The call to prayer echoed through the quiet streets of the village, cutting through the stillness of the late afternoon. Haroon rose from his desk, already prepared. His younger brothers played in the courtyard, their laughter drifting faintly through the open window, but they knew better than to be late. He adjusted his plain robe, ensuring it was clean, then moved toward the front door where his father waited, his expression stern yet calm.

"Haroon, it's time," his father said, his voice steady with authority—a voice that had shaped Haroon his entire life.

Haroon nodded, joining him without a word. As the eldest son, his role was clear—to lead by example. His brothers would follow soon, but it was his duty to be the pillar of discipline and devotion, as his father had taught him. Together, they walked in silence, the dusty roads stretching ahead as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows. The village—small, quiet, simple—was all Haroon had ever known. It was a world of order, purpose, and faith, the bedrock of his upbringing. His father had ensured that.

Halfway to the mosque, his father spoke, his gaze still fixed ahead. "In a week, you will be in Japan."

Haroon's steps remained steady, though his heart quickened. He had known this, of course, but hearing it from his father brought the weight of it to the surface.

"It is a land of disbelief. You will face challenges, temptations. Tests of your faith." His father's voice was unwavering, each word a command as much as a warning. "Do you understand what this means?"

Haroon nodded, his jaw tightening. "I understand."

"Good," his father replied. "You're not going there for yourself. You go for this family, for your brothers, for our name. You must hold yourself to a higher standard. Remember why you were given this opportunity. God willed it, but He will also test you."

"I won't forget," Haroon said, his voice low but firm.

His father glanced at him, a brief flicker of approval in his eyes. "See that you don't."

By the time they reached the mosque, the call to prayer had ended. Haroon followed his father inside, and they took their places in the front row. The prayer was brief, grounding, and as Haroon stood in silent reflection afterward, the weight of responsibility settled over him once more. Being the eldest son meant leading, succeeding, and never faltering.

As they walked back home, his father broke the silence again. "You've always been smart, Haroon. Smarter than most. But intelligence without discipline is nothing. It is your faith that gives you strength. Japan will tempt you—they live without belief, without purpose, worshipping false idols. You must not follow their ways."

Haroon met his father's gaze, his own eyes sharp and resolute. "I won't. My faith is all that matters."

His father nodded, satisfied. "Good."

That night, Haroon sat alone in his room, a holy book open before him. His younger brothers were already asleep, huddled together in a corner of the small room. The house was quiet, the faint rustling of the wind outside the only sound. Haroon's eyes moved across the words on the page, but his mind wandered.

Japan.

A land far from the truth. A place where God was not honored, where people lived detached from the path of righteousness. It wasn't just a different culture; it was an entirely different reality. Yet, I will go. Not for adventure, not for personal gain, but because it is God's will. My scholarship and intellect are tools—gifts meant to fulfill a greater purpose, though I do not yet know what that purpose is.

He closed the holy book, staring up at the ceiling. A flicker of doubt crossed his mind—Would he truly be ready for what awaited him?—but he brushed it aside. He had already overcome doubt once before, years ago, and he would not falter again. Not now. I will not fail them. I will not fail Father. I will not fail my faith.

Two days later, Haroon stood at the airport, his father beside him. His younger siblings clung to his legs, the youngest brother barely old enough to understand the significance of his departure.

"Take care of them," Haroon said, looking down at their innocent faces.

"They will be fine," his father said, his voice steady. "But you… you will need strength. The kind that doesn't waver."

Haroon turned to meet his father's unyielding gaze. "I'm ready."

"You think you are," his father said quietly, "but Japan is a different world. They live without faith, without belief. You will see things you do not understand. But you will not bend. You will not fall."

"I won't."

His father placed a firm hand on Haroon's shoulder. "You carry more than just your name. You carry this family's honor. Don't forget that. And don't forget why you are going."

"I won't."

Without another word, Haroon hugged his siblings, feeling their small hands tug at his robe. He embraced his father, the only man he had ever truly respected, and without a glance back, walked toward the gate. His future awaited, but his faith and duty would be his only guiding lights.

The flight to Japan was long. Haroon spent most of it in silent contemplation, his mind circling back to scripture, his prayers, and his father's words. He was entering a world where modesty was forgotten, where people followed their own desires rather than God's laws. This is not my world, but it is where I've been placed. I will endure it.

When the plane touched down in Tokyo, the enormity of the city struck him like a physical force. The airport bustled with activity, announcements blaring in both Japanese and English, people surging around him in a wave of sound and movement. Haroon stood still for a moment, taking it all in before moving forward, feeling as though he were being swept along by the current.

Outside, Tokyo was a blur of lights, sounds, and unfamiliar smells. Neon signs flashed overhead, while the hum of traffic filled the air, blending with the voices of people hurrying along the crowded streets. The calm, quiet streets of his village felt like a distant memory. This city… it's too alive. Too chaotic.

