Episode 1: You Still Have Football (Part 1)
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<<Unmei... >>
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<<Unmei... >>
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<<Unmei... >>
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<<Unmei! >>
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The sun hung like a relentless, burning orb in the center of the vast blue vault above the Monumental Stadium, casting sharp, obsidian-black shadows across the vibrant emerald expanse of the pitch. Beside the summer heat, there was a physical weight, the kind of oppressive humidity that clung to the skin and turned the air into a shimmering haze.
The atmosphere was a chaotic symphony of human emotion, a deafening wall of sound composed of rhythmic drumbeats, the frantic snapping of polyester flags, and the guttural roar of thousands who had descended upon the stands to witness a clash.
High above the sea of spectators, nestled within the glass-fronted commentary booth, the announcers were practically excited with the infectious energy of the crowd.
"Gooood morning everyone and welcome to the U15 Spring Cup!" the lead commentator bellowed, his voice cracking slightly with genuine fervor as he leaned so far into his microphone it threatened to topple.
"It's finally beginning, the long-awaited opening match! Raimon Junior High versus Northbright Middle School!" He paused, a slow, knowing smirk spreading across his face as he rubbed his chin. "This tournament may be just a warm-up for the prestigious upcoming Football Frontier, but all eyes are on Raimon, the immovable Kings! Can they defend their title or will the crown slip today?"
Beside him, his partner adjusted his glasses, the lenses catching the glare of the stadium lights. "Indeed," he countered, his tone more measured but no less intense.
"Northbright is no pushover. This Kyushu powerhouse has been on a meteoric rise, carving through the regional circuits with a precision that’s frankly terrifying. What they might lack in the raw, explosive attack power Raimon is famous for, they more than compensate for with surgical strategy. Raimon better look out, this is about to become a chess game on the grass!" He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "Now, look! The titans are emerging! The players are stepping onto the pitch!"
Down on the field, the transition from the cool, concrete shadows of the player tunnel to the blinding light of the stadium was transformative. The Raimon players gathered around their Captain, discussing their strategy for the game.
Some others casually started stretching and worming up around the field, they didn't seemed to be nervous at all, moving like it was just another game.
On the opposite side, the Northbright squad presented intensity. They were leaner, their movements more calculated. Their coach stood near the dugout, a figure carved from ice. His gaze was a cold, sharp instrument, scanning the stands and the opposition with a calculative hunger, dissecting formations before the whistle had even sounded.
Near the center circle, the Northbright duo, the heart of the Kyushu engine prepared themselves. Soramiya was one of them, he was in a deep lunge, his muscles coiling and uncoiling like steel springs. Every fiber of his being seemed tuned to a frequency only he could hear, he started his warm up, keeping his eyes focused on Raimon.
His partner approached him slowly, his cleats crunching softly against the manicured turf, stopping just a breath away to stare across the halfway line at the yellow and blue jerseys of the Kings.
<<"Hey, Sora..." >> he said, his voice low, his gaze sharp enough to cut glass. "How’s Raimon looking for you from down there?"
Sora paused his stretching, his head tilting back as he looked up at the Raimon lineup. A small, almost predatory smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. <<"Just knowing they’re considered the strongest team makes my blood boil," >> he admitted, his voice trembling with a mixture of anticipation and sheer competitive joy. "It’s like the air is vibrating around them... yet, at the end of the day they better don't underestimate us. We ain't gonna just let them do whatever they want."
<<"Yeah," >> his partner replied, his own smile widening as he felt the same electric hum in his chest. "Let’s get out there and make history. Let's show them that 'Legendary' is just a word until someone writes a new one."
<<"You bet!">> Sora nodded, his grin widening until it reached his eyes.
His partner nodded back, beginning a series of rapid, rhythmic stretches to shake the last of the tension from his hamstrings. But the silence didn't last. Sora’s focus suddenly shattered, his eyes narrowed, then widened, and his chest heaved. The sheer magnitude of the moment, the stadium, the heat, the looming presence of the champions hit him with the force of a tidal wave. "Waaahhh.. "
Tears began to well up, spilling over his cheeks in a sudden, dramatic display of overwhelmed emotion. <<"Oh man," >> Sora sobbed, wiping his eyes frantically with the back of his glove. "I'm so hyped. My eyes are leaking already! It’s too much! The grass is too green! The sun is too bright!"
His partner’s rised his eyebrows a little. He stumbled back a step, nearly tripping over a stray water bottle, he adjusted himself and sighs, <<"Oi, Sora... Save the waterworks for the trophy ceremony, will you? You’re going to dehydrate before the kick-off..." >>
The surrounding Northbright teammates, who had been maintaining a stoic, battle-ready silence, couldn't hold it in. Giggles broke out, followed by a few muffled laughs. The tension that had been strangling them dissipated into the hot morning air, replaced by the familiar, grounding absurdity of their ace's personality. They quickly snapped back into their positions, the game was about to start.
Across the divide, the Raimon dugout was a study in absolute composure. Their coach stood there with arms crossed while looking around. He looked as though he were watching a play he had already seen a hundred times, his gaze calm and serene. <<"This game is about to be.... interesting... >>, He whispered to himself.
The Raimon manager, sitting on the bench, looked toward him with curiosity. <<"What’s our game plan today, Coach? Northbright’s it's a pretty good team.">>
The coach turned his head. A faint, knowing smirk played on his lips. <<"Don't worry, little miss... As always, we will leave the field to our captain, Ren. He knows the rhythm of this team better than anyone.">>
He shifted his weight, his eyes sharpening as they landed on a figure standing slightly apart from the rest of the starting eleven. "And as for the rookie everyone’s talking about... the one who's supposed to be our secret weapon..."
At the edge of the pitch, a mysterious player stood perfectly still. While others were fidgeting or shouting, he was an island of silence. He reached up, slowly and deliberately adjusting a long, flowing scarf wrapped around his neck, an oddity in the sweltering heat, yet he didn't seem to sweat. He looked up, his eyes meeting the sun without flinching.
