The ground felt cold beneath him.
His body trembled uncontrollably, pushed to its very limit.
"Hah… hah…"
Each breath was ragged—uneven—barely enough to keep him conscious.
For a moment, he didn't move.
Then—slowly—he lifted his head.
Strands of crimson hair fell over his eyes, casting shadows across his face…
yet the light within them refused to fade.
His gaze—sharp, unyielding—locked forward.
"It's pointless…"
His voice was low. Calm. Almost amused.
"…trying to break me."
Silence lingered.
Then, a faint smile curved along his lips—
not of defeat,
but of certainty.
"I won't fall that easily."
His fingers dug into the ground as he forced himself up—just slightly.
"You should know that."
—
A black-haired young man stood before him, looking down with calm, indifferent eyes.
There was no anger in his expression—
only a quiet, suffocating arrogance.
"You really think so?"
His voice was steady. Unshaken.
"Because I don't."
He tilted his head, his gaze sharpening—as if piercing through everything.
"You're not the one chosen by destiny…"
A faint smirk appeared.
"…not like me."
The air grew heavy.
"Struggle as much as you want," he continued, almost amused.
"In the end…"
He stepped forward.
"…I'll be the one who kills you, Makoto Mori."
Silence fell.
Then—
"Let's see how long you last."
—
"Haa—!"
Makoto's eyes snapped open.
His body jolted upright as a sharp breath escaped him.
Cold sweat clung to his skin. His heart pounded violently.
"…Where… am I…?"
His vision blurred. Reality felt distant—uncertain.
He raised a hand to his face, pressing his fingers against his eyes.
Wasn't I… fighting?
Fragments lingered—
overwhelming pressure…
a presence he couldn't resist…
enemies far beyond his reach.
And then—
nothing.
"Oi, what are you mumbling about?"
Makoto blinked.
A familiar figure stood beside him—messy posture, careless expression.
Haruto.
"You look like you just crawled out of a grave," Haruto said, raising an eyebrow.
"Stop spacing out and come to class."
He leaned closer, lowering his voice with a grin.
"I'm heading early… gotta sneak a peek at the girls."
Makoto stared at him for a second.
"…What?"
A pause.
"So you're a pervert."
"Hey! You can't just say that!"
Makoto exhaled, already standing.
"It is what it is… my friend."
—
The day passed like any other.
Classes. Noise. Meaningless conversations.
Normal.
Too normal.
—
The final bell rang.
Students poured into the corridors, their voices blending into a dull hum.
"I'll catch up later," Makoto said, slinging his bag over his shoulder.
Without waiting, he walked away.
—
My name is Makoto Mori.
A high school student. Nineteen years old.
And… yeah. I'm single, if that matters.
His steps slowed slightly.
Lately, though… something's been off.
These dreams.
They feel too real.
His gaze lowered.
Chosen by destiny… to protect the world?
A faint, self-mocking smile appeared.
Come on…
I can barely protect myself.
So how am I supposed to protect… anything else?
"Makoto."
A calm voice called out to him.
Makoto stopped.
He turned—and immediately recognized the figure standing a short distance away.
Black hair. Composed posture. Eyes that seemed to observe more than they revealed.
"…Oh. It's you."
A faint smile appeared.
"Kamiya."
He adjusted the strap of his bag slightly.
"Perfect timing. I was actually looking for you."
His gaze lingered for a moment.
"How've you been?"
—
Kamiya Shinya stepped forward.
His expression remained calm—as always.
"Busy," he replied simply.
"Late nights. Work. Things to take care of."
His tone was casual—
but vague enough to leave questions unanswered.
—
Kamiya Shinya.
A name almost everyone in the school knew.
A prodigy.
At the age of eleven, he had already begun collecting awards most could only dream of.
His academic scores were consistently at the top—effortlessly so.
But intelligence alone didn't define him.
His logical reasoning, adaptability, and precision in everything he did set him apart.
In short—
a genius.
And, unsurprisingly—
one of the most popular students among the girls.
—
Makoto studied him quietly.
For someone so well-known…
Kamiya carried himself with unsettling composure.
As if nothing in this world could truly surprise him.
—
"…You haven't changed," Makoto muttered.
"Still busy acting like you've got the whole world figured out."
A faint smirk touched his lips.
"Must be nice."
"You're a workaholic, you know that?" Makoto said, glancing at him.
"Always busy."
Kamiya's lips curved into a faint, composed smile.
"You could say that," he replied calmly.
"I don't mind."
—
We've known each other for years.
Makoto's gaze drifted slightly, as if looking beyond the present.
We became friends when we were fourteen…
A small memory surfaced—clear, almost vivid.
Back then, I got stuck in a tree… calling out for my mother like an idiot.
A faint smile tugged at his lips.
And Kamiya…
He climbed up without hesitation and pulled me down.
It was simple.
But from that moment on—
their bond had only grown stronger.
—
I had another close friend too…
Richard.
We met when I was four.
But when we turned fourteen… he transferred away.
Makoto exhaled quietly.
I wonder how he's doing now…
His gaze lifted toward the sky.
Meanwhile, I'm still here. Tokyo.
A soft, almost amused thought passed through his mind.
…Life's kind of funny like that.
—
"Are you having any trouble?"
Kamiya's voice cut through his thoughts.
Makoto blinked once, then shrugged.
"Not really trouble…"
He hesitated for a moment.
"I've just been having these weird dreams lately."
Kamiya remained silent, listening.
"I'm fighting someone," Makoto continued.
"Someone… strong."
His expression tightened slightly.
"And he keeps saying the same thing."
A brief pause.
"…that he's the 'destined one.'"
—
For the first time—
Kamiya's expression changed.
"…'destined one,' you say?"
His voice was quieter now.
Sharper.
Makoto frowned slightly.
"Yeah… why?"
A second passed.
Then—
"…Nothing," Kamiya said, returning to his usual calm tone.
"It's nothing, really."