Haroon took a cab to the small apartment the school had arranged for him. The ride through the sprawling city offered him a glimpse of a world that felt utterly foreign. Towering glass buildings reflected the lights of the streets below, while pedestrians moved in an unceasing flow, eyes glued to their phones, their conversations loud and carefree.

There's no order here. No reverence. He clenched his jaw, pushing the rising discomfort aside. I haven't come here to indulge in their ways. I'm here for a purpose.

His apartment was small but functional. He unpacked with precision, placing his holy book on the desk by the window. The city lights glowed brightly outside, but he pulled the curtains shut, blocking out the overwhelming world.

The next morning, Haroon awoke early. He performed his morning prayers in the quiet stillness of his new apartment, the hum of the city below barely a whisper. The ritual grounded him, reminding him of who he was and why he was here.

Before his first day at Nakamura High School, Haroon took a walk through the neighborhood. The streets were immaculate, the buildings orderly, but the people… The people moved without purpose, heads down, eyes fixed on their phones. They passed by each other like ghosts, barely acknowledging the world around them. Haroon could feel their eyes on him as he walked, the lone foreigner in their midst, but he paid them no mind. I'm not here for them.

He observed their customs with a critical eye. The bowing, the constant exchanges of pleasantries—it felt hollow. Rituals without meaning. The only one we bow to is God, Haroon thought, feeling a surge of disgust. No human deserves that reverence.

By the time he reached Nakamura High, he had already decided how he would proceed. He would observe, learn, and excel—but he would not let their ways take root in him. His faith was stronger than that.

Inside the classroom, Haroon took a seat by the window, the farthest from the chatter of his classmates. He preferred the distance; it allowed him to observe without being noticed. The teacher began a lecture on Japanese history, but the topic quickly turned to Shintoism and its place in the country's culture.

Haroon listened, though the more he heard, the more his disapproval grew. The veneration of nature spirits, the worship of ancestors—it all seemed heretical to him. False idols. They bow to trees and stone shrines, praying to gods of wind and water. How can they not see?

But Haroon kept his face impassive, his eyes focused. He took notes when necessary, nodding occasionally as though he were fully engaged. It was a mask he wore well. Let them think I care.

Later, the subject shifted to physics. This was different. Science, to Haroon, was not just knowledge—it was the study of God's design. The laws that governed the universe, the precision of mathematics, the logic of physical phenomena—it all reflected divine order. In this subject, Haroon excelled effortlessly.

His teacher praised him frequently,

impressed by his grasp of complex theories. But Haroon took no pride in it. The compliments are meaningless. The knowledge is sacred, a testament to God's will.

Weeks passed, and Haroon's isolation deepened. He excelled in his studies, particularly in mathematics and physics, and his teachers often marveled at his intelligence. Yet, outside the classroom, he remained a solitary figure—distant, untouchable. He did not join in the casual banter of his classmates, nor did he engage in their after-school social gatherings. I don't need their approval, nor do I seek their companionship. His world was governed by different rules—rules they couldn't possibly understand.

On weekends, while other students indulged in their free time, Haroon stayed in his small apartment. His days were spent in quiet contemplation, studying scripture, reflecting on the path laid out before him. The city around him buzzed with distractions and temptations, but Haroon remained steadfast. I made a promise—to myself, to my family, and to God. I will not falter.

One evening, after another long day at school, Haroon stood on his small balcony, overlooking the vast, sprawling city of Tokyo. The lights stretched out beneath him, blinking like stars against the darkness, and the hum of the city continued—never ceasing, never quiet. Haroon leaned against the railing, his hands gripping the cold metal as he watched the endless sea of people moving far below.

So many lives, so much movement, yet so little direction. So little meaning. Thousands of people living without purpose, without belief, chasing after fleeting pleasures and desires, worshipping nothing but their own egos.

Haroon's fists clenched. This world… it isn't mine. But I will endure it. For God. For my family. For everything that truly matters.

The next day, Haroon walked through the gates of Nakamura High School, his mind distant from the lively chatter of his classmates. The sun had barely risen, casting a soft, orange glow across the sky. Haroon glanced upward, admiring the purity of the morning sky, the untouched beauty that reflected God's design.

Even nature bows to His will. But the people around me? They've forgotten it.

As he approached the entrance, Haroon's eyes flicked toward the other students. Their behavior was predictable—careless, hollow. The girls wore uniforms that were too short, revealing too much skin, while the boys walked with their shirts untucked, their conversations light and meaningless. They laughed too easily, mingled too casually.

How far they've fallen, Haroon thought, a familiar sense of disgust rising within him.

