CHAPTER — The Boy Who Didn't Celebrate
Luke was an ordinary high-school boy living in Japan.
He lived in a mid-sized apartment in a quiet residential block where bicycles lined the railings and laundry hung from balconies like flags of everyday life. Mornings arrived gently there—through half-open curtains, through the smell of rice cooking, through the familiar sounds of his parents moving about the house.
"Luke, breakfast," his mother called, placing a bowl on the table.
"In a minute," he replied, tying his shoes.
His father checked the time, adjusting his glasses.
"You'll miss the train if you keep moving at that speed."
Luke nodded, grabbed his bag, and stepped outside.
Nothing about that morning felt unusual.
Until the sky changed.
---
It happened during second period.
A strange light crept through the classroom windows, dulling the whiteboard and casting pale reflections across the desks. Students shifted in their seats, distracted.
"Is it cloudy?" someone asked.
Then the light intensified.
Glowing letters formed across the sky, visible even through glass and concrete, impossible to ignore.
" AURA FORMULATION INITIALIZING "
The room fell silent.
The teacher stopped speaking. A pen clattered to the floor.
Phones buzzed all at once as students rushed to the windows, eyes wide, breaths held.
More words followed.
" CATEGORY ASSIGNMENT DATE CONFIRMED "
" GLOBAL COUNTDOWN BEGINNING "
No one understood it.
But no one forgot it either.
By the end of the day, the phrase Aura Formulation had reached every screen, every conversation, every corner of the world.
---
The days that followed felt unreal.
School no longer felt like a place of learning. It became a gathering ground for anticipation and speculation.
"I'm telling you, combat-types will be the highest tier," a boy insisted during lunch.
"That's what all the leaks say."
"Leaks aren't real," a girl snapped.
"But Creator-types will be rare. That's obvious."
"Rare doesn't mean strong," someone else argued.
Desks were pulled together. Voices overlapped. Laughter burst out randomly, sharp and excited.
Luke sat at the edge of it all, eating quietly.
"Hey, Luke," a classmate said suddenly.
"What do you think you'll get?"
The table fell silent for half a second.
Luke looked up.
"I don't know."
"That's boring," someone laughed.
"Everyone has a wish."
Luke said nothing more.
The conversation resumed without him, louder than before.
---
Posters appeared on classroom walls—unofficial charts ranking aura categories, handwritten predictions, exaggerated tier lists.
Students compared family histories as if strength were hereditary.
"My cousin's a pro athlete, so I'm definitely combat-type."
"My aunt's a doctor, maybe I'll get healer."
Teachers struggled to maintain order.
"Settle down," one said, tapping the board.
"This is still a classroom."
Few listened.
In the hallway, Luke overheard fragments of conversation everywhere.
"If I get a high-tier aura, I'm dropping out."
"Same. Why study when power decides everything?"
"Imagine being Average. That'd be humiliating."
The word Average was spoken with pity—or disgust.
Luke walked past without slowing.
---
At home, the change was just as visible.
The television stayed on longer. News anchors spoke in urgent tones, replaying the sky's message from every angle.
"They still haven't explained how it works," Luke's mother said one evening, arms crossed.
"That worries me."
His father exhaled slowly.
"Things beyond human control always do."
Luke sat quietly, finishing his meal.
His mother glanced at him.
"Aren't your friends excited?"
Luke nodded once.
"Yeah."
She smiled faintly.
"And you?"
Luke paused.
"I guess."
The room went quiet for a moment.
His father studied him but said nothing.
---
As implementation day drew closer, the city itself seemed restless.
Billboards displayed countdowns. Stores sold aura-themed charms and bracelets. Online, people placed bets on categories they might receive.
Fireworks lit the sky days before the actual event.
At school, attendance dropped. Some students simply stopped coming.
"They're waiting for tomorrow," a teacher muttered.
Luke continued attending class.
He sat at his desk, listened when spoken to, answered when asked.
But he never joined the celebrations.
---
The night before implementation arrived without ceremony.
Luke stepped onto the balcony of his apartment, sliding the door shut behind him. The night air was cool, carrying the distant sounds of traffic and voices drifting from open windows.
Below him, the city stretched endlessly—lights flickering, roads glowing, life continuing.
Somewhere, someone laughed.
Fireworks popped faintly in the distance.
Luke rested his hands on the railing, standing perfectly still.
From nearby apartments came muffled cheers, countdown rehearsals, excited shouting.
Inside his own home, the television murmured predictions and speculation.
Luke remained outside.
He did not look at his phone.
He did not speak.
He simply watched the city beneath him, illuminated and unaware.
Above, the sky remained silent.
Waiting.
---
End of Chapter.