Chapter 11 - Advance on the path of death

"Oi, oi, oi… you've got to be kidding me," Keyki stammered, his voice trembling as he stepped back, the color draining from his face.

"This situation is getting annoying," Historia spat, drawing back her bowstring with a sharp snap. Her eyes followed the golden skeletons' synchronized march, their movements chillingly precise.

"There's only one way left," Elsa added, gripping her daggers tightly, the metal gleaming with a cold reflection.

"You're right… let's go!" Michael shouted, raising his sword with determination.

"Wait! We need a better plan!" Aomine protested, his voice cracking with fear.

But no one listened.Gundou stepped forward, placing himself at the front. His shield trembled in his hands, but his stance was solid; as the tank, he knew his body would be the first to take the hits.Mito unsheathed her scythe, spinning it in a perfect arc—the blade singing through the air before she took her battle stance.

Aomine tried to draw his sword… but his fingers didn't respond.The hilt felt icy—almost alive—and his body shook uncontrollably.

Yuna, meanwhile, was on her knees, her forehead pressed against the snow, her breathing ragged and her voice a shattered whisper.

"I don't want it to end… I don't want it to end…" she repeated over and over, her wide eyes hollow, her trembling lips spilling each word like fragments of her soul breaking apart.

Michael frowned—part anger, part worry."Tsk!" he clicked his tongue, stepping in front of Yuna, positioning himself between her and the advancing creatures. "Stay back! I'll handle this!"

The air vibrated with the cracking of ice.The golden skeletons pounded their spears against the ground, creating a dry, rhythmic cadence.The sounds of bone, steel, and wind blended into a single, heavy roar.

(I won't die here… not today. And I sure as hell won't let my group—no, my family—die with me.) Michael thought, gritting his teeth, resolute.

Then—it began.

Gundou charged first, his shield colliding with a spear, deflecting it with a metallic crash."Switch!" Historia shouted from behind, loosing an arrow that struck a skeleton square in the skull, shattering it into fragments of ice.Elsa spun beside him, her daggers carving through the left flank, while Mito's scythe swept wide, cleaving two enemies in one motion.

It was a frantic advance—chaotic, desperate.A fleeting glimpse of teamwork born from survival instinct.

But the cold…

(Why does it feel so heavy… like it's draining me…) Aomine thought, trying to move. His breath slowed, his vision blurred.

With trembling hands, he opened his system menu.Desperate, he navigated to the friend list to send a distress call—but the interface flickered… and froze.

A glowing notification appeared in the upper corner of his vision:

[Battle Mode: Manual]

Aomine's blood turned to ice.His eyes widened, locked on the words that now seemed carved into his mind.

(Manual mode…? That means… every movement, every pain, the cold, the exhaustion… it's all real…)

Cold sweat ran down his neck.(The fatigue, the cold… the burning muscles… it's all real! Shit…)

Every thought stabbed deeper into his mind.The fear wasn't just psychological anymore—it was physical.Each breath hurt, the air slicing his throat like shards of glass.

In front of him, battle cries clashed with the dry crunch of breaking bones.The ground trembled.The cold was unbearable.

Sword Skills flashed one after another, lighting up the frozen dark with bluish streaks of energy that cut through the air like living beams.Elsa's daggers, Historia's taut bow, Michael's unwavering sword, and Mito's trembling scythe all left radiant trails reflected on the icy walls, turning the chamber into a massive, cracking mosaic of light.

The golden skeletons were the toughest—resilient as walls, every strike against them rang like steel buried in bone. Slow but relentless, each heavy step crushed the snow beneath.

Behind them, the silver-armored skeletons moved with terrifying speed—razor-sharp and unpredictable.Less durable, yes, but their velocity made even the steadiest hands tremble.

(I just wanted to live a little longer… as a human…)Yuna's thought quivered as much as her body, kneeling in the snow, tears freezing on her cheeks. Her hollow eyes followed the boss's every movement—seeing something no one else could.

"Switch!" Michael shouted.

"On it!!" Gundou roared, shoving his shield forward with brute force.

"S-support… support…" Keyki stammered, panting, his sword shaking in his grip.

"Don't yell, I see you," Historia snapped impatiently, firing arrows one after another with cruel precision. Each shot left a glowing trail before piercing its target.

Elsa danced amid the rubble and snow, moving with inhuman grace.Her body was a whirlwind of spins, leaps, and slashes—like a performer on stage, except each twirl left a red gleam in its wake: the trace of her Sword Skills' damage.

At last, Aomine managed to draw his sword.The metallic ring sounded sharper than usual—maybe because his hands were trembling so violently the blade quivered with every breath.

He raised it, knuckles white, fingers stiff with fear and cold.

A silver skeleton charged straight at him.

It was so fast that all Aomine saw was a flash of steel cutting toward his neck.He tried to block—but his arm wouldn't move.

It felt like trying to move underwater—under frozen water.

(Move… move, damn it, please…!)

The blade came down in a deadly arc—

But it never landed.

An arrow pierced through the skeleton's exposed neck, snapping its spine. The skull spun, fell into the snow, and shattered into glowing blue fragments like glass breaking into light.

The body staggered for two steps before dissolving entirely.

Aomine, sword still raised weakly, turned his head.

Historia glared at him with pure annoyance, a vein bulging on her temple, her bow still aimed slightly in his direction.

"Move, idiot," she barked, frowning.

It was short—but in that battle, it sounded like a lifeline pulling him from drowning.

And still, the shaking in his knees wouldn't stop.Nor the cold gnawing at his bones.Nor the feeling that everything was seconds away from collapsing.

The noise of battle was deafening.Steel clashing, bones shattering, shouts, the howl of icy wind crawling through the pillars like a demon savoring the chaos.And in the middle of it all—in the eye of that storm—Aomine was about to break.

Months of built-up stress, fear, the biting cold, the uncontrollable tremor in his body—every thought crushed him from the inside.

(I can't… I don't know what to do… I don't know if I should move, if I can fight… if I even want to…)(If I take a step, I'll get cut down… if I don't, someone dies… If I breathe, it hurts… if I think, I'm lost… if I don't think, I drown…)

The air grew heavier.The world smaller.The sounds more distant.

And then—

His body stopped.

The trembling vanished, torn away as if by force.The pressure in his chest remained, but it was silent now.His fingers no longer hesitated; they wrapped firmly around the hilt—guided by something else.

Aomine's gaze dimmed.Completely empty.A calm that was unnatural—dangerous.

Like a body moving with a broken mind.

"There's too many of them… and the boss hasn't even moved yet," Elsa growled, plunging her daggers into a silver skeleton in a blur of blue flashes.

Gundou stood firm against a swarm of golden ones, his shield trembling under the weight of their spears, his boots sinking into the snow with each blow.

"Feels like a test… before the real fight," he grunted, his voice echoing behind the metal of his helmet.

"Hell of a test," Historia hissed, loosing another volley with sharp, furious precision.

"All we can do is hold out…" Michael forced a grin—but his eyes betrayed the fear leaking through it.

He turned quickly to look back—toward Aomine.

But Aomine…wasn't moving.Wasn't speaking.Wasn't shaking.

It was more unsettling than seeing him scared.

Michael swallowed hard, uneasy.He didn't know how much longer they could last without him.

His eyes flicked to Mito and Yuna behind them.Yuna was still mumbling, her forehead pressed to the snow.Mito… stood too far away, too stiff, as if afraid to approach anyone.

(Focus… focus, damn it…)Michael turned back just as a golden skeleton broke formation—appearing right in front of him.

The spear came down.

Michael barely had time to see the metallic gleam before he felt the impact.

SHLUCK.

The steel pierced his side, sliding between his ribs like a burning iron.The pain hit instantly—raw, brutal—so real it stole his breath in a choked gasp.

"M-Michael!" Elsa, Historia, and Gundou screamed in unison.

The spear was buried deep.His health bar dropped all at once.It wasn't the moderate pain from the system.It was real pain… like his flesh had truly been pierced.

(Damn it… I got distracted… and this hurts like hell… this isn't the usual game pain… it's like… I was stabbed for real…)

Another silver skeleton charged toward him, this time aiming straight for his neck.

"MICHAEL!!" Gundou shouted, but he wouldn't make it.

As the second strike came down—

The world lost its color.

A blue flash crossed the air.

And in an instant—The golden skeleton was sliced in half.The silver one lost its head before even finishing its movement.

Both enemies exploded into glittering snow-like particles.

Michael blinked, stunned.

To his left, a silhouette knelt briefly, sword still trembling from the impact.

Blonde hair.Black-tipped ends.Slow breathing.Perfect posture.

Aomine…but not the Aomine they knew.

"Aomine…?" Michael whispered, unable to understand.

There was no reply.

He only saw him rise with a mechanical, smooth, almost feline motion.The sword lifted, firm, without a trace of hesitation.

And then, without warning—

Aomine sprinted toward the skeletons.

But it wasn't his usual style.