"Let’s see what he’s made of," the coach whispered, his eyes narrowing into slits of pure, professional curiosity.
The mysterious player didn't say a word. He simply smirked, a cold and confident expression that seemed to challenge the very ground he walked on, and stepped over the white line onto the field of play.
The referee raised the whistle to his lips. The stadium went silent for a heartbeat, a vacuum of sound where the only thing audible was the frantic thumping of thousands of hearts. Then, a sharp, piercing blast ripped through the air.
The world became a blur of motion. The ball was touched, the grass was kicked into the air, and the commentator’s voice exploded over the speakers, lost in the sudden, violent roar of the crowd.
<<"THE GAME BEGINS!!!!!">>
...
The heavy, rhythmic drone of a bus engine provided a low-frequency hum that anchored the quiet morning as the vehicle wound its way through the outskirts of Nagasaki. Outside the polished windows, the world was waking up in slow, deliberate brushstrokes. The road followed the gentle curve of the coastline, flanked by pedestrian paths where the local life played out like a silent film. Elderly couples moved with practiced synchronization on their morning walks, their breath occasionally misting in the early air, while solitary joggers in neon-accented gear pushed against the rising humidity. Every few hundred yards, wooden benches weathered by salt and sun held residents who simply sat with thermoses in hand, watching the bus pass as if it were the only clock they needed.
Inside the cabin, the atmosphere was far more electric, confined to the glowing four-inch screen of a smartphone. Two middle-school-aged boys were huddled so closely together that their foreheads practically touched, their faces illuminated by the frantic digital flicker of the U15 Spring Cup.
"Oh, a surprise steal by Sharps! There’s that famous athleticism of his!" the commentator’s voice tinny and distorted, leaked from the speakers. "An opening! He sends it long, far side.... Haru Evans!!!!"
<<"YEAH!">> the kids yelped in unison, their bodies jerking upward as if pulled by invisible wires. One of them accidentally punched the air, nearly clipping the headrest in front of him. Their eyes were wide, pupils dilated with the reflected glory of a goal just scored.
The sudden outburst shattered the bus's peaceful sanctuary. Directly in front of them, an old man wearing a flat cap stiffened, his shoulders rising toward his ears. He turned slowly, clearing his throat with a dry, rasping sound that carried a mountain of unspoken disapproval.
<<"Ah! Sorry!">> The boys instantly wilted, their exuberant energy replaced by a deep, hot flush of embarrassment. They scrambled back into their seats, hunching over the phone as if trying to merge with the upholstery. A woman across the aisle, clutching a grocery bag, let out a soft, melodic giggle, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she watched the youth struggle to contain their passion.
"Urgh! You're too loud," one of the boys hissed, his voice a frantic whisper.
"Well, so are you!" the other retorted, though he kept his volume low. He let out a long, shaky sigh of admiration, staring back at the frozen frame of the celebration on screen. "Anyways... Raimon sure is unstoppable! Haru Evans is incredible, right? He moves like he's playing a different game entirely."
The first boy nodded with feverish intensity. "Yeah! Raimon is likely to win the Football Frontier again this year! Just watch. No one can touch them."
In the back of the bus, detached from the excitement as if living in a different dimension, sat Destin Unmei. While the other children were consumed by the spectacle of the "Kings," Unmei’s gaze was fixed on the floor of the bus, staring into the dark, scuffed void of the linoleum. His expression was a mask of practiced neutrality, his eyes distant and clouded with a mystery that seemed too heavy for his age.
As the bus crested a final hill and began its descent into the heart of Nagasaki, the scenery shifted. The city revealed itself in layers, a stunning harbor town where the deep cerulean of the bay met the jagged, verdant greens of the surrounding mountains. The architecture was a tapestry of history and modernity, sprawling parks with manicured hedges sat nestled between stone structures and sleek, contemporary buildings that reflected the harbor’s light.
Unmei finally lifted his head, the morning sun hitting his face with a sudden, blinding warmth. He didn't squint, he allowed the light to wash over him. His gaze softened, the jagged edges of his thoughts smoothed out by the sheer, undeniable beauty of the landscape. It was a harbor of peace for a mind that felt constantly adrift. He took a slow, measured breath, adjusting the strap of his bag. <<"Maybe it won't be so bad," >>he thought, though the sentiment felt fragile, like glass about to crack.
The bus hissed to a stop, the doors folding open with a mechanical sigh. Destin stepped out onto the pavement, the scent of sea salt and diesel filling his lungs.
He didn't look back. He moved through the crowded sidewalks like a ghost, a silent shadow threading through groups of laughing students and rushing businessmen. He was among them, but entirely apart from them.
As he rounded a corner near a small neighborhood park, a rhythmic *thump-thump* caught his attention. A stray football, scuffed and worn, rolled across the sidewalk and bumped gently against a concrete retaining wall, coming to rest just inches from his shoes.
Unmei stopped. He looked down at the sphere. To any other kid, it was a toy, a tool for joy.
To him, it was... something he wasn't expecting...
<<"Excuse me? Can you pass the ball?">>
Unmei stared at the ball for a sec, and then he deliberately pivoted on his heel, turning his back on the ball and the expectant faces of the children.
"H-Hey!" one of the kids shouted, his voice cracking with disappointment.
"You meanie!" another pouted, crossing his arms and huffing as they watched the strange boy walk away without a word. The children stood frozen, looking between the ball and the retreating figure of Unmei, unable to understand why someone would refuse such a simple gesture.
Unmei’s hands tightened into fists at his sides. "I wish football..." he muttered, his voice cold, flat, and devoid of the melody of youth. He kept walking, his pace quickening as if trying to outrun the very air that carried the sound of the game.
Finally, Nagumohara rose before him. It was a sprawling campus, dominated by the sounds of the baseball team’s morning practice, the distant, metallic *ping* of a bat hitting a ball. It was a place where for a moment, offered him comfort.
