My name is Kaito Raizen, and I'm a high school student—but that's not what's important.
When I was young, like everyone else, I had a dream. Some kids wanted to be doctors, some wanted to be police officers, and others dreamed of becoming business tycoons. But me? I was different. Ever since I started watching anime, I've been captivated by the idea of the hero and the villain—how they always seem destined to clash.
But I never wanted to be either of them. My dream was to be someone else entirely—an observer. Someone pulling the strings behind the scenes while maintaining a façade of neutrality. Someone whose strength far surpasses both the hero and the villain, someone who cannot be controlled by anyone.
But, as I've grown older, I realize that dream feels more fleeting with each passing day.
I've poured everything I have into making it a reality. I've trained day and night, honing my strength, my endurance, my skills. But honestly? Right now, the best I can manage is a calculated attempt at defeating a mafia boss using smoke bombs and a baton. And even then, there's only an 80% chance I'd succeed—not even a perfect 100%. It's frustrating, like the world itself is holding me back from achieving my dream.
Then there's the mental aspect. I've absorbed knowledge from countless books, sharpened my mind to the point where I can manipulate people without them even realizing it. I can predict test scores in my class with near-perfect accuracy, determining exactly what the middle average will be.
Take my own grades, for example. We have 37 students in class, and I always score 19th—not too high, not too low. I could easily ace every test or win competitions, but that wouldn't align with my goal. Excellence draws attention, and attention is the last thing I need.
Most people would call me crazy if they understood how I see the world. To me, apart from the heroes, villains, and maybe the world's power holders, everyone else is just an NPC. And there's one thing I've come to truly hate: when someone calls themselves strong but is undeniably weak.
___
Kaito let out a sigh as he rolled out of bed, his mind already racing. "Another day," he muttered. "Time for the routine."
His mornings followed a strict regimen: one hundred push-ups, one hundred sit-ups, a quick jog to the park and back. By the time he returned home, sweat dripped down his face, but his resolve never wavered.
After a refreshing shower, Kaito donned his customized weight vest. It was a perfect fit beneath his school uniform—almost invisible to the untrained eye. He strapped restraints to his ankles as an added challenge. "Thank God for these modifications," he murmured, tightening the straps.
As he adjusted his tie, his thoughts drifted. I wonder how Mom and Dad are doing in the Bahamas.
By the time he arrived at school, Kaito slipped into his usual seat, his expression unreadable. He leaned back, staring at the chalkboard as if lost in thought. In reality, his mind replayed last night's fight.
Fifteen thugs. Ten were down before the real trouble started. Two of them pulled guns, forcing him to adapt. He'd managed to disarm one, but the situation shifted when reinforcements arrived—each armed with firearms.
Kaito clenched his fist. "If it had been knives or bats, I could've taken them all," he thought. "But guns... they're still my greatest weakness."
He smirked faintly. "At least there are still thugs like that out there. They're the perfect gauge for my current strength. For now."
Class began, and time flew by as if in fast forward. When recess arrived, Kaito made his way to the music room. Being a member of the music class gave him access to the space, and it was one of his favorite places in the school.
Kaito loved art. To him, art was something birthed out of nothing, a creation that resonated deeply with his own worldview. As he sat at the piano, his fingers danced over the keys, playing pieces like Moonlight Sonata.
The music filled the room, offering him a rare moment of peace. It wasn't just a hobby—it was an outlet, a way to release the stress the world placed on him.
When the final note echoed through the room, Kaito checked the time. The day had flown by, and it was time to head home.
As he left for home, it was already seven, and the streets were quiet. The dim streetlights cast long shadows over the alley as Kaito walked, his footsteps echoing faintly in the stillness.
Then he saw her.
A girl, wearing their school uniform. He thought she might be from his class, but he couldn't be sure. What caught his attention wasn't just her, though. It was the group of thugs surrounding her. She was fighting back, her movements desperate, but they were closing in on her. The thugs' rough hands tugged at her, and though she struggled, she was no match for their numbers.
Kaito stopped in his tracks, watching the scene unfold.
Could I just keep walking?
It was a fleeting thought, but it lingered for a moment. He could turn around and leave it all behind, let the world deal with its own problems. But something about this felt... wrong. Weak.
His gaze hardened as he took in the thugs, their rough gestures, their crude language. These guys… they're pathetic.
The girl's resistance grew weaker. Her breath was ragged, her hands trembling as the thugs pushed her against the cold brick wall. They laughed, too absorbed in their own power to notice the lone figure standing at the alley's entrance.
Kaito's lips curled into a faint smirk. His hands slowly curled into fists.
It's not about saving her. It's about showing these idiots their place.
With a casual step forward, Kaito walked toward them. His heart didn't race, and his mind didn't race either. Everything felt... calculated. He wasn't here to be the hero. No, he was here to demonstrate one thing: strength, pure and unchallenged.
The thugs didn't even notice him at first. They were too busy tormenting their victim, laughing as she fought against them. Kaito's smirk widened. They would soon understand just how weak they were in front of him.