The late afternoon sun, already dipping towards the horizon, cast long, distorted shadows across the schoolyard. Renari, at nineteen, was the living embodiment of "average." His short, practical black hair seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it, his brown eyes held the placid depth of a pond, and his height… well, it was exactly what you'd expect for an average male.
He wasn't short enough to be memorable, nor tall enough to stand out. Today, his ordinariness was punctuated by the rather mundane task of ferrying a surprisingly heavy box from the staff room to the outdoor storerooms.
"Just pop this in with the others, Renari," his teacher, a perpetually tired woman named Ms. Albright, had chirped, her voice a soothing drone that perfectly matched the hum of the air conditioning. Renari had simply nodded, accepting the cardboard cube that felt suspiciously like it contained lead weights. He trudged down the familiar path, past the empty bike racks and the manicured, if slightly dusty, rose bushes that lined the back of the school. Even during the most significant moments of his life – first crushes, minor academic achievements, the time he accidentally set off the fire alarm with a burnt toast incident – he'd always felt like an observer.
He had friends, sure, a decent circle of them, but sometimes they'd remember his face and not his name, or vice versa. In romance, it was even worse. Girls, bless their oblivious hearts, treated him like a kindly little brother or, at best, a background extra in their own dramatic coming-of-age stories.more like always get friend zoned.
It was annoying, yes, a persistent, low-level hum of mild existential frustration, but Renari had long ago made peace with it.
He'd accepted his role, much like a seasoned character actor understands their place in the ensemble. Besides, he often mused to himself, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk touching the corners of his lips, it's the perfect cover. No one suspects the extra. It's ideal for an agent operating deep undercover. In his mind, he wasn't just Renari, the average student; he was Agent 007 and a half, a master of subtle infiltration, blending seamlessly into the everyday to accomplish his top-secret, highly classified missions (which, today, involved putting away Ms. Albright's mysterious box).
He reached the storeroom, a utilitarian brick building that smelled faintly of old textbooks and forgotten gym equipment.
The large metal door groaned in protest as he pulled it open, revealing a cavernous space filled with stacks of identical boxes. "Operation: Box Drop," he whispered dramatically, placing the heavy cube with a soft thud. He dusted off his hands, a satisfied sigh escaping him. Now, for the truly important mission: what to watch tonight? His mental watchlist was a glorious, overwhelming scroll of anime, obscure documentaries, and vintage action flicks. The thought alone was enough to bring a genuinely contented smile to his face.
Meanwhile, inside the main school building, the usual post-class chatter filled the air. Students, enjoying the brief respite of break time, congregated in hallways, some reviewing notes, others huddled in gossip circles. Aisha, a girl with fiery red hair that seemed to possess a will of its own, was animatedly recounting a particularly embarrassing anecdote to a group of friends outside their classroom.
Her laugh, bright and bell-like, cut through the general din. Just as she reached the punchline, a guttural, earth-shaking BOOM ripped through the air, shaking the very foundations of the school.
The laughter died instantly. A chilling silence descended, broken only by the high-pitched shriek of warping metal. Then, the screams began.
A massive chunk of the south wall, near the gymnasium, erupted outwards in a shower of brick and dust. Through the gaping maw, figures emerged. They weren't the usual school intruders – no angry parents, no stray animals. These were… organized. Clad in tactical gear, their faces obscured by balaclavas, they moved with a chilling efficiency. One, a hulking figure with a modified assault rifle, landed with a heavy thud, surveying the stunned students with cold, calculating eyes.
"Alright, listen up, maggots!" he bellowed, his voice distorted by a modulator, resonating with a terrifying authority. "This is a hostile takeover. Everyone, hands on your heads, move to the common hall. Anyone tries anything, anyone so much as blinks funny… well, you'll find out what happens."
Another terrorist, leaner and quicker, used a flashbang to disorient a group of students attempting to scatter. Its blinding white light and deafening CRUMP sent them reeling, clutching their eyes and ears. These weren't petty criminals. They were clearly a well-trained unit, moving with synchronized precision. They didn't just hold them hostage; they systematically disabled the school's communication systems, barricaded exits, and began to herd the terrified students and teachers, their movements almost clinical. They had a goal, and it wasn't just money. Their cold, unblinking gazes suggested a deeper, more unsettling agenda.