His steps were silent.His body flowed as though weightless.His slashes had surgical precision, blending Elsa's fast and elegant movements, Gundou's rhythm changes and counterattacks, and his own aggressive finishers.

It was as if he had unconsciously absorbed the fighting styles of those he had watched for months.

A perfect hybrid.A monster in manual mode.

Every strike was clean.Every dodge, exact.Every turn, calculated to the millimeter.

The skeletons fell like wheat before a scythe.

Mito watched him with wide eyes.Historia hesitated for a second before firing another arrow.Gundou froze for a moment.Michael… felt fear.

Yuna raised her head.Her tears still fell, but now there was something different in her eyes.

"Ah…" she whispered in a cracked voice, "...you're breaking again…"

Because she could see it.She could see what the others couldn't.

Inside Aomine…something was tearing apart.

Even though many skeletons managed to block some of his attacks, Aomine noticed his experience bar rising little by little.He had been stuck at level 27 for weeks, but now—through sheer instinct and necessity—his EXP climbed rapidly.Still, it wasn't enough.Not against enemies like these.

So he searched for weak points: small openings in the frozen armor—a gap under the elbow, a space between plates, the unprotected neck…He created his own openings with precise cuts, exploiting any tiny breach to drive his sword in.

Then, arrows sliced through the air behind him—two quick, tense shots aimed at a pair of golden skeletons.But Aomine stepped right into their trajectory without realizing it.

The arrows went straight toward his back!

His heart stopped for a second.

Instead of stopping or ducking, his body moved on its own:he jumped.

His feet landed on the skulls of the golden skeletons, using them as makeshift stepping stones, pushing them down as the arrows that would've struck him hit them instead.

The skeletons exploded into blue particles.

Suspended in the air for a moment, Aomine flipped and landed with his feet sinking slightly into the frozen snow, using the momentum to keep moving through the enemies.He slipped between an entire cluster, dodging spears and snapping jaws that clattered like they were truly hungry.

And he ran straight toward the boss.

"Hey, Aomine…! Aomine!! Don't go alone!!" Michael shouted, voice cracking.

Everyone turned toward him, stunned.The young man ran without looking back, without listening, without thinking. He simply moved—driven by an impulse even he couldn't understand.

The boss noticed.

Lord Glacius opened his eyes fully, rising from his throne of ice with monstrous slowness.The skeletons surrounding the battlefield froze instantly.Then, as if melting from within, their bodies collapsed, liquefying into crystalline blue liquid that seeped into the snow.

The liquid writhed across the floor like a living thing, gathering beneath the king's feet.

Lord Glacius lifted his hand.

The liquid rising from the snow solidified in an instant into a translucent blue lance—lethal and beautiful.

The boss hurled it without mercy, aiming straight at Aomine's heart.

The young man saw it with wide eyes.His breath caught as he felt the air tear behind him.He jumped aside; the lance grazed him, its freezing shockwave striking him violently.AomineN rolled across the snow, stood up trembling, and kept running.

Lord Glacius formed a second lance.Then a third.All thrown with inhuman precision.

Aomine dodged, but each impact on the ground threw him off-balance.Every explosion of ice rattled him inside, as if the cold were breaking his spine.

(Why am I doing this…?)(My body… my body isn't reacting…)(I just wanted to leave… why am I still moving forward?)The thought echoed like a scream inside his skull.

Then—his footing slipped.

Slipping clumsily on the ice, his body tilted.A lance shot straight toward him—this time impossible to dodge.

"Aomine!!" a voice thundered beside him.

A shield appeared in front of his chest.

The impact was brutal.

Gundou, standing with his back toward Aomine, took the full hit.His boots dug deep into the snow as he resisted the recoil, and a roar escaped his throat as the pressure made his arms tremble.

Behind them, arrows cut through the air.

Two perfect shots—Historia.Both struck the boss's face, piercing one of his frozen irises.Lord Glacius clutched his face, growling, disoriented.

Michael, Keyki, Elsa, and Mito arrived running, forming a semicircle around Aomine and Gundou.

Aomine was still there.Motionless.Eyes dim.As if his soul was disconnected from his flesh.

Michael grabbed him by the collar, pulling him back to safety.

"Look at me!" he said, frowning.

Aomine looked at him.And instead of anger, he saw a tired, genuine smile.

"Seriously… you're amazing," Michael said, letting out a relieved sigh.

Something inside Aomine cracked.The pressure crushing his chest loosened.The emptiness in his gaze flickered.

Elsa leaned forward with a dangerous yet sweet smile."So you had good skills and didn't want to show them, huh?"

Keyki let out a shaky laugh."Bro, if you could fight like that earlier… you'd be top ranked!"

"Don't exaggerate," Gundou added, still catching his breath. "But it was surprising. Even Historia was happy you used her arrows to move."

Aomine blinked slowly.

He turned behind him.

Historia still held her bow taut.Yuna, covered in tears, watched him with wide eyes—unsure whether to feel relieved, terrified… or both.Her bow trembled in her hands.

Mito looked at him with a smile.But it wasn't a happy smile.It was the smile of someone who suddenly feels safe because someone else can fight for her.

When he turned back toward his teammates—they were all smiling.

Michael took a step forward.

He extended his hand."Come on. We fight together, okay?"

Aomine looked at him.

Then at all the others.

And then—the present shattered like glass.

A blink.

And suddenly, Aomine was no longer in the boss room, nor facing a monster trying to kill him.

He was there.In that place.On that afternoon he had tried so hard to forget.

.......

The sky had the orange color of a farewell.The light of the sunset bathed the school bleachers in golden and reddish tones, stretching the shadows of the poles and drawing soft silhouettes across the soccer field.

The wind was warm.The air smelled of freshly cut grass.Students were leaving little by little, and the echo of their laughter faded into the empty hallways.

Aomine sat halfway up the bleachers, his backpack resting beside him, staring at the sky without thinking too much.His own shadow stretched out in front of him, still, as if it were the only part of him that knew where to go.

That was when he heard his name.

"Aomine!!"

A figure came running down from the top of the bleachers, almost tripping from how fast he was going.The sun behind him turned him into a glowing outline—impossible to ignore.

Michael.

Always so loud.Always so full of life.

He reached him, panting, bending over slightly to catch his breath, but without losing that trademark smile.

"Please…" he said between breaths. "Join my SAO group! Seriously, seriously, I need you!"

Aomine blinked, surprised.

"Huh? A video game…? Sorry, I'm not very good at that."

The orange light illuminated Michael's face.He squinted and shook his head dramatically.

"Aomine-san!" he said in an almost theatrical voice. "Your physical skill and your mind are amazing. You're incredible! Way more than you think!"

Aomine lowered his gaze, uncomfortable.His fingers fidgeted nervously against his pants.

"It's just… I only think. I don't fight. That's not my thing."

Michael watched him silently for a moment.Then he stepped down two bleachers, placing himself directly in front of Aomine, as if trying to match their height so his words would carry more weight.

The sunset illuminated his determined expression.

"Don't deny it just because you're scared," he said softly. "Maybe… maybe fighting is your thing, and you just don't know it yet."

The wind blew at that moment, moving both their hair.The sunlight gave their eyes a golden glimmer.The field fell silent, as if the world itself had stopped to listen.

"If you don't try," Michael continued, his voice more serious than usual, "if you don't take a step… you'll never know how far you can go."

Then he stepped down one more step.Aomine had to lift his gaze slightly to keep looking at him.

Michael extended his hand.A sincere invitation—open, gentle, hopeful.

"So…" he smiled, showing his teeth. "Come on. Let's fight together, okay?Let's clear every floor.The beta, the official release… everything."

The sun reflected on his smile, as if it were truly shining forward.

"As friends."

.......

The boss's roar shattered the frozen world like thunder.The echo tore through Aomine's chest, ripping him violently away from the warm memory of the past.

His breathing grew heavy again.White air escaped his lips in trembling clouds.

He looked at his sword...He looked at his trembling hand...And then the ground beneath him—the snow stained with traces of his fear.

A sticky, dark feeling had kept him chained all this time:the terror that paralyzed him, the weight of living, the contradiction of moving forward while wanting to run away.

But then he remembered that hand extended to him at sunset.He remembered the voice that called him "friend."He remembered the broken promise and the dream that had yet to begin.

Aomine let go of the sword.The metal hit the snow with a sharp clink, almost symbolic.

He brought both hands to his face.

One second of silence.

And—

PAH!

The loud slap echoed through the frozen chamber.The strike returned color to his cheeks, tore the trembling from his fingers, and forced his eyes fully open for the first time since everything began.

His friends looked at him in surprise.Even Lord Glacius paused, his ice lance frozen in mid-movement.

Aomine inhaled.The icy air burned his throat.He exhaled.His breath formed a firm, steady cloud.

And finally… he smiled.A small smile—clumsy, tired, but alive.A smile that said, "I'm here. I'm not running."

"Sorry…" he said in a clear, almost lighthearted voice."I think I was half-asleep."

He bent down and picked up his sword with a firm, decisive grip.

He looked at Michael.

He looked at the entire group.

