The first thing I felt that morning was the cold touch of dawn brushing my cheek through a half-open window.
I didn't rise with any particular urgency. The ceiling above my bed was familiar, blank, and uninspiring—just the way I preferred it. Waking up had always been a kind of hazy negotiation: half my mind still curled up inside the slow-moving dream of that other place—the one I could bend ever so slightly. The Simulation, if you could even call it that. It wasn't grand. It wasn't bright. But it was mine.
I sat up and rubbed my temples, letting the thin sunlight catch in my silver hair. The silence in the house was heavy, broken only by the occasional creak of settling wood. Grandma was likely asleep still. She didn't rise early unless it was necessary.
I pulled on my worn uniform and stared at myself in the mirror. Uniforms didn't fit well on lanky boys with forgettable faces. That's what bullies liked. Someone whose features wouldn't stick in memory.
Today didn't feel particularly special. But then again, the days that change everything never do.
I left without saying goodbye. Grandma never asked for one. She said goodbyes were for people who weren't coming back.
The bike was exactly where I'd left it—chained up beside the half-collapsed fence, wheels crooked from years of half-hearted repairs. I swung one leg over and began pedaling into the morning light.
The streets weren't beautiful, but they were alive. The cracks in the concrete whispered of an old world—one long drowned in mana storms, mutated oceans, and unexplained rifts. Most of that chaos never touched our little habitable zone. That's what they called it: a zone. A caged garden left untouched while the rest of Earth rotted.
School sat at the edge of the zone, as if daring the unstable frontier to swallow it whole.
I passed a delivery drone sputtering to life and a few kids walking with slow, groggy steps. A few recognized me. None waved.
By the time I reached the front gates, I could feel the itch in the air. The kind that told you trouble wasn't far off.
They were leaning against the courtyard pillar—three of them, in standard-issue uniforms worn like afterthoughts. The leader, Kellen, had that smug kind of grin that always seemed half-bored, half-hunting.
I thought about rerouting around them.
I didn't.
"Yo, Simulation Sovereign!" Kellen called, spreading his arms wide. "Dreamt up anything new lately?"
I paused just long enough for it to be a mistake. "Not really."
He stepped forward. "Come on, don't be like that. Tell us about the little fantasy world again. You know, where you're a god and stuff."
"It's not like that," I muttered.
But I'd already lost the chance to walk away. The nickname had started two weeks ago, after I'd mentioned—once, stupidly—that sometimes I could change things in my dreams. A small slip during class. A strange look from the teacher. Laughter, of course. And then it stuck.
Simulation Sovereign. Lord of Make-Believe.
"Bet you got a castle there," said one of the others. "Throne of gold? Legions of fans?"
I didn't answer. That only encouraged them.
"Bet he's got a girlfriend too. Virtual waifu, huh?" the third one sneered.
I glanced at Kellen. He stepped into my space, not close enough to hit, but enough to press the air out of my lungs.
Say something and he'll start. Don't, and he'll still find a way.
I stared at the ground.
But I saw something in him—just for a moment. A flicker. A reflex he barely suppressed. He wanted to shove me. Hard. Maybe punch me. But there were cameras now. And last week's incident had cost him a warning.
He was learning. Slowly.
"I don't have time for this," I said, stepping around him.
"Don't forget your crown, Sovereign," he called after me.
I didn't look back.
Inside the classroom, the voices faded to background noise. I sat near the window and watched the wind tug at leaves that weren't quite green anymore. I wasn't sure if it was mana rot or just the season changing.
When the teacher arrived, I half-listened. Today was elemental resonance theory—how a person's innate mana affinity determined their awakening powers.
Except mine never came.
The registry said I had no affinity. No mana spike. No ability worth classifying.
But I knew something else. Something no scan had ever shown.
There was a place. A dream. A space where time passed ten times faster. Where I could remember the layout of things, change them subtly with thought, and return to find them still changed. It wasn't just imagination.
They said you couldn't train an ability you didn't have. But I didn't need training.
I had time.
I was the powerful . Not because I had super powers. Not yet. But because I had the one resource no one else understood. At least, that's what granny tells me.
In that space, I practiced arguments I'd never win in real life. I memorized routes through the city. I refined techniques no one taught me. And though I couldn't take anything physical back, I could bring the idea of improvement. The shadow of repetition.
I was a fraud to them.
But I knew better.
The rest of the day passed with the slow crawl of repetition. At the end of it, I picked up my bag, mounted my bicycle, and started home.
The streets were quieter now. Evening stretched its fingers across the sky.
I pedaled faster than usual, thoughts turning over in my mind like gears in a rusted machine.
What if I didn't go home today?
What if I just rode into the edge of the zone and vanished?
Would Grandma wait for me?
Would anyone?
The questions blurred the corners of my vision.
And that's when it happened.
The screech of tires.
A horn I didn't hear until too late.
A shadow cutting across the road.
And then—
Black.
But not the kind that swallows.
The kind that waits.
Silent.
Still.
And vaguely familiar