Renari, in the quiet solitude of the storeroom, heard the distant boom. He initially dismissed it as a faulty boiler or perhaps a particularly enthusiastic chemistry experiment gone wrong. But the screams that followed… those were undeniably human, filled with raw terror.
His internal "Agent 007 and a half" instinct, usually reserved for elaborate mental fantasies, flared to life. Something's wrong.
He stepped outside, his brow furrowed, and surveyed the chaos. Black smoke billowed from the main building, and he could make out figures – dark, menacing shapes – moving within the shattered framework of the school. His breath caught in his throat. This wasn't a drill. This was… real.
A large, burly man in a balaclava, carrying a submachine gun, emerged from the broken window of what used to be the principal's office. His eyes, even from a distance, seemed to lock onto Renari. Uh oh. The terrorist raised his weapon.
Renari didn't think. He reacted. His gaze swept around, landing on the only available object of combat. A shovel. A plain, garden-variety shovel, leaning against the storeroom wall. It wasn't a katana, or a silenced pistol, or even a really cool tactical spork, but it would have to do.
He snatched it up, the smooth wooden handle feeling oddly comforting in his grip, and sprinted. Bullets whizzed past his head, kicking up dust plumes behind him.
He zigged, he zagged, remembering every cheesy action movie trope he'd ever consumed. He was vaguely aware of his heart hammering against his ribs, a frantic drum solo in his chest, but a strange focus settled over him. He saw a smaller terrorist, attempting to drag a whimpering student into a shadowed corner.
"Hey, pal!" Renari yelled, a surge of unexpected courage (or perhaps sheer stupidity) lending volume to his voice. The terrorist turned, surprised. Renari swung the shovel. It connected with a satisfying thud against the man's head, sending him sprawling with a dazed groan. The student, eyes wide with terror, scrambled away.
Renari, panting, leaned on the shovel, a triumphant grin spreading across his face. "Yes! Take that, you… you bad guy!" This was it. His moment. The average extra stepping into the spotlight, proving his worth. He imagined the dramatic slow-motion replay, the heroic music swelling.
Then, a small, cylindrical object landed with an ominous clink next to his foot. He looked down. It was green. It was round. It had a pin pulled out.
His triumphant grin evaporated, replaced by a look of sheer, unadulterated horror. "Damn," he muttered, just as the world erupted in a blinding flash of light and a concussive roar.
He flew. Not gracefully, not heroically, but like a ragdoll tossed by an unseen giant. Pain, sharp and searing, blossomed across his entire body. His vision blurred, the screams of the students and the distant gunfire fading into a dull roar. Life began to ebb, a flickering candle in a hurricane. Was this the end? The thought was surprisingly calm. At least… at least I was able to do something cool in the end. For once, I wasn't just an extra.
As darkness threatened to consume him, a voice, undeniably female, sharp yet melodious, cut through the encroaching oblivion. "Not so fast, Renari."
And then, he heard a crisp, decisive snap.
He fell. Not through space, but through… nothing. A void, pure and encompassing, yet not cold or frightening. It was simply… white. A boundless, universal floor stretched out in every direction, an infinite blank canvas. He landed with a soft, almost imperceptible thud, his body feeling strangely weightless, devoid of pain.
He pushed himself up, his mind struggling to process the absence of pain, the impossible whiteness. "Where… where am I?" he mumbled, his voice echoing in the vast, empty space. He spun slowly, scanning the horizon, his brown eyes searching for any landmark, any sign of reality.
Then he stopped. His head tilted.
There.
Sitting casually, one impossibly long leg crossed over the other, was a woman. She was… tall. No, not just tall. She was eleven feet tall, her frame slender yet radiating an undeniable power. Her hair, a cascade of shimmering, iridescent silver, seemed to glow faintly in the pervasive white light.
Her eyes, a striking amethyst, held an ancient, knowing glint. A smirk, slow and utterly captivating, played on her lips. She looked like a being carved from moonlight and myth.
"Welcome, Renari," she purred, her voice a low, resonant hum that vibrated through the void itself. "I am Valemina, the Catalyst Spirit of your world. And I brought you here… to make a deal."