"Alright…—I'll help you. All of you."

Michael's eyes widened in relief, wearing that proud expression he always had when Aomine did something Michael knew he could do.

Aomine stepped forward.And he took the extended hand.

With Aomine finally back in the lineup, they all turned their bodies in unison, the crunch of snow beneath their boots blending with the tense silence filling the frozen chamber.

In front of them was no longer the majestic, towering boss from before.

Lord Glacius was leaning to one side, his massive icy torso fractured by thin lines radiating from his right eye… or rather, from what remained of it.Historia's arrow was still embedded there, vibrating with every heavy breath the colossus took, releasing fragments of blue light that evaporated in the cold air.

The king of winter no longer looked like a programmed entity.He looked like a wounded animal, twisted by pain, slowly turning his massive head toward them with a harsh screech, his jaw clenched in a grimace that resembled human rage far too closely.

One of his five health bars flickered at half, trembling as if his very existence were shaking.

His one remaining eye opened with a glacial glow, overflowing with hatred.He stared at them—all together—with the expression of a prisoner watching his executioners laugh at his suffering.

The air around the monster vibrated.Each breath he exhaled released a freezing vapor that solidified the snow around him, forming sharp crystals growing like thorns.

Aomine's shoulders tensed.

"So… do we have a plan now?" he asked into the air, nearly swallowing his words.

Everyone turned to him with the same expression.

Poker face.Perfectly synchronized.Perfectly dead inside.

Michael blinked slowly.Elsa simply narrowed her eyes.Keyki swallowed hard without speaking.Gundou looked like he was trying to guess whether Aomine was serious.Historia just stared at him with a "seriously-you're-asking-this-NOW" written across her face.Mito… remained still, too rigid, too silent, her gloves tightening ever so slightly.

Aomine felt the entire frozen chamber waiting for his reaction.

"What…?" He raised his hands slightly, offended by the silence. "I'm not going to come up with EVERY plan, you know?!"

His voice echoed between the ice pillars.

No one contradicted him.No one supported him.

The tension was so deep that even the cold seemed to stop.

And then they heard it.

A sudden twist, a tearing crack:Lord Glacius shifted position, and as he did, the arrow lodged in his iris twisted, tearing loose a new wave of frost and bluish light that fell to the ground like frozen blood.

The boss let out a deep roar—more like a human scream than a programmed sound effect.

The hatred in that single eye was palpable.A storm of pure resentment.

(it hurts…it hurts so much…)

The voice didn't echo through the chamber like audible sound but like a shredded thought buried beneath layers of ice and fear.A whisper, a lament—one that didn't reach the group… yet somehow vibrated in the air around them.

Lord Glacius, staggering, still held his face with one hand. His iris—once snow-white, pristine, cold and perfect—had regenerated, but not the same.It was brown now.Warm.Human.

A color that didn't belong on a monster.A color painfully out of place in the throne room, in the ice, in everything.

And that humanity… bled.

"Stay… away from me!" he roared, his voice sounding broken, torn by pain, but also soaked in a visceral terror that didn't belong to a programmed creature.

The group recoiled instinctively.It wasn't the threat… it was the tone.Not anger.Plea.Warning.Pure fear.

But there was no time to process it.

Beneath their feet, the snow began to glow with an electric blue light, so intense it pierced through boots, legs, even bone. A crack shot through the ground like a whip, and suddenly—from the frozen depths—spikes of ice erupted in a deadly circle, rising with enough force to impale any armor.

"Move!" Michael shouted, shoving Elsa to the side.

They scattered as best they could, feeling the edges of the spikes scrape their ankles as they desperately pushed forward, dodging each formation like walking through a living minefield.

"I… I don't want to die…" the boss's voice returned—broken, gasping, as if each attack was an act of desperation and not aggression.

Historia, far from the melee, drew her bowstring again. The string hurt her fingers. Her skin was red, cracked, frozen, and yet she pulled with all her strength.Her eye aimed straight at the boss's remaining iris, but—

Those words…

Why did they sound… human?

"What… what was that?" she whispered, momentarily losing focus.

Beside her, almost against her shoulder, Yuna spoke.But not to her.Not to anyone.

It was a comment cast into the void—born from pain.

"Nothing wants to die… and least of all like this.Turned into a monster… forced to keep going, to fight even when death is the only thing it wants.It's a twisted way to force a soul to evolve…" Yuna murmured, eerily calm, her voice low and cracked, as if speaking from somewhere far away.

Historia jolted and looked at her.

"Huh?"

But Yuna didn't see her.Didn't hear her.She wasn't there.

Because for her, Lord Glacius was no longer Lord Glacius.

His shape blurred. The room warped. The air—once icy—vibrated like a torn membrane.And from that distortion emerged the true image:

A man.

A man with tan skin, an unkempt beard, wild eyes filled with panic, chest rising and falling in short, frantic breaths.A man on the verge of an existential collapse.

The scars on his face weren't visual effects.They weren't "boss design."They were memories.Pain.Living history.

Yuna froze, paralyzed.

The man reached out his hand toward her—toward the group—with a clumsy, trembling, desperate gesture, as if thinking that simple act could stop something inevitable.

"Don't come any closer."

It was a warning.A plea.A silent cry.

The dark cloak he wore seemed far too heavy for his weakened body, and his unsteady posture was that of someone who no longer understood why he still existed.

Yuna took a step forward on instinct, reaching a hand toward him.Not as a warrior.Not as a player.But as someone who saw a broken soul standing before her.

But before she could touch him, a robotic voice—sharp, metallic, inhuman—exploded inside her mind.

(Don't do anything foolish, Yuna. Phase one has just begun. If you interfere… it will only get worse for them.)

The message pierced through her consciousness like a cold needle.

Her eyes widened in horror.Her hand trembled.She collapsed to the ground.And tears streamed down her face without restraint, burning her frozen skin.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________

On the other side of the digital world, in a dark room lit only by screens, a man in a white lab coat watched everything with a disturbingly calm expression. His eyes moved slowly, registering every movement, every scream, every reaction.

"How stable is he?" he asked without looking away.

A childlike, almost mechanical voice replied from the shadows.

"Test subject 025 is at 50%. His consciousness has just awakened and has taken direct control of the floor 25 boss, Lord Glacius. He is attacking out of desperation, unable to understand why he is still alive. If the tension continues, his soul will fragment. The system recommends pausing the event to prevent the loss of the first evolutionary breakthrough between a human soul and an AI."

The man didn't blink.

"Let it continue," he ordered.

Dead silence.No approval.No protest.Only the battle playing out on the screens.

As if he were waiting… for a miracle.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Inside the frozen chamber, the group was on the brink of collapse.

Gundou, gasping for air, held a shield that was barely holding together. Cracks glowed through the metal like veins about to burst.

Elsa was struggling to breathe; the redness in her ears and cheeks was no longer just cold—it was fever.

Michael could hardly lift his sword, every muscle trembling as if he were carrying a mountain.

Aomine felt his body on the verge of shutting down. Every step hurt. Every movement was an act of will rather than strength.

Mito was still fighting, but her feet were beginning to freeze from the ankles down; every movement left a trail of ice cracking behind her.

Historia's fingers were bleeding. Her fingertips were split from pulling her bowstring over and over in an environment that forgave nothing. The cold froze her blood on her skin, making her grip harder.

And yet…Even with their bodies destroyed…Even with death hanging over them…

They were accomplishing the impossible:defeating a floor boss without external support.

Aomine, exhausted but proud, let out a bitter smile.

"We're… almost… there…"

But then, Lord Glacius staggered back a step. His jaw tensed, his teeth clashed violently, and his eyes—one brown, one white—glowed with an indescribable tension.

"Murderers… YOU'RE MURDERERS…I… I WILL KILL YOU!" he screamed, and there was no fear anymore.Only pure hatred—raw and unfiltered.

The entire chamber erupted in a deep blue radiance.

The boss raised both hands.

The ice responded as if it were his personal army.

Spears of ice emerged from the void, forming in seconds. The ground beneath the group began freezing at monstrous speed; if a foot stayed still for more than a second, it started getting trapped.

"Move your feet! Don't stay still!" Elsa shouted.

The noise of growing ice, forming lances, cracking floors, filled the chamber.

The attacks gave them no rest.

Ice spears burst from the ground like hungry fangs, spiraling upward and trying to catch them by the legs. Every frozen attack Lord Glacius summoned made the snow beneath their feet vibrate, as if the entire chamber pulsed with a mechanical, terrifying heartbeat.

The whole group was forced to retreat, advance, jump, spin on their heels.No rhythm.No safe zones.Just a whirlwind of survival.

Every movement drained their lungs, burned their legs, and gnawed at their joints with cold that seeped even beneath the game's interface. Frost formed white lines on their eyelashes, and their breath looked like smoke escaping from bodies about to collapse.

Aomine dodged another spike that burst near his calf. The ice passed so close that his skin felt the vacuum of cold grazing it. He fell forward, rolled through the snow, and regained balance just in time to avoid another spear.