He stepped through the front entrance, the wind catching his hair and whipping it across his forehead. He stopped, closing his eyes, letting the cool breeze act as a balm for the heat rising in his chest.
He stood there for a long moment, a solitary figure amidst the flow of students entering and leaving, an island in a rushing river.
"....Just disappeared from this world..."
He whispered under his breath, the words vanishing into the wind as he stared forward...
...
The heavy, iron-wrought gates of Nagumohara stood like sentinels as Unmei crossed the threshold. His eyes, sharp and analytical, immediately began to dissect the environment. He starts mapping out his surrounding. He noted the height of the clock tower, the direction of the wind as it whistled through the corridor eaves, and the students walking around him. Every single one of them was a variable and maybe useful to collect information.
<<"I should take a walk around the school to get a feel for the place," >> he thought, his inner voice a sterile, controlled monologue.
He took three steps into the main courtyard, his shoes clicking rhythmically against the stone, when the world seemed to grind to a halt. There, resting directly in his path, sat a football.
A strange blue glowing football. But as a group of students walked right through the space where the ball sat, their legs passing through the leather like it was made of nothing, a cold shiver ran down Unmei's spine.
His pupils dilated, his vision narrowing until the courtyard blurred into a grey haze. "A ball?" he whispered, his voice trembling with a mixture of something...
His jaw locked, teeth grinding together with enough force to ache. His hands curled into tight, white-knuckled fists. A cold sweat broke out across his brow, a single bead rolling down his temple as his heart hammered against his ribs. <<"T-this t-thing...!" >>
Suddenly, Unmei moved. He screwed his eyes shut, pressing the lids together until he saw sparks, and swung his leg with every ounce of bitterness he possessed at the empty air.
*THWACK.*
The sound was purely internal, a dull thud echoing in his mind. He stumbled forward from the momentum of kicking at nothing, his breath coming in ragged, shallow gulps. He stood there, bent at the waist, staring at the empty space where the ball had finally vanished. He took a final, shuddering sigh, forcing the tension out of his lungs.
He opened his eyes. The "ghost" was gone.
"Whoa, did you see that guy?" a student whispered, leaning toward his friend. "He just... lunged at the air. Is he okay?"
"Probably a transfer student," the other replied, holding a phone up. "Looked like he was trying to kick something. Totally weird."
Unmei caught the murmurs, his face turning a shade of pale stone. He didn't explain. He simply adjusted his collar and walked toward the sound of a crowd, desperate for a reality that made sense.
As he rounded the West Wing, a burst of purple smoke and a roar of applause drew him toward a makeshift stage in the amphitheater. This was the Magic Research Society, and they were putting on a recruitment spectacle that felt more like a street festival than a school club.
"Step closer, step closer! Don't let your common sense hold you back!" shouted a member wearing an oversized top hat. He was holding a solid silver hoop. <<"Observe! A simple ring of steel, right?" He tapped it against a wooden table, clink, clink. "But with a little bit of... persuasion...">>
He tossed the hoop toward another member, who caught it mid-air. As their hands met, the hoop didn't just pass through another ring; it seemed to liquefy, merging into a chain of six.
<<"No way!" a boy in the front row shouted, holding his phone out to record the trick. "I’m filming at 60fps and I still can't see the join!">>
<<"It's a camera trick, has to be!">> his friend laughed, though he was leaning in so far he nearly tripped over the stage rope.
Nearby, a girl from the society was "de-materializing" a deck of cards. <<"Science tells us matter cannot be destroyed," >> she chirped, her voice bright and energetic. "But science clearly hasn't met the Nagumohara Magic Society!" She fanned the cards out, and as she blew a kiss toward them, they turned into a flurry of white confetti. The crowd cheered, hands reaching up to catch the falling paper bits.
Then, the background music, a rhythmic, mysterious beat intensified. The performers stepped back, bowing deeply.
<<"Ladies and Gentlemen! Seekers of the unseen! Witness the impossible!">> a boy in a floor-length cape cried out, his voice a theatrical baritone as he pulled an endless string of multicolored silks from a student’s ear.
The atmosphere was thick with the smell of sulfur and incense. The members were a collection of eccentrics, moving with the synchronized, exaggerated flair of carnival performers. One student was juggling what appeared to be glowing orbs of light. <<"Observe me shaping the very light to whatever I want!">>, the students stares at each other on awe.
<<"Are you recording this? You better be recording this!">> the friend of the boy in the front row whispered to him.
<<"InaCord is about to go crazy!!!">> he said while recording.
Another one of the illusionists dramatically "levitates" a heavy leather book that was clearly attached to a very thin, very visible wire that Unmei could see, yet the crowd "oohed" and "aahed" regardless.
Then, the air seemed to chill. The frantic energy of the junior magicians settled into a hushed, expectant silence.
"And now," the announcer whispered, "the man who sees through the fabric of reality itself... The Illusion Virtuoso!"
From the shadows of the stage, a tall, slender figure stepped into the light. He moved with a predatory grace, his cool demeanor acting like a magnet for every eye in the courtyard. A group of girls near the front let out a synchronized, piercing shriek. "KYAAA! HE LOOKED AT ME! HE’S SO COOL!"
The Virtuoso ignored the noise. He reached into the air, his fingers long and dexterous, performing a series of rapid-fire sleight-of-hand movements that left the audience dazed. He caught a falling rose that wasn't there a second ago, then crumbled it into gold dust that turned into a fluttering butterfly. His eyes, sharp and piercing, scanned the crowd not with warmth, but with the focus of a hunter locking onto a target. He thrived on the deception, on the power of making people believe in a lie.
Unmei watched from the back of the crowd. He saw the trickery, the hidden pockets, the practiced misdirection. It was fascinating in its own way, a different kind of strategy. For a few minutes, the weight in his chest felt lighter, it was somehow, entertaining.
The Virtuoso stepped into the center of the circle as the show continued, and the atmosphere instantly transformed. With a dazzling, charismatic smile that hit every person in the front row, he spread his arms wide.