In his eyes, modesty was a virtue—a reflection of discipline, of respect for oneself and for God. But here, there was no such reverence. Boys and girls interacted without boundaries, without restraint. Relationships between the sexes should be governed by reverence and purpose, not by fleeting emotions and shallow desires.

He walked past them without a word, his expression neutral, but his thoughts sharp. They live without purpose. They live without belief.

Inside the classroom, Haroon watched as his classmates greeted one another, bowing and exchanging pleasantries. The ritual felt empty to him, hollow. They bowed to each other, to their teachers, as if they were showing reverence to gods. But in Haroon's eyes, there was only one being deserving of such respect.

The only one we bow to is God. No human, no matter their status, deserves such a gesture.

He changed into the school's indoor slippers, a habit he had grown accustomed to, though it never felt right. These rituals—the bowing, the greetings, the formalities—he performed them because they were expected of him, not because he believed in their meaning. Inside, Haroon held onto one truth: There is only one God, and He alone is deserving of reverence.

He sat by the window, his usual seat. It allowed him to observe without being observed, to remain detached from the chaos of his classmates' shallow lives.

That day's lesson shifted to Japanese culture and religion, and the teacher began discussing Shintoism. Haroon kept his expression focused, though his mind wandered. Shinto shrines, nature gods, offerings to spirits—it all felt heretical to him. They worship the wind and the trees, offer prayers to stone statues, burn incense at altars. How can they not see? The truth is so clear, and yet they choose to remain blind.

The teacher spoke of the kami—spirits believed to inhabit natural elements like rivers, mountains, and forests. To the Japanese, the kami were to be revered, respected as forces of nature. But to Haroon, this was a mockery of true belief. They pray to what they can see and touch, while rejecting the unseen, the divine. How can they revere the creation over the Creator?

But Haroon showed none of this on his face. He remained composed, nodding when necessary, taking notes when expected. It was a mask, one he had perfected over time. Let them think I'm paying attention. Let them think I care.

Later in the day, the lesson shifted to physics. Here, Haroon's mind sharpened, his focus returning with full force. Science was different. Physics, mathematics—these were studies of God's design. The laws of the universe, the precision of numbers and equations, were proof of divine order.

Haroon excelled in this subject, answering every question with ease, solving problems with a precision that impressed even his teacher. The praise he received meant little to him, though. Compliments are fleeting, human noise. The knowledge itself is sacred, and it is the only thing that matters.

After class, his teacher complimented him again, remarking on his intelligence and how quickly he grasped complex concepts. Haroon nodded politely, but inside, he felt nothing. Praise from others is meaningless. My achievements are not for my own glory but for God's. For my family. For the future I am destined to fulfill.

It was later in the day, during yet another mundane cultural lesson, that something strange happened. The atmosphere in the classroom changed without warning. Haroon barely noticed it at first—his mind had once again wandered as the teacher droned on about Japanese festivals tied to Shinto practices. But then, the lights flickered.

A strange heaviness filled the air, like a thick fog descending over the room. Haroon's senses sharpened, his body tensing instinctively. Something isn't right.

The temperature in the room seemed to drop, the once-warm air now cold and oppressive. Haroon's classmates exchanged nervous glances, some fidgeting in their seats. The lights flickered again, dimming this time, casting long shadows across the walls.

Then, without warning, a blinding light erupted from the front of the classroom. It wasn't just light—it was a force, pressing into Haroon's mind and body, as if trying to tear him apart and rebuild him all at once. The world around him vanished, swallowed by the searing brightness. His body felt weightless, disconnected from reality, as if the very fabric of the world was unraveling.

He heard the distant screams of his classmates, their voices distorted and far away, as if they were coming from another realm. But Haroon barely registered them. His senses were overwhelmed by the force pulling at him, twisting the space around him. His mind strained under the pressure, as if it were being stretched beyond its limits.

And then… everything stopped.

When the light faded, Haroon found himself standing on cold, polished stone. The transition was jarring—one moment, he had been seated in a classroom, the next, he was in a vast hall lit by flickering torches. His vision slowly adjusted to the dim glow, revealing towering marble columns and intricate carvings along the walls. The floor beneath his feet gleamed—pristine, unblemished marble that stretched far and wide.

His classmates were there too, scattered across the hall, some clutching their heads, others trembling. Murmurs of confusion rippled through the group, but Haroon remained still, his sharp eyes scanning the unfamiliar surroundings. This place feels different—like an intrusion into the natural order, something beyond the laws of the world I've known.

Figures dressed in elaborate, immodest clothing stood at the far end of the hall. Women wore gowns that clung too tightly to their bodies, revealing more skin than was proper. Even the knight at the end of the hall, standing tall in her armor, wore a revealing outfit. All show, no modesty. No reverence.

At the center of the dais sat a king, watching them with an expression of calm authority. Beside him stood the princess, dressed in equally immodest clothing. Around them were courtiers, mages, and advisors, their eyes fixed on Haroon and the others as if they were assessing something.