While dodging a third attack, his mind was racing—faster than his exhausted body could.

(It's incredible… that we've lasted this long. Bringing him down to the last bar… I never thought we could. But…)

Another explosion. Snow detonated a meter from him, glowing with glacial blue.

(…at first his attacks had purpose. Every movement was calculated. Precise. Like a floor boss programmed to kill… not to hesitate.)

Aomine slid sideways as a chunk of ice whizzed over his head.

(But after Historia's arrow… after she damaged his iris… the boss started acting differently. Not like a monster… like a scared person. That ragged breathing. Those erratic movements… those "empty" moments where he froze as if he didn't know what to do…)

A cold sweat slid down his spine, mixing with melted snow.

(That… gave us openings. Perfect openings to deal damage. Almost too perfect… like he himself… didn't know how to react to pain.)

Aomine gritted his teeth and pushed off to avoid a spear erupting directly beneath his foot. His heel burned from the icy scrape.

(But now… now he's attacking like at the beginning. Violent. Direct. Lethal… but without pattern. Like he's betting everything—everything he has left—on pure instinct.)

A blue shadow rose in front of him.

"Aomine, look out!" Michael's voice echoed from far away.

Aomine reacted too late. The spear exploded beneath his feet in a flash that sent him flying backward, rolling several times across the snow and leaving an uneven trail behind him. He stopped on his back, staring at the glowing, sickly-blue dome above.

And even with his body trembling, breath uneven, muscles begging to give up… his mind kept analyzing, connecting, fearing.

(But… why? Why would a boss react like this… as if it were alive? As if… it were scared?)

Another explosion shook the ground, ripping him from his thoughts as he forced himself to stand once more.

Michael couldn't wait any longer.

The path they had carved—narrow, unstable, made of gaps between ice bursts and melting skeletons—was almost suicidal, but he saw opportunity in it.And without thinking, he bet everything on it.

He ran straight forward, sword raised, breath ragged, every step sinking into snow that now burned more than it cooled. His teammates watched him advance… and even on the verge of collapse, they followed.

Historia, unable to pull her bowstring again with her cracked, bleeding fingers, staggered forward with Yuna in her arms, forcing her body to respond even though every joint screamed for surrender.

"Michael, careful!" Keyki managed to shout.

But then, in front of Michael…

An ice spear erupted from the floor.

It wasn't a warning.It was a sentence.

The sky-blue tip appeared a palm from his face—so suddenly the cold scraped his eyelashes.

Michael's eyes widened—too late, too close—

"GUNDOU!"

A figure crashed into him from the side.Gundou's massive shield filled his vision an instant before impact.

The spear hit the metal with a brutal crash.The shield cracked, bent… and then the ice explosion sent Gundou's body flying several meters left, where he hit the snow hard.

"G-Gundou!!" Michael screamed, voice breaking.

Gundou tried to get up, only managing to support himself on a trembling arm. His breathing was forced, uneven, as if each inhale was heavier than the last.

And still, his eyes remained forward.He didn't give up.

The attacks didn't stop.

Ice columns surged from the ground like serpents.Spears were hurled from afar.The air itself cut their skin.

Keyki appeared from the side, shoving Michael just before another spike erupted beneath his feet. The impact left him coughing digitized blood, but he stayed firm.

"Keep going!" he gasped. "You're almost there!"

Then Elsa arrived.No rest.No pause.Her body shaking with fever and cold, yet still shattering every spear she could, every threat aiming to stop them.

And lastly—

Aomine.

Running from behind, his steps uneven, his body on the verge of breaking—but sheer will holding him upright—he caught up.

Without hesitation, he slid through the snow, knelt in front of Michael, and cupped his hands together like a human springboard.

"Jump!" Aomine roared.

Michael didn't hesitate.He couldn't afford to.

He leaped onto Aomine's hands, and Aomine launched him with all the strength he had left. Michael soared upward, narrowly dodging a killing spear that scraped his armor.

Mid-air, he used that same spear as leverage——climbing it as if it were a crystal staircase.

His fingers burned.His breath was frozen fire.But he climbed.

Lord Glacius extended a colossal hand to crush him, but Michael zigzagged across the living-ice arm, gripping fractures, climbing higher as the boss howled in pain.

(If I stop now… if I hesitate… I won't be able to keep walking. I won't stand back up. I don't want my path to end here…)

He climbed up the forearm and onto the frozen shoulder.His muscles tore, even through the system's limits.But he didn't stop.

(Historia… Gundou… Keyki… Aomine… Yuna… they all need me.)

He leaped toward the boss's face.

His sword sank into Lord Glacius's frozen cheek with a dry crack.The boss screamed—a grotesque mix of a roar and a human cry.

And then—

The voice.

"I don't want to die! I don't want to die! I don't want to die, I don't want to die, I don't want to die—!W-wait, wait—! I don't want to die! Why are you doing this?! Tell me! Tell me!!"

It was pure desperation.It was human.It was heartbreaking.

But Michael no longer heard it.He couldn't.

His eyes—burning with rage, fear, and determination—saw only the end.

"FALL!!!" he screamed, tearing his throat.

He stabbed one last time.

Lord Glacius let out a roar that shook the entire chamber.His massive body convulsed… then dropped to his knees, and finally… collapsed onto the snow.

A crack of blue light opened across his torso.His health bars shattered into crystal fragments.

They had won.

The entire chamber began to melt slowly.The cold dissipated as if someone had lifted an ancient spell.The group—exhausted, broken, on the verge of collapsing—smiled, fell to the ground, laughed and cried, not caring whether their bodies still responded or not.

Michael fell on his back beside the glowing corpse of the boss, breathing as if every breath were his last.

Aomine staggered toward him.He could barely feel his legs.He could barely hold his sword.

And yet, he gently tapped Michael's back.

"…Seriously… you did it," he said with a tired, painful, sincere smile.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________

In the dark chamber, lit only by the bluish glow of dozens of screens, the silence became heavier than any ice storm.

After the boss's final explosion, all graphs, indicators, and bars dropped into a sequence of numbers that looked like a signed death certificate.

"Subject 025 has fallen," reported the robotic female voice from some unseen corner of the room. "Attempt number 25… failed. No significant data obtained."

The words fell like a verdict.

But the man in the white lab coat did not move.

His eyes remained fixed on the main screen, where the group of eight players could still be seen gathering together—exhausted, celebrating their victory with weak smiles, tired fist bumps, worn-out hugs.

It was a warm, human, luminous image…

…but his expression showed no satisfaction.It showed expectation.

As if he were waiting for something else to happen.Something impossible.A miracle only he believed in.

His breathing slowed.The cold, faint light of the screen outlined his features as if trying to read in his eyes something that had not yet appeared.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The boss chamber, still soaked with the echo of combat, was slowly revealing a metallic, worn floor beneath the melting snow. The air no longer froze their lungs… but the exhaustion, the pain, and the shock clung to their bodies like a weight impossible to shed.

The eight of them gathered around Michael—some half-laughing, others leaning on each other's shoulders because their legs no longer obeyed them.

There was one who didn't join the circle.

Aomine.

He remained still, breathing unevenly. Then, without warning, he lowered his head… and then his whole torso, bending at the waist in a bow so deep it nearly touched the ground.

The others stared at him, confused.

Michael squinted, trying to focus.

"Is something wrong…?" he asked in a hoarse voice, still recovering from the final scream.

Aomine inhaled deeply, as if each word cost him a piece of his chest.

"I'm sorry…" he began.

His voice trembled.

That single tremor was enough for Historia to stop smiling.For Mito to take a small step forward.For Yuna to raise her head for the first time since the boss fell.

Aomine continued, without lifting his gaze.

"I… was very scared."

That confession silenced everything.Even the system's ambient sounds seemed to vanish.

"My sharp attitude…" —his breath broke— "the times I couldn't do anything but give orders… the times I only expected all of you… to save me."

A knot sank his voice, but he kept speaking.

"All of that made me act selfish. Like someone who only wants to protect himself… while letting the others carry the danger."

His bow deepened further, almost desperate.

"So… I apologize to all of you. Truly. For everything."

Droplets of water—perhaps melted snow, perhaps sweat, perhaps something else—fell from his forehead onto the metal floor with a faint sound that resonated in each of them like a blow.

The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable.

It was dense.It was human.The kind of silence that only exists when a heart opens completely.

Michael stepped forward, but he didn't speak yet.It was as if Aomine's words had stolen a bit of the room's air.As if they were all processing a truth none of them had wanted to admit during the fight.

And in the background, without any of them knowing…

The man in the white coat kept watching them like an invisible hologram.

Unmoving.

The light reflected in his eyes was no longer cold.

It was expectant.

Michael was the first to move.

Without saying a word at first, he took slow steps, his breath still ragged from exhaustion… and raised his hand.

PAM!

The sharp smack landed on Aomine's head, making him let out a stifled yelp as he grabbed the spot.

"Ouch…! What—?" he lifted his gaze, alarmed.

And there was Michael.Smiling at him.

