My name is Kazuki Sato.
After graduating from high school, there wasn't much I could do. I no longer had a reliable family. My parents died in an accident when I was in my second year of high school, and my only older sibling moved abroad five years ago, never sending any news since.
To survive, I rented a small room in a narrow alley of the city—only about three times the size of my bed, with a bathroom I had to share with three other neighbors. I worked as a streamer who hid my face and real identity, because I didn't have the courage to show myself to the world.
I'm tall, almost 185 cm, but my face is plain—maybe even unattractive, you could say. Thin lips that rarely open to speak to others, dull brown eyes with no charm at all, and black hair I always run my hands through messily because I don't have the time or money to go to a salon.
Not handsome enough to attract women, right? Besides, I've never been in a relationship with anyone. I don't even have close friends—only a few of my stream followers who sometimes send chat messages, but I rarely reply to them.
Actually, I just don't like communicating. The sound of crowds makes my head throb and feel like it's going to split open; other people's gazes that seem to peel away every part of me make me uncomfortable and want to run and hide right away.
It's better to spend my time in my small, cramped but safe room, with big headphones covering both ears and a computer screen that serves as my window to the world.
The thin walls of the room often carry the sound of neighbors arguing or street noise from the narrow alley outside, but with loud enough headphones and music or game sounds flooding my ears, I can isolate myself from all of it—creating a small world that's only mine.
Being a streamer is hard, much harder than people imagine. I have to hide my identity at all times—I wear a special white butterfly-shaped mask I ordered online from a store that sells cosplay accessories, never show any part of the room that could reveal my location (even my collection of manga on the shelf is always covered with thick black cloth so it can't be seen), and even use voice-modifying software to make my voice sound deeper and slightly rough, far different from my real voice which is soft and often sounds uncertain.
…No, that's not the main reason why it feels heavy. Okay? I know many other streamers who are more successful doing the same thing—some even have millions of followers just with game content and discussions about fictional magic they present.
But this is the truth: my job doesn't make me feel like life is more meaningful. Every night after streaming ends and I turn off the computer, I just feel tired and empty like a container that's been completely emptied out.
As a streamer focused on game and fantasy content, of course I often play games—from big open-world RPGs with vast worlds and long stories to small indie games that have just been released and aren't yet well-known by many people.
But that's not all—the thing I love most and that's my greatest escape is reading magic-themed manga. I have a collection of dozens of titles neatly arranged on a used wooden shelf I found in front of a secondhand store near my home, ranging from stories about magic academies with energetic young students to adventures of mages exploring parallel worlds full of mystery.
I always read them over and over when I'm not streaming, imagining myself being in the story—becoming one of the characters with incredible powers who can do impossible things in the real world.
Stories about young mages discovering hidden power within themselves, about parallel worlds full of wonders and unimaginable magical creatures, always let me escape from my boring and lonely reality.
Sometimes I think, if only magic really existed in this world. I could stream using a bunshin (a moving duplicate doppelgänger) that controls game characters carefully while I sit on the other side of the desk, reading magic manga nonstop and enjoying every page.
Or maybe I could use magic to quickly and easily clean my always-messy room, or make delicious food without having to cook instant noodles or buy congee from the nearby stall every day.
My life would be much easier, much more interesting than it is now—always feeling like I'm stuck in an endless vicious cycle.
My life is really not interesting. There's nothing special about me—I'm just an ordinary young man with nothing. I don't have any big dreams I want to prove—I don't have ambitions to be a doctor saving lives or a successful entrepreneur like my former high school friends, most of whom have gone to college or work at big companies.
I just get through each day, like a machine running without purpose and only repeating the same movements over and over. Every day is the same: wake up late in the morning around eleven or noon, clean the room a little by sweeping the floor and organizing my manga, stream for six to eight hours playing games and talking about fantasy worlds, eat boiled instant noodles or congee bought with the little money I earn from streaming, then read manga until my eyes feel heavy and I fall asleep in front of my computer desk with the book still open on my lap.
"Kyaaaa—!"
A sharp scream pierced through the air and spread across the narrow alley, coming from the direction of the small minimarket I always pass when I want to buy instant noodles and canned drinks for my weekly supply.
The sound was so loud and full of fear that I had to take off one side of my headphones, which were playing the theme song from my favorite RPG. I was on my way home after stocking up on food for the week—my right hand was still holding a plastic bag with my groceries, which felt a bit heavy because I also bought some new manga volumes that had just been released and that I'd been waiting for years to get.
Ah… So this is the moment. The time when I have to act as the hero who appears to save someone else.
I don't know why I thought that—as if a small voice inside me was telling me this was the right time to move. I should have just kept walking, like usual—keeping my head down so I wouldn't attract anyone's attention and avoiding eye contact with passersby.