<<"My friends! My peers! Why settle for a reality that is so... predictable?">> The Virtuoso’s voice was smooth and melodic. He leaned down, moving close to a group of gasping girls. "You see this coin?" He held up a silver piece. "It represents your attention. If you look too hard, you miss the truth. If you look too little, you miss the fun."
He let a girl touch the coin. <<"Solid, right?">>
<<"Yes!">> she squeaked, her face turning bright red.
<<"Watch closely," >> The Virtuoso whispered, his eyes locking onto hers with a playful, predatory intensity. "Logic is a cage, and I have the key."
With a flick of his wrist, the coin shattered into a dozen shimmering, iridescent butterflies. As the girls shrieked and reached for them, The Virtuoso spun around, his hair billowing slowly.
<<"Is this your watch, sir?">> The Virtuoso asked, suddenly standing behind a tall, confused-looking boy who was busy recording.
The boy blinked, looking at his bare wrist. <<"Wait- how? I had the watch on my wrist the whole time!>>
<<"Magic? No,">> The Virtuoso laughed, his voice carrying across the yard. "It's just that you were so busy watching the butterfly, you forgot to watch the hunter!"
The crowd erupted. The Virtuoso's fangirls shouted. <<"He’s incredible!">>
<<"How does he do that?">>
<<"Virtuoso-sama, LOOK OVER HERE!">> Students were jostling for better angles, their phones recording the whole show.
Unmei stood at the very back, leaning against a cold stone pillar. He watched The Virtuoso's’s hands the way the elbows stayed tucked, the way the eyes directed the audience's focus away from the sleeve. It was a different kind of strategy, a different kind of "field." The boy was a master of misdirection, a predator of perception.
But as The Virtuoso took a deep, theatrical bow, his eyes scanning the crowd with a sharp, hidden intelligence that seemed to pierce right through Unmei’s distance, the hollow ache in Unmei's chest returned.
He turned away just as a fresh cloud of smoke erupted behind him, masking his exit, as the fans followed him where he headed.
<<"This school is loud," >> Unmei thought, his gaze hardening once more. <<"But at least here it's not that bad....">>
The cool morning air felt thin and precise as Unmei pulled his smartphone from his pocket.
"Nagumohara South Cirrus... Kyushu’s top preparatory school," he murmured, his voice barely a breath. He looked up, his gaze sweeping across the architecture with the cold efficiency of a building inspector. The campus was a masterpiece of modern design with all brushed steel, expansive glass panes that drank in the sunlight, and meticulously leveled stone pathways. "The campus is modern. Clean, orderly. The students just the same. Exactly as my data predicted."
He moved deeper into the grounds, his footsteps clicking in a steady, metronomic rhythm. To anyone else, the school was beautiful, but to Unmei, it was a spreadsheet brought to life. "A school that values both academics and athletics. Though lately, its baseball team has taken the spotlight, eclipsing everything else. A near-flawless institution... or so it seems."
He paused near the towering main entrance, where massive banners snapped and hissed in the wind. The school's slogan was emblazoned there in bold, traditional calligraphy: *Where the Pen and the Sword are Honored.*
"A place where—"
The sentence died in his throat. The atmosphere suddenly warped, the air becoming heavy and stifling as if a storm front had just moved in. A massive, looming silhouette eclipsed the sun, and a figure passed by Unmei with such force that the wind of his movement ruffled Unmei’s hair.
The figure came to a halt several paces ahead, his back a broad wall of intimidation.
Unmei didn't move. He didn't even blink. He simply looked down at his phone, his thumb swiping rapidly through a local student-run forum. A photo of that very back appeared on his screen, surrounded by angry texts and insults.
"Sakurazaki Bloomhurst," Unmei thought, his eyes narrowing as he read the data. "An eighth-grade delinquent. A rebel constantly trashed on social media for his "uncontrollable" nature. The statistical outlier of Nagumohara."
As if sensing the digital eyes on him, Sakurazaki’s head tilted. He didn't turn fully, but the predatory edge of his profile was enough to send a chill through the air. A few yards away, two students who had been whispering and pointing froze.
"WHAT!?" Sakurazaki’s voice was a guttural roar that seemed to vibrate the very glass of the nearby windows.
The two students flinched violently, their faces turning the color of bleached bone. They shook their heads in a frantic, blurred motion, nearly tripping over their own feet as they scrambled to look at anything else, a tree, their shoes or the sky.
"Tsk..." Sakurazaki hissed, a sound like a snake in the tall grass. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, his shoulders hunched in a posture of aggressive boredom, and resumed his walk. The crowd parted before him like a sea of panicked fish.
Unmei watched him go, his expression returning to its usual state of icy detachment. "Every school has its bad apples," he mused, adjusting his hair. He let out a soft, dismissive sigh. "Even so... despite the anomalies... this is the perfect place for me."
He whispered the words to himself as he stared at the edge of the secondary sports field. His gaze traveled past the pristine baseball diamond, past the perfectly maintained track, and landed on a forgotten corner near the equipment shed.
There, half-buried in overgrown weeds and rusted to a sickly orange-brown, stood a single football goal. Its net was a shredded web of rotted cord, flapping mournfully in the breeze.
Unmei’s gaze sharpened into a needle-point. A low, involuntary growl vibrated in his chest, a momentary crack in his porcelain mask. But then, a calm, satisfied smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Because here...", he whispered, his eyes lingering on the ruin.
"....there is no football club. No one to play. No one to care."
Unmei forced himself to look away, the weight in his legs subsiding as he recomposed his features.
He smoothed his uniform jacket, erasing any sign of the inner turmoil that had just flickered to life.
"I was supposed to look for the teacher once I got to the school," he said, his voice returning to its flat, analytical tone. "Maybe it's time to go inside and finish this."
He turned his back on the rusted goal and the punctured ball, walking toward the grand glass doors of the main building. As he stepped into the shadow of the entrance, that feeling felt like a million miles away, and that was exactly how he wanted it.
