Shiro's day started like any other, unremarkable in every sense. He woke up to the faint sound of his alarm clock, its weak chime a reflection of its age and overuse. He slapped it off and stared at the peeling paint of his ceiling, a canvas of cracks and faded white that mirrored his life—plain, broken, and stagnant.
With a groan, Shiro swung his legs out of bed, his bare feet meeting the cold wooden floor. He shuffled toward the small bathroom adjoining his room, yawning as he flipped on the dim, flickering light.
The mirror above the sink greeted him with his reflection: a boy of seventeen, tall but lanky, with a pale complexion that seemed almost sickly under the harsh fluorescent glow. His black hair was messy, as if it had given up trying to cooperate with gravity, and his bangs hung just above his tired gray eyes. There was no fire in those eyes—just a dull, glassy look that screamed exhaustion.
He ran a hand through his hair, sighing as it fell back into disarray. His jawline was sharp, but his face was too thin, almost gaunt, making him look perpetually sleep-deprived. A faint scar ran along his left cheekbone, a relic from a fall he'd taken as a kid while trying to impress a group of friends who no longer remembered his name.
"Looking great, Shiro," he muttered sarcastically to his reflection.
He leaned closer to the mirror, inspecting his face for any signs of improvement, as if today might be the day he woke up as someone different. Someone better. But no, it was the same face he saw every morning—the face of someone utterly forgettable.
Shiro splashed cold water on his face, trying to shake the growing sense of dread that always came with mornings. He stared at his reflection one last time, his lips curling into a half-hearted smirk. "Maybe tomorrow," he said quietly before turning away.
He shuffled to the kitchen.
"Morning, big brother!" Mei chirped. She sat at the table, her school uniform a little too big for her small frame, her bright eyes glowing with excitement.
"Morning, Mei," Shiro replied, ruffling her hair as he passed. He glanced at the clock. "You're up early."
"I wanted to make sure you had breakfast today!" She pointed proudly to a plate of eggs and toast. The eggs were unevenly cooked, and the toast was burnt, but Shiro couldn't bring himself to criticize her effort.
"Thanks, kiddo." He forced a smile and sat down, eating the meal with exaggerated appreciation. Mei beamed, oblivious to his act.
Their mother, as usual, was already gone, working her first of two shifts at the local diner. The house felt empty without her, even when she was home. Her exhaustion made her more of a shadow than a presence.
Shiro's walk to school was uneventful. The streets were crowded with people heading to work, each lost in their own world. Shiro often wondered how many of them felt the same as he did—trapped in mediocrity, moving forward only because they didn't know how to stop.
At school, it was business as usual. Shiro sat in the middle row, not close enough to the front to seem eager, nor far enough back to fade completely into obscurity. He wasn't the class clown, the star athlete, or the academic prodigy. He was just… there.
"Yo, Shiro!" Akio plopped down beside him, grinning. "You see the new episode of Blazing Spirits last night? Crazy, right? That fight scene was insane!"
"Yeah, it was pretty good," Shiro lied. He hadn't watched it yet, but he knew Akio would spend the next fifteen minutes explaining every detail anyway.
As Akio rambled, Shiro glanced at Takumi, the class's golden boy. Takumi laughed loudly at something his friends said, exuding confidence and charm. Everyone gravitated toward him like planets around a sun. Shiro felt a pang of jealousy but quickly buried it.
"Earth to Shiro! You listening?" Akio waved a hand in front of his face.
"Yeah, sorry. Zoned out for a second."
"You always do," Akio teased, though his tone was light.
Shiro forced another smile.
The afternoon brought his part-time job, a mundane shift at the local convenience store. He stocked shelves, rang up customers, and tried not to think too much. The monotony was comforting in a way, a temporary escape from the thoughts that usually plagued him.
"Young man, why do you always look so sad?" an elderly customer asked as Shiro handed her a bag of groceries.
"Just tired, ma'am," he replied with a polite smile.
"You're young. You should be tired from chasing dreams, not from living." She patted his hand and left, her words lingering like an itch he couldn't scratch.
Dreams? Shiro didn't even know what his dreams were anymore.
That evening, Shiro walked home under a gray sky that threatened rain. He stopped by a bakery and bought a discounted loaf of bread for Mei's lunch tomorrow. The cashier gave him a look of pity he pretended not to notice.
When he got home, Mei greeted him with her usual enthusiasm, and he spent the next hour helping her with homework and cooking dinner. Their mother returned briefly between shifts, exchanging a few tired words before collapsing onto the couch.
Later, after Mei had gone to bed, Shiro sat on the balcony, staring at the stars. He thought about the elderly customer's words again. "Chasing dreams…" he muttered. What dream could someone like him possibly chase?
The sound of laughter broke his thoughts. Across the street, a group of teenagers joked and chatted, their faces glowing with the kind of vitality Shiro lacked. He turned away, the weight of his inadequacies pressing down on him.
The next morning started the same, except the sky was darker, the air heavier.
"Shiro, can you take me to school today?" Mei asked.
"Sure," he replied, grabbing his bag.
They walked in companionable silence, Mei occasionally skipping ahead and pointing at flowers or animals. Shiro found her energy infectious, and for once, he felt a small spark of contentment.
As they neared the school, Mei stopped suddenly.
"What's wrong?" Shiro asked.
"I forgot my lunch!" she cried.
"I'll go back and get it. You go on ahead."
Mei hesitated but nodded. "Thanks, big brother!"
Shiro turned and began walking home, picking up his pace as the clouds overhead began to drizzle. By the time he reached their house, the rain was coming down in sheets.
He grabbed Mei's lunch and hurried back, the streets slick and treacherous. As he neared the school, he saw a ball roll into the road, followed by a small child chasing after it.
Shiro froze as he noticed a truck speeding toward the child, its driver honking desperately but unable to stop in time.
Without thinking, Shiro dropped the lunch and sprinted forward.
The child screamed, frozen in fear. Shiro reached them just in time, shoving them out of the truck's path.
He felt the impact before he heard it.
Pain exploded through his body as the world spun. He hit the ground hard, the rain mixing with the blood pooling around him. Everything felt distant, muted, like he was watching from somewhere far away.
The child was safe. That thought gave him some comfort.
As darkness closed in, Shiro's final thoughts weren't of regret. Instead, he felt an odd sense of peace. Perhaps, in saving that child, he'd finally done something that mattered.
The world faded to black.