My name is Lesoult. I'm 27 years old… and I hate my life.
No degree. No job. No direction.I spend my days lost in manga, light novels, or anime. My parents still support me—something I'm ashamed of—but it doesn't change the truth: I have nothing. No friends. No siblings. No family beyond them.
At least my traumas don't chain me down. I can leave the house if I want—I simply don't. Not out of fear. Simply because I see no reason to.
My parents keep urging me to find a job. But every attempt ends the same way: rejection. And each time I come home defeated, I see it in their eyes—a mix of disappointment and quiet resignation.Still… I drift.
It wasn't always like this.
Before we moved to the United States, life was different. I had friends. Good grades. Sports. Happiness.I loved philosophy, physics, chemistry—not because I dreamed of becoming a scientist, but because they helped me understand something far more captivating: fantasy worlds.
If I could grasp how magic worked—how mana flowed, the rules behind those systems—I could imagine myself inside them. As if training for something that would never come.
But then… something did come.Something that shattered everything.
On my very first day in the U.S., I was bullied.And it never stopped.
From being soaked in water to being stripped and tied to a wall in high school while classmates took photos. Year after year. Grade after grade. It only got worse. I reported it—nothing changed. The only response: "Boys will be boys."
My self-worth crumbled. And with it, everything I once was.I grew bitter, hostile, distant.Whenever my parents tried to reach me, I pushed them away—shouting, lashing out. Things only spiraled downward.
Until one night… everything snapped.
"Why won't you ever let us help you?!" my mother screamed.
"Tsk... Shut up. Let me play," I muttered, eyes locked on the screen.
"You can't keep living like this forever!" my father said.
"I'll get a job. Soon."
"You always say that, and nothing ever changes…" my mother replied, voice trembling.
"Ugh… Haven't I told you already? This is your fault! You're the ones who dragged me to the U.S.!" I shouted back.
...
"We did everything we could for you. Get out." my father said quietly.
"W-what did you just say?" I asked, stunned.
"Get out. I don't want to see you in this house anymore."
And just like that… I was thrown out.At 27.No future. No path.
I grabbed a backpack, thirty dollars, and walked away.Aimlessly.Until I saw a hotel—and just outside, chaos.
A group of teenagers yelling. I couldn't make out their words.But I saw the truck.
Barreling down the road. Too fast.
I tried to shout, but no one heard me.I ran.Tossed my bag aside and sprinted with everything I had.
I shoved a girl out of the way. Grabbed a boy by the collar and hurled him clear. The third barely dodged.
"Wait, what about—!"
The truck slammed into me.
I was crushed like a sandwich forgotten at the bottom of a backpack for six months.
Sirens. Voices. Muffled sounds.
"An adult saved three teens!" someone shouted.
"The driver's unharmed. The truck was reportedly going over 300 kilometers per hour," a reporter said.
"Name? Where does he live? Does he have family?" medics asked.
All I could think was: "Go to hell… just leave me alone."
…..
When I opened my eyes, a blinding light struck me.Even my eyelids ached.
A young woman with chestnut hair smiled warmly at me. Beside her stood a man in medieval clothing, his expression stiff but kind, hair matching hers.
"Xxx Xxxx," she said softly."Xxxx Xxx," he echoed.
Japanese? Russian? German? None sounded familiar.I tried to speak—only gibberish came out.I tried to move—my body refused.
Then the man lifted me into his arms.
He's carrying me?Me? With my weight?How is this possible?
This wasn't a hospital.No.It couldn't be.
Maybe… just maybe…