I shouldn't have gotten involved in other people's problems, because I know it would only make things difficult for me and possibly get me tangled up in unnecessary trouble. But when my eyes saw the large man forcefully pulling the bag of a woman who looked helpless on the minimarket floor, lit dimly by fading neon lights, something inside me that had always been silent and passive felt ignited—like a small spark suddenly flaring into a big flame that burned away all my fear and cowardice.
The woman looked young, probably around my age or a little older, with messy blonde hair from the struggle and a light blue office uniform that was wrinkled and slightly torn on the sleeve. She lay on the floor, her body trembling and her face full of obvious fear even though there was some distance between us.
"Hey! Let go of her bag!"
My voice sounded louder than I expected—even firm and full of confidence, something I'd never felt before when talking to others. I was surprised myself by the loud and decisive tone of my voice, as if it wasn't my own.
The thief, who had been focused on the woman beneath him, turned to look at me with a red face from anger—his eyes glowing red like they were burning, and his left hand still tightly gripping the woman's bag strap. On his neck was a noticeable snake tattoo with its tongue flickering, making me feel a little disgusted but unable to step back.
"Let go or not? You bastard! I'll kill you!"
He quickly pulled out a large folding knife from his pants pocket, its shiny blade gleaming under the flickering streetlights. His eyes were full of threats that made my skin crawl and my hair stand on end. The woman cried softly, her body trembling more violently on the floor as she frowned from fear and the pain she was probably feeling.
Oh no. If this is left as is, she'll really be killed or seriously injured by that despicable man. I couldn't just stand there and watch like someone who didn't care—even though I'd always avoided problems and other people until now.
Without thinking long, without considering the possible consequences I'd face, I leaped toward the thief with quicker steps than usual, trying to pull his hand holding the knife so he wouldn't hurt the helpless woman still lying there. But he was faster than me—moving with incredible speed for someone with such a large and muscular build. The knife stabbed deep into the lower part of my stomach, just to the right of my navel, leaving an unforgettable sensation.
A sharp, cold pain spread quickly from the wound to my entire body, making me feel like my body would freeze instantly and I wouldn't be able to move anymore. I fell backward hard, my back hitting the nearby minimarket wall until I could feel the vibration of every brick inside and my ears rang from the impact.
My grocery bag fell to the ground with a sharp crash, its contents scattering everywhere—broken instant noodles spilling their flour on the dirty asphalt, canned drinks rolling with repeated thuds, even my newly bought favorite magic manga volumes fell and their covers were slightly creased and stained with dirt from small stones and mud on the ground.
The thief fled quickly after seeing what he'd done. Maybe because he saw the thick red blood starting to pool on the asphalt, or because he was afraid other people would come after hearing the scream and call the police.
He roughly let go of the woman's bag strap and ran quickly toward the dark, narrow alley beside the minimarket, disappearing behind a curtain of darkness and the night mist that was starting to fall and blur visibility even more.
I think I can rest peacefully now. My eyes were starting to feel heavy to keep open, like a heavy stone was pressing down on them from the inside and wanted to make me fall asleep forever. The sounds around me became faint and seemed to be behind a thick layer of water.
I could hear the woman screaming for help in a broken, grief-stricken voice, the sound of hurried footsteps approaching from passersby who saw what happened, and the sound of ambulance sirens getting closer from far away with a piercing noise. If there's a heaven where good people go after they die, I hope that place is at least more interesting than this life that's always been full of loneliness and hardship.
I hope there I can read as much magic manga as I want, with endless bookshelves and always new titles to read, without having to worry about finding food every day or the room rent I always have to pay by the fifth of each month—which often causes me trouble because my streaming income isn't always stable.
I don't know what the woman said as she rushed over to me with hurried, worried steps. My hearing wasn't working at all anymore—only a roar like waves crashing hard and continuously on the shore could be heard.
Only coldness that gradually enveloped me from head to toe, making me feel like I was inside a very cold freezer. And the incredible pain slowly faded away, replaced by overwhelming tiredness—as if I'd been working for days without rest and my body could no longer bear the exhaustion.
I looked at the darkening sky with stars shining above, the stars seeming to twinkle more clearly than usual—I could even see patterns I'd never heard of or seen before, like a newly formed constellation shaped like a magic symbol I often saw in my manga.
So… is this what they call death?
Cold. Painful.
And—warm.
My uninteresting, lonely life has ended. But what comes next—I can't imagine it at all, not even the slightest idea of what will happen to me. Just then, the woman I'd bravely stood up for carefully approached me, her face full of deep worry but also clearly showing admiration in her red, tear-filled eyes. She opened her mouth to speak to me—her lip movements were clear and slow in front of my eyes, but her voice sounded far away, like it was coming from inside a deep, dark cave.