A big, radiant, bright smile—so warm that for a moment it felt like it melted the last bits of frost left in the room.

"Come on, what's with that face?" he said, tilting his head in that carefree way of his. "You don't need to get like that. Yeah, you made mistakes, yeah, you were scared… but that's already over, right?"

Aomine blinked, surprised.Michael took another step, coming so close their foreheads almost touched.

"What matters is what you did today," he continued, softer, more serious. "What you did for us. And what you're going to do tomorrow.Don't hide anymore. It only makes the group worry… and you already saw that we want you right there with us. Okay?"

That final word—okay—lingered between them.

A nod.A promise.

Behind them, the others began reacting too.

Gundou raised a thumb with a tired smile.Elsa leaned against her dagger, letting out a soft but happy sigh.Keyki dropped onto the melted snow, laughing under his breath.Historia, still bleeding from her cracked fingertips, nodded seriously from afar while supporting Yuna.

And Yuna…She did not smile.Her head hung low, tears tracing a quiet line down her cheeks.

"…I'm sorry," she whispered.Barely audible.Barely alive.

Historia glanced sideways at her, frowning, wanting to ask what exactly was happening to her in that moment.

Aomine didn't see any of that. He only saw the others… accepting him. Welcoming him. Understanding his weakness, yet still inviting him to move forward.

He looked back at Michael, who was already extending a hand toward him.The same hand he had extended in the past, on that sunset afternoon of bleachers and promises.

A gesture that meant:

We're in this together.Again.Like always.

Aomine smiled.Not a forced one.A sincere one.One that, for the first time since entering the chamber, came from the heart.

Slowly, he raised his hand to return the gesture.

And just as he was about to take it—

SHRRRKKK—

The sound sliced through the room like a blade cutting the air.

Aomine's eyes widened.His smile vanished instantly.His hand froze midair.

"Huh…?" was all he managed to utter.

Because behind Michael—No.Inside Michael—

Three ice spikes were emerging like sharpened spears.

One pierced through half his face, destroying his left eye.Another went through the upper lobe of his lung.The last buried itself into his leg, ripping away his balance.

Michael trembled.His whole body convulsed.

Slowly, as if his brain had yet to process the pain, he brought his fingers to the ice impaling his face… touching the cold, slippery surface stained with red glimmers.

His health bar began to fall.Fast.Too fast.

"MICHAEL!" Elsa, Historia, and Gundou screamed in unison, their voices breaking.

But there was no time to run.

"BACK!" Historia shrieked, her voice so sharp it tore the air—

Too late.

Behind Michael, like sharpened shadows, five more ice spikes erupted—aimed directly at Aomine… and at Michael himself.

Aomine didn't know what to do.He couldn't think.He couldn't move.It was as if the entire world had been covered by a layer of paralysis.

His body didn't react.His muscles didn't respond.His voice didn't either.

And the spikes were coming straight at him.

But then—

A shove.

A sharp impact to his chest.

A quick, determined, desperate movement.

Michael.

It was him.

Pushing him back, out of the path of the freezing lances.

The world slowed.Grew silent.Heavy.

In that fraction of a second, Aomine saw everything as if floating.

Michael pushing him away.The smile on his face—broken, but real.The ice shining with deadly reflections.The blood scattering like red crystals in the air.

And in his final expression…

There was no fear.No doubt.

Only one thing.

Relief.As if pushing Aomine away was the right choice.As if that—saving him—had been worth everything.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________

It was hard to remember if it had truly been a sunny day, or if my tired memory—fed up with replaying the same moment—had decided to idealize it. In my mind, the sun always shone when I thought about that moment, as if the sky itself tried to lie to me so it wouldn't hurt.But in front of me, there was only rain.A dense, constant rain that hammered the sliding glass door like thousands of impatient fingers trying to get into the classroom.

I was sitting there, off to the side, holding a small toy train in my hands.The red paint on the wagon was chipped, the blue paint on the roof had peeled off at the corners, and the wheels no longer turned properly;yet I held it as if it were the most valuable thing I owned.

Around me, the other children—five to six years old—were screaming, jumping, running everywhere.Some drew pictures, others played hide-and-seek behind chairs, and others simply laughed at anything, as children do.

While they enjoyed the last stretch of the day, I kept staring outside.The rain forming rivers on the glass, distorting the view of the playground, dragging away what little light remained.Something in me always wanted to go out and let the water hit my face, even though I knew I'd end up soaked and shivering.Still, that desire returned again and again, like a cycle I couldn't explain.

Then, the bell rang.A loud, metallic ring that vibrated through the room and pierced my ears, forcing me back into the present.Not just me; all the children stood up immediately.The tiny backpacks hanging on wooden cubbies—each with a brightly painted name—disappeared into their owners' arms.

They lined up in front of the security door, where our teacher—a young woman with light brown hair and a soft smile—greeted them one by one.

She wore her usual dark green apron, stained with patches of paint, and beneath it a white shirt and blue jeans.Despite the stains, she looked neat, warm… someone impossible to distrust.

Outside, under umbrellas, parents waited with tired but happy smiles.As soon as the little ones walked out, they were taken by the hand, lifted onto shoulders, or hugged tightly.The sound of the rain mixed with familiar voices created a scene that felt very distant to me.

When everyone was gone, I was—as always—the last one.Not because I decided to be, but because I already knew what would happen.I always knew.

With my little lion backpack—an old, battered bag with a childish, clumsy hand-drawn lion—I walked to the door and sat there, waiting.The cleaning lady began sweeping the classroom, ignoring me, used to seeing me in that spot.

My teacher approached with a mix of tenderness and worry she tried to hide, though she never fooled me.

"Looks like your parents are running late again, right, Kiyotaka?" she said, raising a brow slightly.

I nodded silently.There was nothing else to say. She already knew the answer.

"We're closing soon… so…" she tried to continue.

Before she could say the usual phrase, I gathered my courage and spoke.

"Can I borrow an umbrella… to go home?"

She sighed—not out of annoyance, but from a helplessness that seemed to hurt her more than me.Still, she smiled.

"All right. I know you'll bring it back tomorrow. I'd walk you home but…" she made a small face, "it's my daughter's birthday today. She's turning ten."

"Yeah… I know." I said, rubbing my shoes together, making that rubber-on-wet-floor sound that always revealed my nerves.

"Oh, that's right…" she added suddenly, "tomorrow is your birthday, isn't it? I'm sure they'll throw you a surprise party!"

"Yeah…" I lied as naturally as breathing.

She handed me the small umbrella, just the right size for me to carry.I left the school with it.

And the rain greeted me like an old acquaintance.

The drops hit the fabric so hard I felt the vibrations through the handle.I walked, watching the families pass by:mothers lifting their children so they wouldn't step in puddles,fathers sharing jokes,siblings arguing over whose umbrella was bigger.

I kept going straight.Alone.With the rain as my only companion.

Until it happened.

As I walked toward the station—just two blocks, a route I took every day—I saw something that made my heart stop for a second.

Just a few meters ahead, walking straight toward me, were two adults:A man with neatly combed gray hair,a woman with long white hair down to her shoulders.On either side of them walked two older children, maybe nine years old—one with silver hair, the other darker.

All four of them raised their hands at me.All four smiled.All four called me without saying a word.

I… smiled.My chest warmed.My steps grew faster.I wanted to reach them.I wanted to hear them.I wanted… to belong.

I ran toward that image that seemed so real, so possible, so perfect.

And when I was less than a meter away, the truth cut through me like an icy knife.

The glass of the bus stop reflected reality:it was only me,a soaked child with a borrowed umbrella, waving at nothing…

What I'd seen were just shadows my imagination created…illusions my eyes constructed to compensate for what my heart had known for a long time.

The bus driver let me on without charging after seeing I was alone.I sat in the back row, my feet fidgeting with anxiety as I watched the city pass through distorted droplets.

When my stop was announced, I got off.Opened the umbrella.Walked through the downpour until I reached that house.

A two-story house, immaculate from the outside, with bluish tiles that seemed to shine even under the rain, a perfectly trimmed garden where every leaf was covered in a thin layer of water that reflected the light.The palm trees dropped heavy droplets that hit the ground with hollow, rhythmic sounds.

Everything looked… perfect.Too perfect.

But not for me.

I lifted the doormat without hesitation, took the hidden key, unlocked the door carefully, closed it without a sound, and took off my shoes.It wasn't my house, but I knew how to move inside as if it were.I never went upstairs.I walked straight through the hallway, avoiding the living room where the shadows of a family were projected on the window:four silhouettes together, probably laughing, talking, living something I only imagined.

I opened the basement door.Entered.Closed it gently.

My room.

My real room.

An old but usable bed.Broken toys.Worn-out books I had found or been given without affection.And on a dusty shelf… a frame.

A perfect family photo.Mother. Father. Son. Daughter.

And in the bottom corner…clumsily stuck on, badly cut out, a child's crayon drawing:a boy with dark gray hair, exaggerated smile, hands raised in greeting.