...
The interior of Nagumohara South Cirrus was a labyrinth of gleaming linoleum and the organized chaos of a new semester. Sunlight poured through floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air as hundreds of students scurried between lockers. The walls were plastered with vibrant recruitment posters, and the noise was a constant, shifting tide of laughter, slamming lockers, and the desperate pleas of club leaders.
Unmei walked through the throng with his chin slightly tucked, his eyes darting between room numbers.
<<"YOU! NEW STUDENT! YOUR DELTOIDS ARE CRYING OUT FOR PURPOSE!">>
The roar was so sudden it felt like a physical blow. Before Unmei could pivot, he was intercepted by three towering mountains of muscle. These were the core members of the Body Building Society. They wore their school blazers three sizes too small, the fabric straining against biceps that looked like overripe melons. The leader, a boy whose neck seemed to have been replaced by a solid block of granite, stepped directly into Unmei’s path.
<<"I can see it in your posture,">> the leader boomed, his voice echoing off the lockers. "A tragic lack of hypertrophy! I am Goro. Join us, and we shall turn those twigs you call arms into pillars of justice!"
Unmei stopped, his expression flat and unreadable. <<"I am looking for Class 1-A. Your recruitment is a statistical waste of my time and your oxygen.">>
<<"He’s playing hard to get, Goro!">> another member laughed, striking a 'Most Muscular' pose that sent a button flying off his vest. "Look at that focused gaze! That’s the gaze of a man who wants to squat four hundred pounds!"
<<"My gaze is focused on the door behind you,">> Unmei replied, his voice a sharp, icy scalpel. "If you do not move, the caloric expenditure you’re wasting on this conversation will result in muscle catabolism. You are literally shrinking as we speak."
The three giants gasped in unison, horror masking their faces as they looked at their own arms. <<"SHRINKING?! WE MUST RECOVER! TO THE PROTEIN SHAKES!">> In a flurry of panic and heavy footsteps, the trio charged toward the cafeteria, leaving a vacuum of silence in their wake.
Unmei adjusted his bag strap, a single vein throbbing in his temple. "Idiots."
As he turned away from the retreating, panicked forms of the Body Building Society, he checked his watch. He was already three minutes behind his projected arrival time for Class 1-A.
"Darn it," he muttered, his shoes clicking sharply against the linoleum.
He hadn't gone ten paces before a shadow loomed from a darkened doorway. A boy with thick, square-framed glasses and a cape made of a literal Japanese flag blocked his path. Behind him, two others were frantically waving glow-sticks in a synchronized, rhythmic pattern.
<<"Hold, traveler!">> the caped boy shouted, striking a dramatic pose. "I am the President of the Neo-Otaku Society! I sense a profound, brooding energy radiating from you! The mark of a true protagonist! Join us, and we shall help you unlock your hidden power during our next seasonal anime screening!"
Unmei didn't even slow his pace. <<"My 'energy' is actually low blood sugar caused by your obstruction,">> he said, side-stepping the boy without making eye contact. "And your 'hidden power' is likely just the result of a high-sodium diet. Move."
<<"Such coldness! Such tsundere potential!">> the boy cried out, reaching for Unmei’s sleeve, but Unmei pulled his arm back with surgical precision, leaving the Otaku President stumbling into a nearby trash can with a hollow *clatter*.
Before he could breathe, a hand caught his shoulder. <<"A moment of your time.">>
Unmei spun around to find a girl sitting cross-legged on a bench, a chessboard balanced precariously on her knees. The members of the Strategic Chess Society stood behind her like silent gargoyles.
<<"You have the eyes of a tactician,">> she said, her voice a low, calculated hum. "Play a blitz game. One minute. If you win, we let you pass. If you lose, you’re our new secretary."
Unmei stared at the board for exactly 1.5 seconds. <<"The Sicilian Defense you’ve set up is flawed; your knight on G5 is overextended. If I move my bishop to E7, your entire center collapses in four moves. I don't need a minute to win, but I don't have ten seconds to waste proving it to a club that can't see a basic blunder.">>
<<"HEY!">>The girl gasped, her hand hovering over her knight as she began to frantically recalculate. <<"Mhmm...">
<<"Did you just... lost?">> One of the members blink a little, staring at the board.
The whole club stares at each other flabbergasted, they never saw a play like that.
Unmei used her momentary paralysis to slip past, his face a mask of deepening irritation.
However, the encounter had served its purpose as a distraction. The hallway had branched, and the signage was obscured by a massive banner for the Baseball Club. Frustrated, Unmei turned to the nearest group of students, three girls draped in high-end accessories, their uniforms modified just enough to signal their status. The girl in the center looked more normal, yet she radiated an aura of arrogance and indifference, Unmei ignored that.
<<"Excuse me,">> Unmei said, his tone devoid of the usual deference people showed this clique. "Where is Class 1-A? Be quick."
The lead girl stopped buffing. She looked at Unmei like he was a smudge on her designer shoes. <<"Excuse me? Did a freshman just tell me to 'be quick'?">> Her crew snickered, closing in around Unmei like a pack of perfumed wolves. "Do you even know who I am? I don’t give directions to people who aren't quite... elegant."
<<"Your social media metrics are irrelevant to the layout of this building,">> Unmei stated, his gaze fixed on her forehead, refusing to engage with her 'power' play. "I am asking for a coordinate. If you lack the spatial awareness to provide it, simply say so."
The girl’s eyes wide open a little, she then throws her hair to the side acting indiferent. <<"You got a lot of nerves. Do you want your first day here to be your last?">>
<<"Now, now, let’s not turn the hallway into a drama set, shall we?">>
A new presence slipped between Unmei and the looming confrontation. She was composed, her posture perfect, wearing the gold armband of the Hallway Monitor. Her hair was neatly styled, and she held a digital tablet with the ease of someone who owned the room.
