Kazuki woke up before the alarm again.
He always did.
Not because he wanted to.
Because sleep didn't stay long anymore.
His room was quiet, wrapped in early gray light, the only color coming from the soft blue glow of his phone charging on the desk.
He didn't move. Just stared at the ceiling.'I wonder how long I can stay like this before they start again.'
A muffled voice rang from the kitchen. Then footsteps.Then a knock.Before he could sit up, the door creaked open.
His mother stood in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes already narrowed in disgust. "You're still in bed? Pathetic. It's almost seven. What kind of seventeen-year-old is still asleep while the rest of the world is already working?"
Kazuki sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes.He didn't answer.
"Don't just sit there like a slug," she snapped. "Ren's piano class starts at six. Hiro probably already answered three work emails by now. And look at you—still drooling in bed like a toddler."His father's voice echoed from the hallway as he walked past. "Get up. Your whole life's already behind schedule."
'There it is. The morning ritual. Guess it's my turn to be the disgrace again.'Kazuki blinked. Once. Twice. No tears. No reaction.Just the dull, heavy weight in his chest turning slightly colder.
'Morning again.'
"I don't even bring him up when I talk to the other mothers," she continued. "How could I? Their kids are doing internships, learning languages, winning things—and I have that. What would I even say? 'My son watches anime, eats, and sleeps.' How embarrassing."
Her words had long stopped feeling like knives.Now they were background static.Low, buzzing, unavoidable. Like mold in the walls.
Then his father's voice joined in—calm, cold, and final. "He's not just useless. He's a disgrace. No ambition. No talent. He doesn't even try. What kind of man is he going to grow into?"
Kazuki swung his legs off the bed and stood up. His hoodie was slung over the back of the chair. He reached for it. "What are you even doing with that ratty thing?" his mother said, wrinkling her nose. "Can't you wear something that doesn't make you look like a delinquent?"He pulled the hoodie over his head silently.
"You could at least try to look like someone who hasn't given up on life," she added.
Kazuki walked toward the door, brushing past her. "Don't you ignore me," she hissed. "You're not mute. Say something for once."
He stopped in the hallway.His father stepped in from the kitchen, sipping his morning coffee."He's got nothing to say because there's nothing in that head. He's seventeen, and what does he have to show for it? No goals, no ambition, no talent. Just anime and junk food."
"Exactly," his mother said. "At this rate, he'll be mooching off us until he's forty. What kind of man watches cartoons all day and hides in his room?"
Kazuki looked down at his shoes. The laces were frayed. One eyelet was broken.'Should've just stayed in bed. At least the ceiling doesn't talk back.'
"Honestly, Kazuki," his father said, stepping closer. "Even Ren's teacher says he's on track for national competition. Hiro's about to move to Tokyo for work. And you? You're just... existing. Like fungus."
Kazuki raised his head slowly.
"What? Do you think this is normal?" his mother asked. "Sleeping in, wearing those rags, staring at your phone all day? You really think anyone is going to take you seriously?" "You want to be an adult?" his father added, voice low and cold. "Then act like one. Grow a spine. Get off your ass. Do something besides leech off your mother's cooking."
Kazuki walked to the shoe rack.
His fingers moved slowly as he slipped on his worn sneakers. "Do you even remember when you last did anything useful?" his mother continued, almost laughing. "I mean—anything. One good grade? One chore without being told?"
"He probably thinks helping means breathing without complaint," his father muttered.
Kazuki stood up, head down. "Well? Nothing to say?" she asked. "You're just going to run off to school like that? No apology? No shame?"
'Shame? I used to feel it. Now it's just… white noise.'
He walked to the front door."You better not come home with another test score that makes us regret keeping you," his father called.
Kazuki opened the door. "Try not to embarrass yourself in public," his mother added.
He didn't look back.
Didn't slam the door. Just stepped out into the morning chill. The air outside was thick and gray, like the sky had been painted with dirty water.
Everything looked… smudged. His footsteps echoed faintly on the wet sidewalk. The weight of his school bag pressed down on one shoulder.
His hoodie was pulled low over his eyes.'No voices. No shouting. No comparisons.''Just me. That's something, I guess.'For now, at least, he could breathe. Home always felt like a war zone where the fighting never stopped.But out here—during this short walk to school—he could pretend.
Pretend he wasn't a failure.
Pretend he wasn't a disgrace.
Pretend he wasn't the family's unfixable mistake.
He looked up. The sun was nowhere to be seen—just a dull bulb hiding behind gray clouds.'Looks about right. Even the sky's tired of pretending.' As he passed the corner bakery, a soft sweetness drifted out. Warm. Familiar.
He paused.
The scent triggered something — a flicker of warmth from a time not that long ago.
Back when he still tried.'First year... yeah. That's when I thought effort meant something.'He remembered joining the literature club—because he liked stories.
Then the science club—because Hiro was into science.Track team—for discipline. For approval. He studied harder than anyone for midterms.
He gave everything.
He waited for the words."Good job, Kazuki."
But instead—"Fifth place? Not bad," his mother had said. "But Sakamoto's son got second. Learn from him."
"That's all you've got?" his father scoffed. "Why waste time in clubs when Hiro did fine without them?"
"You still can't beat Ren. He's two years younger."
'Doesn't matter what I do. It's never them. It's never enough.'
He tried helping at home, too. Quietly. Thoughtfully.One evening, he washed all the dishes.His mother walked in, glanced at the clean sink. "Why didn't you dust the shelves if you had that much time?"
So he dusted the shelves the next day.His father passed by. "Your room's still a mess. Don't half-ass things."
So he cleaned his room, too. "Took you long enough. Don't expect praise for doing the bare minimum."
Then came the complaints about his haircut. His posture. The way he walked.Even his voice.
'Everything I did... they found something wrong.'It became math.If he did nothing, he'd get mocked 100 times. If he did everything, gave everything, he'd still get mocked. 90 times. Maybe 95.'
The equation doesn't work. So I stopped solving it.'
That's when he stopped trying.
Not out of laziness.
Not because he didn't care.
But because he had learned the most painful lesson:
'Trying hurts more than giving up.'
The school gates came into view.
Students poured in—laughing, chatting, shouting.It all blurred together like a wall of sound from far away.
Kazuki kept his head down. Adjusted his bag.He slipped through the crowd like a shadow. Unseen. Unnoticed. 'Good. Better this way.' His fingers brushed the edge of his phone inside his hoodie pocket. Unlocked it. Checked the feed. A new episode was out. He'd been waiting for it.
'Finally.'He downloaded it anyway, even knowing the school Wi-Fi would block it. At lunch, he'd climb to the rooftop. Pull his hoodie over his head. And watch someone else's story.
Someone who fought back.
Someone who mattered.
His desk was at the back, by the window. The clouds outside drifted slow and heavy.
'Sometimes I wonder... if the world ended during class—would anyone notice?'
That was the most peaceful idea he'd had lately.
He sat down.
Opened a blank notebook.The teacher's voice became background noise.
He stared forward. Not really listening. Not really moving.
Just waiting.Waiting for something to snap.Or maybe... for a miracle.'Whichever comes first.'