The drawing had been added by me.With my own hand.A desperate attempt to insert myself into a family where I didn't exist.

I gripped the frame.Felt my fingers tremble.And not knowing if it was sadness or habit, I murmured:

"I'm… home…"

But outside, the rain kept hitting hard.As if it wanted to remind me that even in my own refuge,I would always be soaked on the inside.

Whenever I heard footsteps above my head—soft steps, muffled by the old wooden staircase—my body reacted like a spring.I would look around, making sure no one was near, and then slip out of the tiny room where I slept, always alert, always silent, as if my movements could disturb someone who wasn't even there.

I walked slowly toward the kitchen.That place was strange… it looked like a real, functional kitchen, but empty of purpose.The pots hung neatly arranged, the metal spoons looked like they had never been used with affection, and the air smelled like a house that was lived in… but not loved.

I rummaged through drawers and cupboards until I found only a bit of leftover rice in a poorly sealed container.There was nothing else.Even so, I placed the rice on a small plate with almost ritual precision.

Then I ran back to my room.I took out an old wooden chair—it was light, but creaked as if protesting every movement—and carried it back to the kitchen.I placed it among the four perfectly aligned chairs around the table.That strict, sharp perfection was what stood out the most.Four chairs… four places… just as it had always been for them.

I sat down.Held the chopsticks carefully.Blew on the cold rice as if it were hot, pretending that the nonexistent steam warmed my hands.

"Thanks for the meal…" I whispered, trying to sound cheerful, as if someone else were listening.

I smiled while chewing.But as the tasteless food touched my tongue, tears began sliding down my cheeks—silent trails of sadness I couldn't stop.

Cold.Always cold.

In front of me, in my imagination, silhouettes appeared.Shadows of people sitting on the other chairs.They didn't move, didn't speak, didn't breathe… but they were there in my mind.A whole family.A family dinner.

A comforting lie.

"My family always wants everything to be perfect," I thought."Four people, a perfect number for them."

I… I had been the mistake in that equation.

Ever since I was born, I had broken their balance:on trips, at events, in photos, in any place where the harmony of "four" became "five."

My sisters said it all the time:

"Why does he have to come?""He always ruins everything.""He should've stayed at home."

My parents never said it in public…They saved those words for inside the house, where no one else could hear them.

I only lowered my head and nodded, as if everything were normal, as if I deserved every word.

But even so…I loved them.

"If they didn't care, they wouldn't leave me rice.""If they didn't care, they wouldn't let me come home every day.""If they didn't care, they wouldn't have had me…"

Broken thoughts, repeated so many times they had become a mantra to keep me from collapsing.

But…

My sixth birthday changed everything.

That day, they invited me to go out.I was so excited I couldn't stop smiling, even when my hands shook as I put on the old clothes that had belonged to my older brother.They were too big, worn out, but they were the nicest things I had.I wanted to look good for them.

They bought me a balloon.They gave me ice cream.I walked with them through the city, feeling for the first time like I was part of something… part of a family that looked normal among the crowd.

Until we arrived at the orphanage building.

I thought we were just passing by.But we went inside.

A tired-looking woman guided us through the hallways without explaining anything.I followed my parents without suspecting a thing… until I saw them from the window of the small room where "a child without a family" was supposed to live.

I saw my parents and siblings get into the car.I saw their smiles.I saw their relaxed faces, as if they had finally gotten rid of a heavy burden.

And I saw them leave without even looking back.

My hand, the one holding the ice cream, trembled.The cone cracked slightly.

My smile…the smile I had practiced countless times so they wouldn't worry…

shattered completely.

The ice cream hit the floor with a wet splat.

My knees trembled.

My tears fell uncontrollably.I cried like I had never cried before.As if my entire little world had collapsed in a single instant.

The orphanage woman glanced at me.Her expression didn't change.She said nothing.She simply turned around and left the room, closing the door with a coldness that froze the air.

I stayed there, alone, hugging the space where my mother's hand had been.

For the first time…I understood what it was to be thrown away.

From that day on, I stayed there, in that silent orphanage, with the few children who lived there.There wasn't much noise, or many games, or many hugs.There was… routine.A routine I learned to follow without complaint.

They let me attend public school.I walked alone to the station, took the train without company, returned to a shared room that changed occupants every so often.I never complained.There was no one to complain to.

Days passed.Weeks faded.Years piled up like dead leaves in a corner no one swept.

As I grew older, I knew what would happen sooner or later:they would throw me out of the orphanage once I reached a certain age.It wasn't personal…It was a process.

A cold process.Like everything I had lived through so far.

No matter how much effort I put in when prospective adoptive parents visited.No matter if I smiled, if I was polite, if I did little tricks or answered properly.The result was always the same.

"We're looking for a child who isn't so… odd.""We'd prefer someone a bit livelier.""Don't you have others more… suitable?"

They said it behind my back, but close enough for me to hear.At first, it hurt.Later, I just stopped paying attention.Or pretended to.

Then I clung to the only thing that made me feel like I was worth something:sports.

I ended up falling in love with soccer.Not with the game itself—not at first—but with the simple fact that when I ran, when I kicked the ball, when I scored… no one could ignore me.On the field, my existence had weight.People noticed me for my ability, not my flaws.

At twelve years old, something unexpected happened:I was called to join the Urawa Red Diamonds youth teams.

I remember the day so clearly it feels carved into my skin.They called me into a small office with walls full of photos of professional players.A coach held a folder and looked at me as if he saw something special in my eyes.

"You have potential," he said."More than you think."

Those words…Those words stayed with me more than any hug I never received.

I thought:"No one wants me, no one wants to adopt me… but soccer does."

So I clung to it as if it were my only salvation.And it was.

I trained harder than anyone.Endured minor injuries, criticism, sleepless nights doing homework after practice.I endured the loneliness of sleeping in a room that wasn't mine and the coldness of having no one to call and say, 'I was chosen as a starter today.'

At sixteen, I no longer lived in the orphanage.They were going to throw me out that same year.But it didn't matter…Because now I lived in a small room inside the club's youth facilities.

That little room, with white walls and a worn wooden desk, was more of a home than any house had ever been.

I pushed myself so hard that my muscles burned every day.I forced myself to my limits because I knew there was no one to catch me if I failed.

I still went to school—it was required by the club—and there…there, I became the center of conversations.

Suddenly, many girls approached me.Classmates tried talking to me more.They asked questions about the club, about training, about rumors online.

I smiled.Always smiled.

But inside…Inside I knew none of them knew me.

They only knew the shadow of my team, not me.They knew the colors of my jersey.Not where I slept, what I ate, what I had lost or what I longed for.

I just nodded, answered politely, and moved on.

Because I knew the only thing that truly belonged to me was my effort.If I wanted to rise to the first team…that effort had to be perfect.

Every day, every training session, every exam, every late night studying, every sore muscle…

Everything was part of the only path I had.

A path with no family…but with a goal.

And my final goal wasn't soccer.Or money.Or a brilliant future.

It was something much simpler, and infinitely harder:

I wanted to find something like a family.

It sounded stupid.Childish.Like a wish from a cheap fairy tale.I knew that.If I told anyone, they would call me stupid, naïve, or straight-up crazy.So I kept it to myself.

But that desire… that small, silent hope… is what started everything.

One day, while walking home from school, I heard noise under the bridge I always crossed.A blunt sound, then another… and voices.I stopped on instinct and looked down.

There they were:a group of delinquents from my own school—three or four, maybe more—surrounding someone and kicking him mercilessly.

But what surprised me wasn't the violence.I was used to that.

What shocked me was him.

A boy a little older than me, somewhat chubby, his uniform wrinkled… but not moving from his spot.He didn't fight back.He didn't run.He only curled up, covering something with his arms.

From above, I could only see his back trembling from the blows, but he didn't give in.He wasn't protecting himself.

He was protecting something else.

Why doesn't he defend himself?

That stupid, simple thought triggered something in me.

It wasn't my problem.I didn't have to intervene.I knew it would end badly.

But there was an impulse.A burning impulse telling me, run.Telling me, don't be like them.Telling me… if you want a family someday, start by being someone who deserves one.

And I jumped.

I jumped off the bridge straight at them.

For a moment, they all froze, staring as if they couldn't believe what was happening…then, as expected, they beat me up too.

I didn't just let them.I tried hitting back, pushing, shouting… but there were too many.I ended up on the ground, breathing heavily, my body aching, while they walked away laughing like it was just another day.

I stood up with effort, coughing.When I lifted my head, the boy they had beaten was a few steps away—bigger up close than he seemed from above.

He had his arms tight against his chest, not to defend himself… but to protect a small white puppy.It had a brown nose, one blue eye, and one dark eye.Strange.But beautiful in its oddness.

And he was smiling, despite the marks on his face and the dirt on his clothes.

Then, without thinking, he knelt in front of me and bowed until his forehead almost touched the ground.

"T-Thank you for saving me," he said awkwardly, with a sincerity too pure for the scene.

"I guess… you're welcome… ow…" I winced as I moved my shoulder.