<<"If it isn't Mirika-senpai...">> the popular girl hissed, rolling her eyes. "We were just... helping the new boy. You know, so he can know his place."
<<"It looked more like you were trying to audition for a villain role, Marisol,">> the girl said, her voice kind but underpinned with a steel-trap authority. "Class is starting. Don't make me mark you down for obstructing a freshman. It’s a bad look for your 'brand,' isn't it?"
<<"Tsk, keep him under your wind or else I might have to do... something.">> Marisol turns back delivering her last thoughts and going away.
The girls scurried away without another word following her, treating the girl with the fearful respect usually reserved for a high-ranking school employee. The girl turned to Unmei, a spirited, supportive glint in her eyes. She leaned in slightly, a playful smirk dancing on her lips.
<<"Quite the entrance, Mr. Trouble-Seeker,">> she teased, her voice warm like a big sister's. "Getting into a war of words with the most popular girls in school, causing a scenes around the clubs and all of this within thirty minutes or so of arrival? That’s almost impressive."
Unmei let out a long, weary sigh, his shoulders dropping a fraction. <<"I was asking a question. They began a performance. I have no interest in their social hierarchies.">>
Amelia giggled, a bright, melodic sound. "I can see that. You’re very... literal, aren't you? I’m Amelia Mirika. I'm the Hallway Monitor, which basically means I’m the person who stops freshmen like you from getting eaten alive by the local wildlife." She tapped her chin with her stylus. "So, what does Mr. Literal need? Before he accidentally starts a riot in the library?"
<<"Class 1-A,">> Unmei said, looking away to hide his annoyance at the nickname.
<<"Direct and to the point. I like it," Amelia nodded, stepping aside and pointing toward a set of double doors at the end of the north corridor.>> "Take that left, then the third door on the right. And try to keep your 'data' to yourself until you’re actually in a seat, okay? I’d hate to have to rescue you from the Chess Club next."
Unmei didn't wait for her to finish. The joke had already overstayed its welcome. He began walking away, his gait stiff. <<"The interaction was unnecessary. Thank you.">>
<<"Bye-bye, Mr. Grumpy-Freshman!">> Amelia waved enthusiastically, her eyes crinkling as she watched him go. She shook her head, a soft smile lingering. "Definitely an interesting one. He’s got the eyes of someone carrying a lot more than just textbooks."
Unmei didn't look back. He kept his eyes focused on the North Corridor, his heart still beating with the residual annoyance of the morning.
The sliding door to Class 1-A groaned slightly on its tracks as Unmei approached. Standing in the threshold was his homeroom teacher, a woman whose professional attire was slightly betrayed by the frazzled way she kept checking her wristwatch. When her eyes finally landed on the slender, green-haired boy walking toward her, she froze. Her eyes narrowed, searching for a name on her roster.
<<"Destin...">> she murmured, then her face lit up with a mix of relief and excitement. "Destin! Destin Unmei! Come here, don't be shy!"
Unmei didn't flinch at the high-pitched welcome. He stopped exactly two paces in front of her. With a fluid, practiced grace, he shifted his weight and performed a deep, formal bow, the kind of traditional apology that belonged in a high-stakes boardroom, executed with a precision that made the teacher’s own posture look sloppy by comparison.
<<"Sorry, I was looking around the school and lost track of time,">> Unmei said. His voice was steady and clinical, but the depth of his bow carried a heavy weight of politeness.
The teacher’s eyes went wide. In a school of rowdy teenagers, she had never seen a freshman display such refined etiquette for a simple delay. She waved her hands frantically, her cheeks flushing of embarrassment. <<"H-Hey! It's okay! You don't have to apologize alright? You're making me feel like I’m in trouble!">>
Unmei blinked, slowly returning to an upright position, his expression remaining a blank slate. The teacher smiled, slapping her hands together to reset the mood. <<"Alright then!">>
She gestured for him to follow her into the room. <<"Let me introduce you to the class, alright?">>
Unmei nodded slowly and entered the classroom following behind her.
The classroom organized yet buzzing with various voices. Groups of students were huddled together, some sharing notes, others lost in the world of their sketchbooks or the rhythm of the music leaking from their earbuds. As soon as the teacher’s shadow crossed the threshold with Unmei in tow, the hum died. Every head turned.
<<"Class, Destin here is joining us a few days late due to family circumstances,">> the teacher announced with a warm smile.
Unmei offered a shallow, efficient bow to the room. <<"My name is Destin Unmei. I’ll be joining the class as of today.">>
A heavy silence followed, broken only by the sound of pens being dropped and the soft rustle of whispers as students assessed the new, mysterious addition to their ranks. Unmei looked around, completely unphased by the scrutiny.
Suddenly, a chair screeched against the floor. A boy with a bright, overly energetic face leaped to his feet. He looked like he was vibrating with enough energy to power the school's generator. He smirked, his eyes filled with excitement.
<<"A destined encounter with Destin Unmei!">> the boy shouted, striking a pose. "The winds of fate are blowing!"
The teacher and the whole class stare at the boy, Unmei just ignores.
A few students giggled, and the teacher chuckled, but Unmei felt a low, involuntary growl vibrate in his chest. <<"Jerk,">> he thought.
<<"Alright Destin, pick a seat okay? Feel at home!">>
Unmei scanned the room. Most of the desks were occupied, and to his growing dread, the only vacant spot was directly next to the energetic boy, who was still staring at him with a grin that felt like a physical assault. Unmei hissed a little under his breath, a sound of pure frustration and walked up the aisle.
He sat down, immediately putting his bag on the table and closing his eyes for a sec. Taking a deep breath.
The boy leaned over the gap between their desks, whispering with the intensity of a co-conspirator as he rises his hand for a handshake. "Hey! Hi! I’m Kisoji Freud, but everyone calls me Soji. Nice to meet you! A destined encounter with Destin, huh?"
Unmei kept his gaze locked forward, his voice dropping to a sharp, icy whisper. "It wasn't funny the first time, it isn't funny now."
