic piled up behind him.
That's when a shadow moved behind Ren.
A rough hand seized the back of his collar and yanked him hard into the alley beside the intersection. Ren cried out as his shoulder slammed into the brick wall, pain exploding down his arm.
"Phone. Wallet," a hoarse voice hissed.
Ren looked up in terror. The man gripping him was older—gaunt, clothes soaked and threadbare, eyes wild and darting. His breath reeked of alcohol and desperation. One hand dug roughly into Ren's pockets while the other pressed something cold and metallic into his ribs.
"I—I don't have much," Ren gasped, shaking. "Please—"
The man snarled. "Don't lie to me!"
The truck driver heard the shout and leaned out again. "HEY! What the hell are you doing to that kid?!"
The mugger froze.
For half a second, everything hung still—the rain, the noise, the world itself holding its breath.
Then the man panicked.
"Shit—!"
The gun went off.
The sound was deafening in the narrow alley.
Ren felt a sharp, burning impact in his side, followed by a numb, spreading cold. His legs gave out instantly, and he collapsed onto the rain-slick pavement, gasping as the world tilted violently.
The mugger stared at him, eyes wide in horror.
"I—I didn't mean—" he whispered.
The truck driver was already out of his cab, shouting for help. Sirens wailed somewhere in the distance.
The man bolted, vanishing into the rain-soaked streets.
Ren lay on his back, staring up at the blurred glow of streetlights. The rain no longer felt cold. He couldn't feel much of anything at all.
The sounds of the city faded—the shouting, the sirens, the driver's frantic voice—all dissolving into a distant hum.
His vision darkened.
And then, there was nothing. Ren woke up on a cold stone slab inside a damp, ancient cabin. His head throbbed with the echoes of a past life—the smell of stale beer and the sound of his father's roar—but those memories felt like flickering ghosts, thin and meaningless. He looked at his hands; they were steady, glowing with a faint, violet luminescence.
Suddenly, two women burst into the room. One had long, flowing silver hair and vibrant, energetic eyes—this was Lyra. Beside her was Vex, a girl with short, cropped pink hair and a serious, tactical air.
Lyra rushed to Ren's side, her voice frantic. "Ren! Get your ass up! The Sun Paladins are here! They've found us!"
Ren, still clutching the fragments of his old life, did not know how to respond. While his head was still aching, he stumbled outside, and his breath caught in his throat.
He was met with an expansive, vibrant world that looked like it had been ripped straight out of a high-budget fantasy anime. The sky wasn't just blue; it was a deep, crystalline cerulean that made the smoggy city skies of his old life look like trash. There weren't any planes—just fluffy, white clouds that looked like they were made of cotton candy.
Twelve Sun Paladins, clad in gleaming gold armor that pulsed with solar energy, rushed toward him. Ren's voice was faint as he tried to grasp the situation. "What the hell is happening?"
The Captain of the squad stepped forward, his cape fluttering. "You had best come without resistance, or I will kill you. Do you hear me?"
With those words, Ren flashed back to the night his father kicked him out. The same threat. The same fear.
Filled with a sudden, boiling anger, Ren didn't have to think. His hands moved as if by muscle memory. He clenched his teeth and pulled two swords out of thin air—not steel, but blades forged from swirling starlight and void matter, humming with the sound of a dying star.
He lunged. In one fell swoop, he moved faster than the eye could follow, slashing the Paladins in half.
Ren stood in shock, staring at the starlight blades. With a thought, he made them disappear. He looked at the floor—it wasn't covered in blood, but the dust of twelve elite warriors who had just tried to end him. He began to laugh—a sound born of confusion, fear, and disbelief—until Lyra interrupted him.
"Ren!" Lyra shouted. She didn't look surprised—she looked hyped. "Well done! I knew you could kill them! You didn't even use a stance! That was so disrespectful, I love it!"
Ren turned around slowly, his eyes glazed over. "Uhhh… who are you?"
Lyra's face dropped. She swapped a look with Vex. "Uhh, okay, yeah, right now is not the time to be funny. I know you're strong, but you don't have to act like an ass about it."
"Ren, please," Vex urged, pointing at the remains of the squad. "The Paladins are dead, which is great, but that means the Seven Sun Gods are going to be tilted. We have to go!"
"Sun… Gods?" Ren muttered. He felt a weird, heavy twitch in his palm. It felt like an itch that could only be scratched by summoning something massive. He accidentally snapped his fingers.
THOOM.
The shadows didn't just move; they stood up. Six Nebula Wraiths—towering, faceless entities made of swirling purple galaxies and dark plate armor—materialized behind him.
Ren jumped back, nearly tripping. "What the—? Why are they so big?!"
Lyra's eyes went wide. "Ren, are you okay? Did you fall and hit your head while you were sleeping or something? Come on, it's no time for jokes!"
"I'm not… I'm not mocking anything," Ren said, his voice cracking.
"Look at that stoic face," Vex whispered to Lyra. "Yeah, I think we need to get him to a doctor or something."
Ren just wanted to sit down. Not being able to think clearly, all he had on his mind was: How did I get here? What's happening?
"Ren, the path is clear!" Lyra cheered, stepping over a pile of dust. "Where shall we bring your wrath first? The Holy Capital? The Sun Temple?"
Ren looked at the monsters, then at the girls. "I… I just want to find a convenience store. Is there an 11-7 nearby?"
"Eleven-Seven?" Lyra blinked, then gasped. "A code! He's talking about the Eleventh Sector and the Seven Temples! Hey, are you really feeling okay?"
Ren was about to open his mouth to tell her the truth, but then he thought, Wait, if I really tell them what's happening, they would probably kill me for stealing their friend's body or something.
"It's okay, I'm fine. My head's just a bit sore… w-we should go," Ren said in a calm manner.
"Okay then, let's go before the Sun Gods send more Paladins to come kill us!" Vex said energetically