He looked at me with worry, as if I were the hero of some story he had summoned.

"Y-You look hurt…" he stammered. "Do you want to come to my house? Please, let me repay you."

I wanted to refuse.It would've been logical.But the pain wouldn't let me walk properly, and he looked at me with a timid but firm determination.

I ended up accepting.

Without hesitation, he crouched and carried me as if I weighed nothing.

While we walked down the damp street, I couldn't help but ask:

"Why don't you defend yourself from them?"

He answered without thinking:

"There were too many…"

"You're strong," I replied sharply. "You could've done something. Even if you didn't win, you could've shown resistance. If you don't defend yourself, they'll keep bullying you. They'll call you a coward."

He stayed quiet for a few seconds…then murmured with conviction:

"But… I didn't run away!"

"Huh?"

He turned his head slightly to look at me while carrying me.

"My grandma says a coward is someone who runs away. I didn't escape. So I'm not a coward. I'm brave… I just… don't hit."

He left me speechless.

It was absurd.It was innocent.But it was also… admirable.

We walked a long while until we reached his home, farther than I expected.

A small bakery, a simple neighborhood place.The letters on the sign were worn, but still readable.From the entrance, I could smell freshly baked bread mixed with the scent of rain.

There, at the door, stood an elderly woman.

Her back was bent, a cane in hand, deep wrinkles etched by life.But when she saw her grandson, her eyes shone with relief and worry.

She rushed toward him as fast as she could, trembling, checking him over.He reassured her with an awkward smile and told her what happened.

They let me in without hesitation.Sat me down.Cleaned my wounds.Spoke to me with warmth.

It was…It was a new sensation.Incomprehensible.

The simple act of someone taking care of me, even for a wound…The warmth of that small kitchen…The smell of bread…The trembling voice of the grandmother saying, "Stay for dinner, child"…

All of that…lit something inside me.

Something I thought had died at age six.

My heart,that I believed hardened by habit,warmed for the first time.

A gentle warmth.Painful.But real.

As if the idea of "family"—which I had always thought was just a dream—had finally shown a small light beyond the darkness.

When dinner was done, he finally introduced himself properly.Takeshi Gundou.Though he told me I could just call him Gundou. It suited him better.

He lived only with his grandmother. A frail, sweet woman whose body seemed worn down by too many winters. And he… he did practically everything for her: carrying flour sacks, moving trays of bread, cleaning, preparing cookies and buns as naturally as breathing and working at the same time.For his age, it was absurd how strong he was.He had solid arms, a sturdy torso, legs shaped not by a gym, but by the everyday labor of a small struggling bakery.

But what was striking was the contradiction in his expression:Physically, he looked like he could knock anyone down…but his gaze belonged to someone who would never raise a hand against another.

As we washed dishes, he told me what had happened that day.

"So they stole bread from your shop, you followed them, asked them to return it… and they beat you. And then they threw the bread into the river," I summarized aloud.

Gundou lowered his gaze, rubbing the rim of his cup with his thumbs.

"Yeah…" he answered, frustrated. "Sometimes they come because there aren't many customers in this area. They take advantage. They ask for discounts, demand things. And when we don't give them what they want, they act like that. But… they're almost the only regular customers we have."

I bit into one of the homemade cookies he had offered me. They were good—too good to be made by hands that shook so much when defending himself should've been necessary.

"You could defend yourself, you know," I told him matter-of-factly. "With your height and those muscles… you could do it easily."

Gundou curled in on himself a little.

"Yeah, but… like I said, violence isn't good. If you use it, they'll return it. It's better to avoid it."

"That's true," I nodded, "people almost always return what they receive.But that doesn't mean you should let yourself be stepped on. If you keep going like this, they'll see you as an easy target. I'm not telling you to hit them hard… just defend yourself. Knock them down if necessary using your own weight, or simply practice self-defense with videos. It's not fighting. It's protecting yourself.Protecting what you want to protect."

He looked up with uncertainty mixed with a moral fear.

"Do you think… if I did that… it would be okay?"

"What's okay or not depends on what happens to you," I said with my usual cold, automatic tone. "If you don't defend yourself, you'll end up alone. You have to defend your feelings… from false realities. Defend the people you value. And keep moving forward."

Gundou swallowed hard, as if my words had hit a nerve.

"Did you… lose someone?" he asked suddenly—timid, but so direct it froze me in place.

"W-What!?"

My reaction made him flinch.He pulled back awkwardly, almost trying to crawl under the table, covering his head with his arms, avoiding my eyes as if he had committed a crime for asking.

"Relax, relax…" I raised a hand to calm him."The truth is… I don't have anyone. I never had anyone.Now I'm just someone erratic with a stupid dream."

"THAT'S NOT TRUE!"

The table vibrated with the force of his outburst.

I froze, surprised.It wasn't an aggressive strike… it was the desperate thump of someone trying to hold onto something he didn't understand but deeply felt.

Realizing what he'd done, Gundou bowed deeply, almost touching the edge of the table.

"S-Sorry… I'm sorry… it's just that…"

He straightened his back, trying to regain composure, though his voice still trembled.

"My grandma says dreams aren't stupid.That dreams are what make people strong… what make the world move forward.So… I don't like it when you say your dream is stupid.It might be… a good dream."

I stared at him.

A part of me wanted to laugh at how naïve it sounded.But another part…that broken part that never knew where to fit…

felt a strange pull in my chest.

"I see…" I said quietly."Then, if I told you my dream is to have a family…Not a blood family, but one I find along the way…what would you say?"

My smile was fake, and I knew it.My arms crossed over the table as if they were trying to protect me from rejection before it could happen.

Gundou didn't say anything at first.He didn't laugh.He didn't mock me.He didn't frown as if I were crazy.

He just… smiled.A small, sincere, trembling smile… but filled with acceptance.

"That's a good dream… searching for something like that."

In that moment… I didn't understand it.My brain didn't process what I was feeling.

And then… I laughed.

Not a light laugh.Not a polite laugh.

I laughed like an idiot.As if I had heard the funniest joke in the world.As if something inside me had suddenly unlocked and I didn't know how to handle it.As if someone were tickling my soul.

I wasn't laughing at him.I wasn't laughing at his answer.I wasn't laughing because I thought my dream was stupid.

I laughed because it was the first time in my lifethat someone didn't mock me after hearing my dream.

Gundou's confused expression—moving his hands as if trying to calm me down—only made the scene even more absurd and more beautiful.

That day, without realizing it…

I gained my first friend.

A boy like me.Who had lost his parents forever.Who understood loneliness, although in a different way.

From that day on, I visited him every afternoon after training.It was pleasant.It felt… right.

Some time later, I became the starting captain of my club's U-20 team.Everything was progressing.Everything seemed to be going well.

And amidst all that… I discovered video games.

One day I passed by the Game Center and stared inside like a little kid outside a toy store.I brought Gundou with me.At first we always lost, wasting what little money we had.But with each loss… we learned.

One day, as we were heading again toward the Game Center—too late, maybe, but confident the place would be empty at that hour—something made us stop in our tracks.

Right in front of the entrance, under the flickering sign of blue and purple lights,stood two girls whose presence was so striking they seemed out of place in this world.

The first one, the purple-haired girl, was impossible to ignore.Tall—maybe one meter eighty-three—graceful, elegant, moving with the kind of poise that didn't need to announce itself. Her calm, black eyes scanned the interior as if the world belonged to her.

The second girl, the blonde one, was nothing like her.Shorter, sharper, her expression fierce under a meticulously maintained appearance.Even though her clothes were perfectly arranged, there was something in her stance—leaning slightly forward like a wild cat ready to pounce—that revealed her explosive nature.Her blue eyes shone with a mix of curiosity and warning.

And yet, despite their differences, there was a strange, magnetic harmony between them.

Their clothes were absurdly out of place there.

The purple-haired girl wore a silk ivory blouse that caught the light with every step, a soft lilac cardigan over her shoulders, and a long plum-colored skirt that flowed elegantly around her legs. Every detail—from her nearly invisible stockings to her low black heels—spoke of refined upbringing.

The blonde, meanwhile, wore a school uniform tailored to her style: a perfect white shirt, a navy vest that shaped her waist, a pleated skirt that reached mid-thigh, black knee-high socks, and leather ankle boots that echoed sharply on the wet pavement.A small silver star-shaped brooch glimmered on her vest—a tiny yet rebellious signature.

They were holding hands.

And they were trying to decide—without shame—whether to enter a cheap, noisy Game Center filled with old machines.

Gundou tilted his head, confused.

"What's wrong, Kiyotaka?" he asked quietly.

I couldn't take my eyes off that scene.It was so surreal it felt like a bad dream… or a scene from some elite anime.

"I think… I just saw two girls from Kikyo Girls School," I muttered. "And they just walked into a Game Center."

Right at that moment, the two of them stepped inside.The blonde frowned, tugging backward, while the purple-haired girl gently pulled her forward with a bright, determined smile.

Gundou blinked like he was trying to solve a difficult equation.

