Hiroshi Tanaka was thirty years old when the world decided to change.
Until that night, his life had been painfully ordinary.
He lived in a small, aging house on the outskirts of a quiet Japanese town. The walls were thin, the roof creaked during rain, and the heater only worked when it felt like it. It wasn't much, but it was home—shared with his old mother and father.
His father sat in front of the television every evening, knees wrapped in bandages, pretending he could still walk without pain.
His mother cooked simple meals and smiled too often, as if hiding her fear behind warmth.
And Hiroshi?
He was unemployed.
Again.
Another job interview had ended with polite bows and empty promises. Another rejection hidden behind respectful words. At thirty, he had no career, no savings, no future worth talking about.
The neighbors whispered.
Relatives avoided questions.
Society had already judged him.
Failure.
Hiroshi didn't argue with that judgment anymore.
The only reason he woke up every morning was the sound of his mother humming in the kitchen… and the sight of his father struggling to stand without help.
That night began like any other.
Rain tapped lightly against the windows. The television murmured in the background, showing the news—another report about strange incidents overseas.
"Unexplained deaths in Eastern Europe."
"Residents report hearing whispers."
"Authorities deny supernatural involvement."
Hiroshi scoffed softly as he poured tea.
"Ghost stories," he muttered. "People will believe anything."
His father grunted. "Don't say such things. Bad luck follows careless words."
Hiroshi smiled faintly and carried the cups to the table.
Then—
The television went black.
The lights shut off.
The heater died.
Silence fell like a blade.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Power cuts were rare here.
Too rare.
Outside, the rain stopped.
Not gradually—instantly.
Hiroshi frowned and reached for his phone.
No signal.
No battery drain.
Just… dead.
"Mom?" he called.
"I'm here," she replied, her voice tight.
The air grew cold.
Not winter-cold.
Not normal-cold.
This was the kind of cold that crawled under the skin and settled in the bones.
The hallway light flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then shadows began to stretch along the walls.
They moved… even though nothing else did.
Hiroshi's heart slammed against his ribs.
"Dad," he said quietly, "stay seated."
His father's hand trembled on the armrest. "Hiroshi… do you hear that?"
At first, Hiroshi thought it was the wind.
Then he realized—
It was whispering.
Not from outside.
From everywhere.
Voices layered over each other, murmuring words he couldn't understand. Regret. Anger. Hunger.
The hallway darkened.
Something stood there.
A shape.
Humanoid—but wrong.
Its face was blurred, like a reflection in disturbed water. Its feet didn't touch the floor. Its mouth stretched open unnaturally wide.
A ghost.
Hiroshi's breath caught.
His legs refused to move.
This wasn't a story.
This wasn't superstition.
This was real.
The ghost drifted forward, its presence pressing down like a suffocating weight. The temperature dropped further. His mother gasped, clutching her chest.
"Stay back!" Hiroshi shouted, stepping in front of his parents.
The ghost reached out.
Its fingers passed through the air—
And stopped.
An invisible barrier shimmered before Hiroshi.
The ghost recoiled, shrieking.
Symbols flashed before Hiroshi's eyes.
Ancient characters. Circles. Lines. Talismans he had never seen—yet somehow understood.
His head burned.
A voice echoed deep within his mind, calm and absolute.
"Sorcery recognizes only one bearer."
"You are chosen."
Light erupted from his chest.
The ghost screamed—not in rage, but fear.
It vanished.
The cold lifted.
The whispers faded.
The lights flickered back on.
Outside, sirens wailed in the distance—one after another, spreading endlessly across the city.
Hiroshi collapsed to his knees, gasping.
His mother cried softly. His father stared at him in shock.
"Hiroshi…" his father whispered. "What… what did you do?"
Hiroshi looked down at his shaking hands.
They were normal.
Yet he knew—deep in his bones—
The world had crossed a line.
And so had he.
Far away, across cities and countries, ghosts and evil spirits emerged from the shadows.
People screamed.
Governments panicked.
The age of denial ended.
And in a small Japanese house, a thirty-year-old man with nothing to his name became something the world had never seen before.
The only sorcerer on Earth.
The Ghost Era had begun.