Kisoji blinked, the "winds of fate" seemingly knocked out of his sails. "R-really?"
He groaned, slumping back into his seat with a look of genuine defeat. "Aww man..."
"Alright then class," the teacher clapped her hands, commanding the room. "Open the book at chapter 20."
The class officially began, and Kisoji retreated into his own space, though he pouted visibly, his eyes occasionally darting back to Unmei as if trying to solve a puzzle.
"Humph." Unmei ignored him, his focus sharpening as he reached into his bag.
As he pulled out his notebook, he felt a prickle of hostility from his other side. He shifted his gaze toward a girl with wild, messy hair and large headphones clamped over her ears. She was tapping her desk with a pencil doing a slow, rhythmic *thump-thump-thump* that felt like a countdown.
When their eyes met, she let out a low, territorial growl, her lip curling slightly. She was small, but the intensity of her short temper was palpable. Unmei quickly looked away, retreating into the safety of his notes.
"<<A hyperactive fool and a feral drummer,>> Unmei mused, his pen hovering over the page. "Perfect...."
...
The afternoon sun hung low over Nagasaki, casting long, dramatic shadows that stretched across the harbor’s glistening surface. The city was alive with the sound of the evening rush, the distant hum of the ferry, the clatter of shutters closing, and the rhythmic clicking of heels on the pavement.
Unmei walked with a brisk, robotic cadence, his eyes fixed on the path ahead as he mentally calculated the most efficient route home.
However, the silence he craved was shattered by a rhythmic *pat-pat-pat* of sneakers.
"Sup, no? You’re no fun at all!" Kisoji laughed, loping alongside him.
He leaned into Unmei’s peripheral vision, his grin so wide it seemed physically impossible. "Want to head to the arcade for a bit? I heard the new hyper-fighter cabinet is legendary!"
Unmei’s jaw tightened. He could feel his personal space shrinking, occupied by Kisoji's sheer, radiating enthusiasm. "That’s against school rules," he replied, his voice clipped and dry.
"Then where do we go? You just moved here, right? I’ll show you around!" Kisoji insisted, hopping onto a low stone wall and walking along the edge to keep eye level. "Come on, Unmei! What’s your favorite food? Are you a ramen guy? Or maybe you're into those fancy crepes by the park?"
"I’m already well-informed of this town’s data more than you even," Unmei interrupted, accelerating his pace. "Thus, there is no particular location I wish to visit right now."
"Data? What data?" Kisoji tilted his head, intrigued.
"Is it the secret stats of the local stray cats? I know which ones like tuna! Hey, wait up! What about your family? Do you have siblings? A dog? A pet rock? Why'd you move here anyway?"
"It is not your business," Unmei stated, his legs moving like pistons.
"Everything is my business if we’re destined friends!" Kisoji cheered, skipping to stay ahead of him. "Okay, if you won't talk about yourself, let's talk about... uh... your blood type! Are you Type A? You seem like a Type A. Very organized. Me? I'm Type O! Pure energy!"
Unmei stared straight ahead, his expression a mask of icy endurance. "Your energy levels are a statistical anomaly that I find exhausting. Please, cease your vocalizations."
"Cease? That's such a fancy word! You really are a genius!" Kisoji eyes sparkle with admiration.
He then beamed, undeterred. "Hey, is it true you like to kick the air? I heard a rumor in the hall! Is it a secret martial art? 'The Way of the Invisible Foot'? Can you teach me?"
"Urgh..." Unmei stopped abruptly, causing Kisoji to overshoot by three paces. Unmei took a sharp left into a crowded shopping district, weaving through the throng of tourists.
"Unmei! Don't leave me hanging!" Kisoji’s voice echoed over the crowd. He popped up behind Unmei again. "So, about that data... do you have a favorite color? I bet it's blue. Or gray. Something serious!"
"My favorite color is the absence of noise," Unmei hissed. He turned a corner, then another, his pace becoming a near-sprint.
Kisoji was right behind him, panting but grinning. "You're fast! Are you on the track team? No, wait, you're the new guy! We should start a 'Fast Walkers Club'!"
As they reached a busy intersection, the pedestrian light began to flicker from green to yellow. Unmei saw his opening, he surged forward with a sudden, athletic burst, leaping onto the far curb just as the red light flared to life. A wall of city traffic roared into the gap, a river of steel separating them.
Kisoji skidded to a halt on the opposite side, his heart hammering as a bus swept past inches from his nose. "He... almost got ran over..." Kisoji whispered, his eyes wide with a mix of terror and awe. When the traffic cleared, the sidewalk was empty. Unmei had vanished.
...
"Phew, I finally lost him," Unmei sighed, walking around. He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead with a napkin. "I’m not great with that kind of overbearing kindness. It is... illogical."
Unmei kept walking, enjoying the silence of the night, but the silence was short-lived. From a dark alleyway just ahead, the muffled sounds of a scuffle and a low, mocking laugh reached his ears.
"Remember what happened last time?" a thug sneered.
"A fight?" Unmei’s eyebrows rose. He rounded the corner and froze. The broad shoulders, the defiant posture, it was unmistakable. "Sakurazaki.... Sakurazaki Bloomhurst?"
Unmei closes his eyes and hisses, "He really is exactly what they say online... Always stirring up trouble."
Unmei turns away but before he could take a step, a violent *BAM* echoed through the alley.
One of the thugs had been launched through the air, slamming into a stack of crates with enough force to shatter them.
Sakurazaki stood in the center of the gloom, slowly landing his feet on the ground. The air around him felt heavy, charged with a dark, predatory aura.
"What a kick!" one of the thugs whispered, his voice trembling.
"A... kick?" Unmei stares at the alley where Sakurazaki was.
Unmei tried to look away, but he couldn't... Somehow he couldn't control himself.
"I'm just getting warmed up," Sakurazaki growled, his eyes filled with amousement.
Unmei gulped, his body stepping back automatically even as his mind became transfixed.
