S1 The day ordinary life ended

That day was an unremarkable day.

Go to school, chat with friends, attend classes, return home, play games, eat, take a bath, go to sleep.

It was supposed to be an ordinary day, like any other.

On that day, I rubbed my sleepy eyes and headed toward school.

The consequence of playing online games late the previous night had finally caught up.

I was fortunate enough to join a random party with the bald man, and lost track of time, playing through the night.

The bald man was a minor celebrity in the online game I played.

As his name suggested, he used an avatar of a bald, stern-looking older man—non-paying, with an extreme stat distribution built around romantic ideals—and yet, through skillful operation, he remained among the top-tier players, an impossible feat.

Players drawn to the character's design often find the player's overly stoic playstyle—barely communicating even in chat—compelling.

It was inevitable the excitement would spike, given the chance to play alongside that bald man.

Arriving at school, I suppressed a yawn as I entered the classroom.

"Hey."

"Good morning."

"Yo... what's up? You look seriously tired."

I greeted my classmates, Sasajima Kyoya and Oshima Kanata.

The two were fellow gamers, part of the same online group.

"Hey, brace yourself. I joined a random party with the bald guy yesterday."

"Seriously!?!"

"Dead serious. Ended up playing straight through the night."

"Whoa. No way. Was it after I quit?"

Kanata had been playing with me until midway through.

but I logged out early, saying I’d go to sleep soon.

“Damn it. I should’ve stayed in a bit longer!”

Kanata sounded genuinely regretful.

But the reason I’d started looking for a random party was because Kanata had left. If Kanata had stayed in, I wouldn’t have ended up paired with the bald guy.

“S-so… what was the bald guy like up close?”

Asked by Kyoya, I recalled the bald man’s performance.

“That wasn’t human. Can you believe he dodged Besber Witch’s magic while moving forward? No way that’s possible.”

The Besber Witch was a boss from a high-tier dungeon, and this one was particularly brutal.

On the internet, it was called “a different game” and “bullet hell” due to the sheer volume of magical attacks it unleashed.

What made this boss especially difficult was the lack of gaps in its spellcasting.

There were no openings. If left unchecked, it would continue casting spells nonstop.

The conventional approach is to boost magical defense and charge in with the expectation of a prolonged exchange, or to take cover behind a shield-bearer and return fire with magic.

He did none of that. Instead, the bald man dodged every spell head-on, closed in from the front, and struck him down.

That was astonishing.

I was genuinely stunned—my mouth hung open in disbelief.

"Truly, the bald man. The title Vedanta isn't earned lightly."

"No, even with speed maximized, you can't pull off something like that without skill. At the end of the day, it comes down to this."

Yata tapped his own arm as he spoke.

Indeed, even with identical stats and gear, I could not replicate what the bald man just did.

"Ah… I want to get better."

"Shall we level up after this is done?"

"Sure."

"I'm in too. Let's train where it's toughest!"

Just as the conversation concluded, the bell rang.

They dispersed without delay and took their seats.

Unaware that the promise made would not be fulfilled.

"Ah...?"

After settling into my seat and beginning preparations for class, I noticed my pencil case was missing from my bag.

I remembered using it to compile game information into my notebook.

Probably left it there by mistake.

"Ah, crap."

"What's wrong?"

Hasebe Yuika, seated beside me, responded to my voice.

"I forgot my pencil case."

"Oh dear. No choice. Here, borrow mine."

Hasebe handed me a pencil and an eraser.

"Sorry."

"Mm. One candy for the favor."

"Isn't that a bit too generous?"

I chuckled, accepted, and waved in agreement.

Unaware, as before, that this promise too would not be kept.

And then, the moment arrived.

It was during the classical Japanese literature class.

Drowsy.

I was fighting a severe wave of sleep.

On the lectern stood the petite teacher, affectionately called Okachan, holding a textbook and reading aloud from it.

Most students had their eyes fixed on the open textbooks resting on their desks.

I struggled desperately to stay awake, then suddenly lifted my head.

What met my gaze was the figure of a female student seated in the seat directly to my left.

She was known as Rihoko.

Not her real name.

Real Horror Child, abbreviated to Rihoko.

Lean to the point of emaciation, pale-faced, always wearing a gloomy expression—she was an unsettling woman.

I usually avoid speaking ill of people like this, but even knowing that, I could not help but feel an innate incompatibility.

Rihoko, as if mocking my struggle against drowsiness, sat there boldly, asleep.

With a bitter feeling, I looked away from Rihoko.

There, it (..) was.

It was a裂.

In the classroom, no one else had noticed its presence besides me.

Right at the center of the room, above my head, a裂 cut through the space where nothing should have been.

There was no other way to describe it.

And it was growing larger.

A裂 on the verge of splitting open.

I stared at it, but could do nothing.

Even if I had been able to act, the outcome likely would have remained unchanged...

The裂 split open violently.

An unbearable, searing pain surged through me.

And then, I— we— were dead.