"Is that… bad?" he asked with that simple sincerity only he could pull off.

I sighed.

"It's not bad. It's weird. Like seeing a goldfish walking down the street. It's… unexpected."

I paused.

"Last year, I played a friendly against their school," I added, crossing my arms. "Their girls' soccer team is good—better than many boys' teams. We won by a hair, but… they're disciplined. Proud. Refined.The complete opposite of a Game Center."

Gundou nodded, though he looked more concerned about whether the bakery would sell enough cookies that day.

I looked again at the glowing entrance of the Game Center, that violet light flickering over the tiles.

"That's why it surprises me," I said quietly. "I never thought I'd see girls like them here."

We entered the Game Center.As usual: skip the console area, ignore the PCs, and head straight to the arcades—where the sound of buttons and digital punches felt like home.Among all the dusty, worn-down machines, there was one in particular that always waited for us: The King of Fighters.Our territory.

But when we turned the LED-lit corner…

It was occupied.

By them.

Elsa—the purple-haired one.Historia—the blonde.

We froze.

It was so improbable it felt like a hallucination.

I tried to speak.

"It looks like we… got here late. Maybe we cou—"

But frustration overtook patience.

"No. No way. Starting tomorrow, I'll be stuck in training camp. I won't be able to play with my friend for several days…," I clenched my fists. "I waited too long to lose today."

I stepped forward, determined.

Historia looked me up and down as if I were some buzzing insect.

"Get lost." she spat. "We're not interested in your flirting or invitations."

"Eh—wait, I just want—"

"You're annoying. Can't you see we're playing?"

"But I didn't co—"

"I don't care. Leave us alo—"

"JUST SHUT UP!" I snapped, losing my patience entirely.

The Game Center was almost empty; no one turned around.But they did.

Historia glared at me with renewed hatred.

"How dare yo—?"

"Historia, wait."Elsa raised a hand, calm and soft, but authoritative enough to stop her.

The purple-haired girl bowed slightly—elegant, graceful, almost noble.

"Please forgive her behavior. My name is Elsa Miyamoto. It's a pleasure to meet you.However," her serene smile didn't waver, "we're short on time. If you could leave us alone, young man, it would be very helpful."

A polite expulsion.

I took a breath.

"I'm sorry if I interrupted. My name is Kiyotaka. And yes… I came to interrupt.Starting tomorrow, my coach will put me into strict training camp, and I won't be able to come play with my friend for several days.This game… is part of our routine. Something we share. Something that matters to us.Could you… give us a few minutes?"

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Historia immediately opened her mouth, a new insult ready to fire.

I sighed, anticipating it.

But the one who spoke first was Elsa.

"I'm very sorry," she said softly. "But we arrived first. And… we'd like to play a bit longer.So even though we appreciate your request… we can't give up the machine just yet."

In that moment, Gundou stepped forward timidly, holding his little cookie container like it was an emotional shield.

"I-it's okay… w-we can wait…" he murmured.

"No, Gundou!" I protested, frustrated. "You know today I was going to teach you something amazing with Angel…"

"Tsk," Historia scoffed. "Didn't you hear your chubby friend? Get lost already."

"Hey, don't call him that. He has a name: his name is Gundou," I snapped, stepping in front of him.

She clicked her tongue.

"Wow, look at you. I just said the first thing I saw. Nothing wrong with that."

The air shifted.Tense.Too tense.

I sighed.And then I said it:

"If you won't leave nicely…how about a fair competition?"

Their eyes met mine.Confused girls.A surprised Gundou.A determined me.

"A competition?" Elsa repeated, not understanding.

"Yeah," I explained. "The two of us against the two of you.Each person gets their turn. Anyone who loses is out.If I win against one of you, I move to the final.If Gundou wins… that's absolute victory without a final.Got it?"

Elsa was the first to nod.Historia accepted behind her, arms crossed.

The battle began.

Gundou went first… and naturally fell quickly against Elsa.He was still new at the game; it was expected.

My turn was against Historia.

I beat her.And she yelled. A lot.

Now it was just Elsa and me.

She was very good.Very good.She read timings, strings, punish windows.I picked Ralf, Kim, and Angel.She picked Athena, Whip, and Kula.

It was an intense, technical, close match.Athena almost destroyed me.Whip gave me trouble.

Now she was down to Kula, and I was down to Kim—barely 13% health left.

Every hit she landed was danger.Every mistake I made was fatal.

"Come on, Kiyotaka," I heard Gundou whisper.

I took advantage of an opening.A light kick.Another.A long combo.And when I saw the tiniest gap…

Kim's MAX special.

Victory.

I raised my hand triumphantly.Gundou applauded, thrilled.Historia looked at me like she wanted to throw the machine at my head.

But Elsa…

Elsa stood still.

Frozen.

I looked at her, worried.Was she upset? Offended?

Then slowly… she smiled.

A gentle smile.Soft.Filled with genuine excitement.

She extended her hand and took mine.I froze.

"That was… fantastic," she said with quiet euphoria. "I never imagined my first loss would be like that."

Historia rushed over, stepping between us as if I were some kind of threat.

Elsa bowed politely for the sudden movement.

"You were Kiyotaka-san, right?" she said with a warm smile. "You're very good. Could we play again together sometime, please?"

She bowed and handed me her contact.Historia shot me a glare sharp enough to cut stone before leaving with her.

I stood there, stunned.Gundou elbowed me.

"K-Kiyotaka… w-were you… flirting?" he whispered, blushing.

"I have no idea… what just happened," I replied, dazed.

And without knowing it… that encounter would mark the beginning of something I could never have imagined.

That same day…

After finishing my activities and heading to pick up Gundou at the bakery, I ran into something so surreal I genuinely thought I was still dreaming.

At the table where we always ate together—the old wooden table worn down by years of flour, crumbs, and talk—

they were there.

The two people I never imagined seeing outside the Game Center…much less here, in this humble place where Gundou and his grandmother worked every day.

Elsa and Historia.Eating bread.As if it were the most normal thing in the world.

The scene hit me like a misplaced déjà vu.

Elsa looked cheerful, her dark eyes shining with sincere excitement.Historia had slightly puffed cheeks, annoyed—but not at the food.At the sight of me.And yet she kept chewing the bread as if it were the most delicious thing she'd ever tasted.

"Oh, Kiyotaka-kun, hello again. I'm glad you came. I thought you might not show up today," Elsa greeted with her warm, refined politeness that contrasted sharply with this simple place.

I didn't understand anything.Not her words.Not the situation.

I just sat down.Took a piece of bread.Started eating in silence, unable to process how two refined girls from a prestigious school were sitting here… at the same table where Gundou and I laughed every week.

Historia kept staring at me—not with hatred, but with the discomfort someone feels when a stranger enters their safe space.

Elsa explained everything.

She told me—while drinking a glass of water served by Gundou's grandmother—that she had been born into a high-class family.With suffocating expectations.A structured, silent, empty life.

Until she met Historia.

Historia, who was her opposite in everything.Historia, who dragged her into the world of video games, challenges, competitions, teasing others for fun, feeling adrenaline without breaking noble protocols.

For Elsa, Historia became an escape valve.A bridge to emotions she had never been allowed to feel.

But when I defeated her in KOF…

"I felt something I… don't know how to describe," Elsa admitted, gripping her knees. "A mix of frustration… anger… irritation… and excitement.I wanted to keep playing with you.That's why I came."

Hearing that made me smile.It was unreal.Too unreal.

"That's why… I want to dream of a future where I can be free like everyone else," she added, her eyes shining just like at the Game Center. "Where I can always play alongside my friends."

Those words…those simple words…cut right through me.

Because in that moment, I understood.

The thing I'd been chasing since childhood—that foolish dream of a family not bound by blood—might actually exist.

Not as an empty dream…but as a real way to live.

My friends would be my family.The family I would choose along my path.

That thought, which always felt ridiculous, suddenly… had a face.Two faces.Three, counting Gundou.Four… later.

Because that day, I didn't meet two rivals—

I met my two new friends.

We played whenever we could.When online gaming became a thing, Gundou didn't have a PC, so we joined forces to get him one.He never realized that the two "guys" he played with were actually Elsa and Historia.He talked about them like they were just two normal dudes on the other side of the screen.

It was funny.Very.Too much.

We lived peaceful days.Days of laughter.Days of pure friendship.

Until the friendly match against SAL High School.

Just a practice match.Nothing else.

But while we lined up to greet the opposing team, my eyes met someone else's.

A blond boy.Calm smile.Empty gaze.

He didn't shine.He didn't try to stand out.But he gave me a strange feeling in my chest.

I never imagined that day…that boy…would become the person I trusted most.The friend who supported me the most.The most important piece of our group… without anyone realizing it.

Aomine.

His presence mended cracks we didn't even know we had.He was the one who helped Historia confess to Elsa.He was the one who kept the group together in crucial moments.He was the one who made us feel, truly, like a family.

And I…for the first time…

felt free.

I felt at home.

I felt satisfied.

___________________________________________________________________________________

I will continue in part 2