Haroon took it all in, his mind already analyzing the situation, noting the excess and the opulence designed to enforce submission. But wealth and power do not equate to righteousness.

As Haroon's eyes scanned the room, a faint glow appeared in his peripheral vision. He turned, and there, floating before him, was something beyond explanation—a system window, as if out of a game or dream.

Status Window: Haroon

Level: 1Class: NoneRace: HumanSkills: NoneInnate Talents: Character Creation

Haroon's gaze locked onto the words: Character Creation.

His pulse quickened slightly, but he remained composed. His mind raced as he processed the implications. Something is happening—something far beyond the world I have known. Without hesitation, Haroon mentally activated the talent.

The moment he did, the world around Haroon turned grey, suspended in an eerie stillness. The flickering torches froze mid-sway, their light caught in mid-flicker like the last moment of a flame. His classmates stood locked in place, their confused expressions frozen in time. It was as if the entire fabric of reality had paused, leaving him alone in a void where time had no meaning.

Haroon stood amidst the stillness, the only being aware and conscious in this strange new dimension. The silence was deafening, but he remained calm. This is not a mere illusion. This is real, and I am meant to control it. He could feel the weight of the moment, understanding instinctively that something far greater than he had ever imagined was at play. His sharp mind, trained in discipline and focus, adjusted quickly to this new situation.

Before him, the interface flickered, expanding to reveal a series of intricate menus, numbers, and symbols. It was a detailed array of options—stats, skills, classes, and points to allocate. Haroon's gaze sharpened as he absorbed the new information.

This is no game. This is an opportunity. A system of rules and order presented to me, and I will approach it with the same methodical care I apply to everything. But this was more than just a system—it was a reflection of the world he was now a part of, a world governed by laws he had yet to fully comprehend. In a way, it mirrored the precision of God's design, the divine order he so deeply believed in.

He took a slow, measured breath and began to examine each option carefully. Strength, Intelligence, Agility, Endurance—each stat had its own importance, each choice a doorway that would shape his future. Haroon's mind raced through the possibilities, weighing the pros and cons of each decision. I will not rush this. Mastery over this system will give me mastery over everything else in this strange new world.

He read through the descriptions, noting the way each stat interacted with the others. Strength would determine his physical prowess, but Intelligence would allow him to understand the laws of magic or perhaps the deeper mechanisms of this world. He considered increasing his Intelligence at the expense of Strength, but something told him that balance would be key. I cannot afford to sacrifice too much in one area—not yet.

Instead of blindly boosting stats, Haroon focused on the interplay between them. Endurance would help him survive, and that was crucial. I need the ability to withstand whatever comes—both physically and mentally. His patience was one of his greatest virtues, and now, it would serve him well. Each adjustment to the stats revealed more layers of the system, more possibilities for him to explore.

Then came the Skills menu, and Haroon's eyes narrowed with interest. These weren't just basic abilities—they were powerful tools, each with its own potential. Some were clearly combat-oriented, while others focused on knowledge, crafting, and survival. He could see the outlines of what this world demanded: a balance between the physical and the intellectual, the martial and the spiritual. This world is complex, and my approach must be calculated, methodical, rooted in understanding.

Character Creation—that was the talent he had activated. It was more than just shaping his stats; it was about shaping his very essence, his role in this world. Haroon paused, considering the significance. This talent is unique. It gives me control, power to design not just myself, but potentially something far greater. I can feel it—like untapped potential waiting to be unlocked.

But he wasn't just crafting a character; he was building a path. He could feel the weight of the choices before him, the infinite paths that could unfold depending on how he shaped himself now. A single wrong decision could set me back, limit my potential. But I am careful. I am deliberate. I have been raised with discipline, taught to approach life's tests with caution and precision, and this will be no different.

He adjusted his Intelligence slightly higher, ensuring that he could understand the deeper mechanics of this world. But he balanced it with Endurance and Agility. I cannot be frail in a world that clearly demands survival at every turn.

Once satisfied with his selections, he moved on to the Class section. For now, it was blank. Haroon noted this with curiosity—there was no predetermined role for him, no fixed path. The system was leaving the choice in his hands. That meant he would likely have to discover his role through experience, through action.

A blank slate.

Perfect.

He would carve his own path, one rooted in both his faith and the logic of this new reality. He could already sense that this world had its own rules, its own form of divine order, and it would be his to master. The talents and skills he chose now would be the foundation of his strength, but they would only be the beginning.

As the menus faded from view, the world around Haroon slowly returned to motion. The torches resumed their flickering, his classmates groaned and clutched their heads in confusion, and the chill in the air lifted.

But Haroon remained still. Unmoved by the chaos around him.

This world has changed.

And so had he.