It was 7:12 a.m. when Akira Kitagawa realized the milk had expired—again.
He stared at the carton, sniffed it once more, and winced. It was definitely sour. With a soft sigh, he poured the rest down the sink and washed the cup out. Another day, another bland, silent morning in a house that had been too quiet for over a year now.
His house was clean, always clean—painfully so. A two-story building left behind by his late parents after the accident, filled with furniture too big for one person and memories that sat like dust on shelves. He didn't cry anymore. Crying took effort. Instead, he just existed. School, home, sleep, repeat.
His phone buzzed.
[Notification: School Weather Advisory - Light rain expected today.]
"Figures," he muttered, grabbing his umbrella and slinging his bag over his shoulder.
Outside, the sky was dull gray, just like it had been for the last few days. It suited him.
Akira walked to school alone, as usual. No one called his name. He wasn't bullied, nor was he disliked—he simply wasn't noticed. Like background music in a convenience store. Comfortable, forgettable.
At school, teachers praised his quiet nature, classmates forgot he existed, and no one remembered his birthday. He preferred it that way. The world was easier when no one expected anything from you.
But even a dull world has its limits.
Because at 3:27 p.m., the sky exploded.
He had been walking home through the small park near the station. It was peaceful—trees swaying, the distant honk of traffic, the smell of fried croquettes from the food stall across the road. Then the air changed. A sudden pressure, like the world was holding its breath.
A crack—not thunder, but something deeper, more violent. Akira looked up.
And saw it.
A tear in the sky.
Like someone had ripped open reality itself. Through the rift, something shimmered—purple light, dancing like flame—and from that, a shape fell.
Fast.
It was a girl.
"WHAT THE—"
Before he could finish, she slammed into him, sending them both crashing into the muddy grass.
The world blurred. His ears rang. His ribs hurt.
And on top of him… was a girl. Naked.
Long, wild silver hair. Pale skin. Eyes the color of stormy sapphire. Her breath was hot. She blinked—then immediately punched him in the face.
"Pervert!" she screamed.
"You fell on me!!" Akira yelled back, clutching his nose.
She sat up on his chest, completely unconcerned about her nudity, her brows furrowed in confusion. "This isn't the capital… this mana—it's so thin. Dammit, did I mess up the coordinates again?!"
Akira stared. Was this a dream? Did he hit his head? Or was this some kind of weird cosplay shoot gone wrong?
But before he could gather himself, she grabbed his wrist and her hand glowed.
"You. You're the first soul I touched in this world," she said quickly, eyes narrowing. "It'll have to be you. We make the pact now."
"What?! What pact—?!"
Her lips moved in words he didn't recognize. A pulse of light surged from her palm to his chest, warm and invasive. Akira gasped as something entered him—like a heat wrapping around his very bones.
Suddenly, it stopped.
The light vanished. The pain stopped. And the girl slumped onto him, breathing heavily, like she'd just finished running a marathon.
"What... did you just... do to me?"
She rolled off him, laying in the grass with a small smile. "I made you my Master. Congratulations. You own me now."
"…What."
She turned to him, eyes serious.
"I'm Sera Rymer. A High Witch of the Second Circle from the realm of Cael Thorne. I've escaped a blood war, crossed dimensions, and right now, I'm completely out of mana and clothes. So…" She tilted her head. "You're going to take me in."
He blinked. "You want to live with me?"
She nodded. "Yes. Until I recover. Or the enemies who followed me here destroy us both."
Silence.
Akira stared at the sky. Then at her.
Then back at the sky.
A pigeon flew past.
"...I just wanted milk this morning," he muttered.
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TO BE CONTINUED