As Sakurazaki stepped forward to finish them, a thug who had been hiding behind a dumpster lunged with a glass bottle. "Don’t get cocky!"
"Show us some respect!!!!"
"Watch out!" Unmei shouted, nearly stepping into the fray.
Suddenly, a flash of motion and a massive surge of air pressure erupted.
Unmei’s eyes went wide. He saw something he never have seen before.
Sakurazaki’s leg connected with the bottle mid-air.
Shards of glass spread all around slowly, catching the dim light, as Sakurazaki and Unmei’s gazes finally met.
Sakurazaki landed and turned back to the thugs, and Unmei felt a spark, something he hadn't felt in years. He ignored all logic, he steps forward.
"That kick..." Unmei whispered as he could see something...
Something waiting for him...
Sakurazaki dashed, kicking a thug so hard he bounced back off the brick.
"The speed in his stride..." He pivoted on a dime, a roundhouse kick sending another flying.
"The force of his pivot..." A third thug lunged, and Sakurazaki kicked a heavy trash can into the air, slamming it into a thug's chest. "The sheer spring in his step."
Each strike made Unmei’s hair ruffle from the sheer wind of the impact. He moved forward, his vision blurring.
The alleyway was gone, now he could only see a field. "T-that's..."
"That's it...."
Sakurazaki delivered a final blow, slamming the leader of the thugs into the wall.
"What's wrong, outta breath?"
He slammed his foot onto the brick right next to the thug's head, the thugs flinches and turns his head to the side, sweating.
"I ain't even close to be done with ya..." Sakurazaki hisses.
"Don't let me down, alright?" Sakurazaki smirks wide, enjoying the little show he managed to put up.
"Let's turn this into a showdown no one..."
"Can turn a blind eye to!"
Sakurazaki raised his leg for a devastating finish. "TAKE THIS!!!!"
The thug eye's wide, he quickly gasps and covers his head with his arms, feeling the power of Sakurazaki's kick upcoming.
Suddenly, Unmei lunged forward, wrapping his arms tightly around the delinquent's waist.
"...!"
Sakurazaki lands his leg on the ground as he quickly tries to push Unmei away.
"You...! Who the heck are you?!" Sakurazaki roared, shaking violently and pumping Unmei with his elbow, but Unmei held on with a desperate grip.
The thugs stood up, wiping blood from their lips. "Heh, is that your little sidekick, Sakurazaki?"
"Violence never leads to anything good!" Unmei shouted.
"You...!"
Sakurazaki slammed his elbow into Unmei’s chest, sending him falling to the gravel.
"So what? I got nothin' to lose!" Sakurazaki shouts, looking down at Unmei. "Stay out of this, kid."
"I am serious!" Unmei shouted back, his voice cracking with emotion.
"Yo, you are just waisting your breath with this one, square." One of the thugs smirks.
"This piece of trash starts fights with anyone in sight," a thug laughed. "Nothing but a hopeless, brainless monster!"
"We're just the trash collectors. We're doin' this town a service from getting rid of this guy."
"HE is not trash!" Unmei’s voice rang through the alley.
The thugs stared at each other for a sec and then laughed, a cruel, wheezing sound. "Ooh, I’m shaking!"
The other added "Heh, Go cry to your mommy, pipsqueak!"
Unmei stood up, his legs shaking but his gaze fixed.
"Take back what you said... Take back what you said about Bloomhurst!" Unmei shouts and demands.
Sakurazaki stared at him, stunned. A random kid, the weird one from the courtyard was standing up for him?
In that moment of distraction, the thugs surged forward, pinning Sakurazaki’s arms and legs.
"Darn it!" Sakurazaki cursed, struggling against the weight.
One thug reached down and grabbed a heavy iron pipe from the debris.
Unmei’s breath hitched. His legs locked. The logical fear flooded back, he wanted to move, he needed to move, but his body was a statue.
The thug walked toward the pinned Sakurazaki, tapping the pipe against his palm. "What's wrong? Spacing out?" he teased, looking at Unmei. "Cat got your tongue, huh?"
"Kickin' Legend Sakurazaki, huh?" He laughs, teasing Sakurazaki. "You are starting to annoy me."
"Let's see if you will be able to kick something after this..." He tapped Sakurazaki’s leg with the iron.
Sakurazaki growls, his eyes filled with anger, but the thug's grip was stronger to keep him on place.
Unmei's eyes wide on terror... they... they were going to...
"Time to put an end to this!!!!!! HAAAAAAHHH!!!!"
The pipe swung in a wide, lethal arc.
Unmei’s legs finally snapped into life. He didn't hesitate. He dove across the gravel, throwing his body over Sakurazaki’s legs. He shut his eyes tight.
CRACK.
The iron pipe connected with the back of Unmei’s head. The sound was sickening.
Unmei’s world went black instantly. He slumped forward, fainting before he even hit the ground.
The alley went silent.
The thugs stood frozen, the pipe trembling in the leader's hand. Sakurazaki’s eyes were wide with a terror he had never felt for himself.
With a roar of pure fury, he threw the thugs off him, sending them sprawling. He scrambled toward the collapsed boy, gently turning him over.
"Darn it! This... this wasn't the plan....!"
"Uh... he is still breathing... right?" one of the thugs stammered, his face pale.
Sakurazaki looked up at them, his gaze cold enough to freeze their blood. "You numbskulls... You went too far!!!"
"Eh..." The thugs looked at each other.
"Yo, let’s get out of here! Run!" The thugs didn't need to be told twice. They bolted from the alley, their footsteps echoing into the distance.
Sakurazaki turned back to Unmei, his hands shaking as he gripped the boy's shoulders. "Hey! Wake up! Wake up! Are you there?! Hey!"
"Hey!!! HEY!!!"
The only answer was the distant sound of the harbor ferry, mourning in the twilight.
...
<<Unmei... >>
...
<<Unmei... >>
...
<<Unmei... >>
...
<<Unmei! >>
...
TO BE CONTINUED...
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