Haruki Saito was nothing special—just another face lost in the crowd. The city never slept, but his corner of it always felt like it was dying.
Every night, he dragged his sore body through a door that barely shut right. His apartment was more box than home—walls too thin, fridge too empty. The kind of place where the heater worked only when the sun was out. He didn't even bother locking the door anymore. What would they steal? The cracked laptop? The off-brand rice cooker?
He collapsed onto the mattress with a sigh, not even enough energy left to curse the pain in his shoulders.
"Bless me."
The words came out without thinking, like they always did. He'd say it when he sneezed. When he dropped something. When he saw a full moon. A quiet habit—like a whispered wish for something better. Something magical.
That night, his stomach growled louder than usual. He didn't even try to shut it up. Instead, he opened a manga on his phone, scrolling through another fantasy world filled with spells, dragons, glowing swords.
"Bless me…" he whispered again, this time with a dry laugh. "I'd give anything. Just once—just one shot. Let me live where magic's real."
He shut his eyes, the screen still glowing against his face. Another day survived. Barely.
The next morning, the sun was nowhere to be found. Rain fell hard and cold, painting the sidewalks in gray.
He left for work like always, hood pulled low, shoes soaked through in minutes. It was just a ten-minute walk, but the rain made it feel longer. His job was at a warehouse that smelled like wet cardboard and despair.
He didn't hate it anymore. Hate took energy. He just existed in it. Clock in, lift things, take orders, clock out. Repeat. His coworkers didn't talk much, and when they did, it was just noise.
At lunch, he sat under the back awning chewing stale bread, watching the puddles form patterns.
"Maybe tomorrow'll be different," he muttered.
The rest of the day passed like a blur. By the time he got off, the rain was back with a vengeance. He trudged home, his mind blank—until he reached the last intersection near his building.
The streetlight flickered. He stepped into the crosswalk, tired eyes on the other side.
A blaring horn.
Bright lights.
Then—nothing.
Cold.
That was the first thing he felt.
Not the kind of cold you get from wind or rain. It was something deeper, like his bones were frozen.
He tried to move but couldn't. His eyes fluttered open, and all he saw was a blue-white glow above him.
Where was he?
Glass. He was surrounded by glass. A pod? Like in sci-fi movies? Fogged-up and frosty, lined with weird tubing and lights.
He blinked, and suddenly text floated in front of his vision—not on a screen. In the air.
Vitals stable.Cognitive sync: 78%.Reconstruction complete.
He gasped. Or tried to. The pod hissed, and cold steam flooded out as it slowly opened.
He fell forward onto a metal floor, coughing, his body weak—but not his body.
It was leaner. Taller. Skin pale, like it hadn't seen sunlight in years. His hands looked like they belonged to someone else. Smooth. No scars. No calluses.
Then came the voice.
"Welcome back, Operator."
He whipped around. No one was there. It was in his head? No—on his wrist.
A sleek, black band had fused with his arm, pulsing softly. A display flickered on:
System Online. Atlas-3 Ready.
He stared at it, still breathing hard. What the hell was Atlas-3? Why did it call him operator?
He looked around. The room was circular, dim, with frost creeping along the walls. Pods like his lined the edges, but most were cracked open. Empty.
The air was thin. Every breath felt like breathing through cloth. He stumbled to his feet, wobbling like a newborn deer.
His first steps were clumsy, but his mind raced.
Where am I? What is this place? Is this… magic? No. Too clean. Too metal.
Then a word floated across his wristband screen:
Welcome to Niveus.
Niveus? That had to be the planet. He didn't recognize the name from any game or anime.
He checked his body again—black undersuit, flexible like armor, but light. There were markings on the pod too. Symbols he didn't know, but part of him understood them anyway. Like old memories trying to wake up.
This body knew things. Things he didn't. Yet.
He opened a compartment beside the pod and found a satchel, some capsules, and a longcoat. He threw it on and checked the rest of the room. Most of the power was out, but emergency lights still glowed.
His breath fogged in the air. This place was freezing.
"Local temperature: minus 41 Celsius," the wristband read aloud.
He shivered.
That was when he heard it—a low growl, not far off.
Something was in here with him.
He froze. Backed up against a wall, heart pounding.
A shadow moved across the far side of the room. Something with too many limbs. Eyes that shimmered blue in the dark.
Predator.
He had no weapon. No clue how to fight. But the wristband lit up again:
Warning: Unknown Lifeform detected.Combat module locked. Suggest immediate retreat.
He looked at the pods. Some were still sealed. Others broken from the outside.
This thing had been hunting them.
He scanned the room, saw a hatch door, partially open. He bolted for it, slipping as he ran.
The creature roared. Metal shrieked behind him.
He dove through the door and slammed the panel. The hallway lit up dimly. Pipes ran along the ceiling. It looked like some kind of research facility—or a prison.
"This isn't magic," he muttered. "This is survival."
But then, his wristband flickered again. A different screen appeared—one that looked like a spell tree. Icons. Runes. Shapes he couldn't read… but kind of felt familiar.
Energy: 2%Spells unlocked: 0
He blinked. Spells?
He stared at the glowing symbols, heart pounding. Was this magic? Or just some strange technology? The lines blurred in his mind. He'd wished for magic his whole life—maybe this was it. Or maybe it was something else entirely.
He laughed—short, shaky, real.
"Bless me," he whispered one more time. "You actually did it."
Then he moved. No time to sit around. No time to dream.
This planet wasn't going to wait for him.
Not even for a second.