Pain.
AHH! SO MUCH PAIN
That was the first thing Raiyan felt.
His vision blurred as warm blood spilled from his neck, pooling beneath him. The cold, sterile floor of the bank felt distant, as if he were already drifting away. The screams, the sirens outside, the terrified whispers—they were nothing but echoes in his fading world.
"Is this… it?"
The question came to him like a whisper in the wind.
His fingers twitched, reaching for something—anything—to hold onto. But there was nothing. Just the void swallowing him whole.
Flashes of his life flickered before his eyes. His father's tired smile after a long shift. His mother's gentle hands fixing his tie before school. His brother, standing tall, unshaken by the world.
They would never see him again.
"I… don't want to die."
Tears mixed with the blood on his face. He wasn't supposed to go out like this. Not as a failure. Not as the boy everyone mocked, the boy who could never fight back. He had dreamed of being strong, of standing tall like Shiro Ryusei, the hero from his favorite anime. But in the end, he was nothing like him.
"I wish… I had lived like you, Shiro."
...
.....
.....
The streets of Osaka were alive with neon lights, their reflections bleeding into the rain-slick pavement. Cars rushed by, their headlights carving tunnels of gold in the mist. People moved like currents in a vast ocean, their voices a dull hum against the symphony of the city. Yet, among the countless faces, Raiyan Kisaragi walked alone.
Seventeen years old. Half-Japanese, half-Indian. A stranger in his own world.
He kept his head down, shoulders hunched forward, as if trying to fold into himself, to disappear into the cracks of the sidewalk. His uniform was slightly wrinkled, his tie loose. The bruises under his sleeves a silent testimony to his everyday life.
His heart pounded as he approached the small alleyway near his school. They would be there—they were always there.
"Oi, Kisaragi!"
A voice cut through the air like a rusted blade.
Ichika Suda. The school's golden boy. Charming, athletic, and cruel.
Raiyan barely flinched as Ichika slung an arm around his shoulder. It was a mockery of friendship. The stench of mint gum mixed with the distant burn of cigarette smoke filled his nostrils.
"My birthday's tomorrow," Ichika said, his grip tightening. "We're throwing a party. And guess what? You're paying."
Laughter erupted from the group behind him. Yuto, Kenji, and Haruto—Ichika's lackeys. Their amusement cut deeper than any insult.
Raiyan wanted to say no. He really did. But what would happen then? He knew.
"…How much?"
Ichika grinned. "Just a little. 50,000 yen."
His stomach twisted. That wasn't 'a little.' That was money his parents worked hard for. That was—
"If you can't, well…" Ichika's smile remained, but his grip turned painful. "We'll have to find other ways to make it up."
Raiyan nodded. That was his first mistake.
That night, he sat in his dimly lit room, staring at the credit card he had stolen from his father's wallet. It felt like a dead weight in his hands. His father worked overtime to provide for their family. His mother always worried about expenses. His older brother, Arata, was everything he wasn't—strong, confident, respected. What would they think if they knew?
The only thing that kept him sane was the glow of his laptop. The familiar opening theme played, and for a moment, his heart felt lighter.
"Blazing Souls."
His favorite anime. His escape from reality.
A world where the protagonist, Shiro Ryusei, was admired by everyone. A hero who stood up no matter how many times he was knocked down. Someone Raiyan could never be.
"I wish I was like you…" he whispered. But he wasn't. He was weak. And this world—this hellish world—would never let him be anything else.
The next morning, Raiyan stood in front of the bank. His fingers trembled around the card. Just withdraw the money. No one would know.
He stepped inside. The air smelled of cold steel and disinfectant. His heartbeat hammered against his ribs. He approached the ATM—
And then—
BANG!
The entrance exploded open. Masked men stormed in, guns raised.
"Nobody move!"
Screams. Chaos. A deafening silence followed by a gunshot into the ceiling. The air thickened with fear.
Raiyan's body froze. This wasn't happening. It couldn't be happening.
One of the robbers grabbed a little girl—seven years old at most. She screamed as the man pressed a knife to her throat.
"Anyone moves, she dies!"
Raiyan's mind screamed at him to run. To disappear. To survive.
But then—
"A hero isn't born from strength. A hero is born the moment they choose to act."
Shiro Ryusei's words echoed in his mind.
Something snapped inside him.
Before he knew what he was doing, Raiyan dropped to the ground, crawling across the floor. The tiles were cold against his palms, his breath shallow.
Closer. Closer.
The thief didn't see him.
Raiyan lunged forward—and bit down on the man's calf with everything he had.
A scream of agony.
The knife loosened.
The girl bolted, tears streaking down her face.
But then—
Cold steel pierced his throat.
Pain. Blinding, searing pain.
His body collapsed. The world blurred into nothing but light and darkness.
"Is this it?"
His vision faded. Blood pooled beneath him, warm and sticky.
"Am I really dying like this?"
His mother's gentle smile. His father's tired but proud eyes. His brother standing tall, always ahead.
"I don't want to die."
"I wish… I had lived like you, Shiro."
His breath shallowed. The sounds around him dimmed.
Then—
A flash of rainbow light.
A feeling of weightlessness. Like falling through an endless abyss.
And then… nothing.
To be continued…