I tapped the screen of my phone, the light momentarily cutting through the deepening twilight.
5:45 PM.
Underneath the clock, a simple notification stared back at me: 'Good Evening, Grey.' It was just a system greeting from a weather app, but in a way, it was the most consistent social interaction I'd had all weekend.
I didn't mind.
Predictability is a blessing, you know? It doesn't ask for favors or awkward small talk.
The weekend was effectively over.
I looked up, watching the long, amber shadows stretch across the pavement as the Sunday evening lull took hold of the city.
To most people, this was the hour of the "Sunday Scaries" that low-level vibration of anxiety about tomorrow's meetings and alarms.
But for me? This was the peak.
The sidewalks were empty, just the way I preferred them.
I felt a quiet sense of harmony, a rhythm that only exists when the world finally decides to shut up.
It's not that I dislike people or I'm a misanthrope, I just think the world is at its most sincere when there's nobody around to perform for.
I walked past the rows of closed shops, their metal shutters already pulled down like heavy eyelids.
The silence was peaceful and comfortable—the kind of quiet that doesn't ask anything of you—until it was punctured.
"Hahaha…"
A sudden wave of laughter shattered my peaceful bubble.
My shoulders tensed instinctively; it wasn't a "tough guy" reaction, just the involuntary flinch of a man who'd spent too much time enjoying his own company.
I looked up.
Ahead, a group of five was blocking the path ahead. Their movements were erratic, fueled by that "youthful energy" that always seemed so exhausting to witness from the outside.
They owned the sidewalk, zig-zagging across the concrete with the easy arrogance of people who assume the world is their stage because their friends are watching.
I didn't resent them for it, but I didn't want to be near it, either.
I checked my pace, keeping a polite, invisible distance.
Some people are the sun; I'm perfectly fine being the dark space between the stars.
The evening breeze was getting colder, smelling like dry leaves and the start of a new season.
"Pick up the pace, guys! We're going to lose the window! Marcel, hurry up!"
The girl in the lead—Amber, I think I heard someone call her—turned back to shout at the others.
She was bright and loud, her scarf fluttering behind her like a signal flag.
"The window for what, Amber? Coffee?" one of the guys asked, lagging behind. "It's not like they run out of beans."
"The booth, Marcel! The window booth!" she yelled back. "It's 5:50. If we aren't there by six, we're sitting at the counter like losers!"
I winced slightly. 'Sitting at the counter like losers.' That was basically my entire Friday night plan.
I watched them sprint off, marveling at the high-stakes drama of café seating.
Sometimes I felt like I was watching a different species altogether. And It was fascinating, really… the sheer amount of emotional energy people spent on things that, in the grand scheme of things, didn't matter.
I slowed down even more, letting the gap between us widen.
There was something exhausting about that kind of social urgency, the need to be in the right place, at the right time, with the right people.
I was perfectly content being in the 'wrong' place, all by myself.
I didn't need to race for a window seat. The whole street was mine, and I was already exactly where I wanted to be.
It was nice, I decided, to be the only one in my "group." There's never a disagreement about where to sit.
"Amber, you've been talking about this latte since Tuesday," One of the girls said with a mischievous grin. "Is the coffee really that good, or is the barista just cute?"
'Critical Hit.' Amber froze, her face turning a deep shade of red that would have been visible from space. It was like a classic slice-of-life scene, so pure, so loud, and slightly chaotic.
"Shut up, Willow!" she hissed, frantically trying to hide her face.
She shot a worried look my way, but I played my part perfectly: 'The Background Character Who Sees Nothing.'
They stopped in their tracks, the silence hanging for only a heartbeat before both guys erupted into laughter.
The group lost it.
"I knew it!" the tall one—Marcel, I think—yelled. "Barista Brad! The man-bun guy!"
"His name isn't Brad, and he doesn't have a man-bun!" Amber defended herself, her voice a mix of laughter and genuine embarrassment. "It's about foam art. It's a legitimate skill."
"I'll show him skill," Marcel teased, already plotting. "I'm ordering the most difficult drink possible."
"Please don't…" she groaned, lightly punching his arm.
I felt a small smile tug at my lips as I retreated further into my phone. That "rom-com" vibe wasn't for me. It's sparkly and high-energy, sure, but it's also a lot of work.
Being a loner means I don't get the 'window booth' moments, but I also don't have to worry about my face turning red in the middle of a Sunday night.
My version of peace was cold, quiet, and completely my own.
Most guys my age were obsessed with 'group hangouts,' probably because they couldn't handle being alone with their thoughts for five minutes.
Not me.
No, I had my online friends and my own schedule. No pressure, no awkward silences.
It was the perfect lifestyle.
"Aaaaaaaahhh!"
A sudden scream made me flinch so hard I almost dropped my phone.
'Seriously? What now?' Do they have to be so dramatic? I was already preparing a sarcastic comment in my head, I started to think, ready to dismiss it as some trivial teenage crisis.
But then I looked down, the air caught in my lungs.
What I saw stopped me cold. This wasn't a prank.
The sidewalk was glowing. A massive, complex magic circle—way more detailed than anything I'd seen in an anime—was burning into the concrete.
My heart skipped a beat as the light raced across the concrete, It looked like something out of a myth, and it was moving toward me with terrifying speed.
'Hold on, I'm not with them! I'm a solo player—!'
The light flared until it was all I could see. It was a total whiteout. It felt like a flashbang going off in my brain.
The city, the cold, the smell of autumn, it all disappeared in an instant.
Sniff, sniff. What was that?
My nose twitched at a sudden, cloying sweetness in the air—wildflowers, maybe? It smelled like a flower shop had exploded.
I rubbed my eyes, and when they finally focused, I wasn't staring at my phone anymore.
I was standing on a marble floor that looked expensive enough to pay off my student loans.
The wind was gone. The distant honking of city traffic was gone.
Everything was gone.
It was a palace of light and peace, smelling of a spring that shouldn't exist in October, inside a citadel that looked like a five-star fantasy hotel.
The ceiling was a work of art, literally, covered in murals that made me feel very small.
I'd expected a damp dungeon if I was being summoned, but this was surprisingly "upscale."
The air was thick with wildflowers, and I had to face the facts: I wasn't in the city anymore.
That was the only thing I was sure of.
I looked over at the teenagers.
The few yards that had separated us on the sidewalk now felt like a canyon I couldn't cross.
They were literally glowing in a soft, golden light pulsing just under their skin like they were being fueled from the inside.
Even Marcel looked like he'd stepped out of a movie.
This soft, golden aura was pulsing from them, making them look like they'd just leveled up a hundred times in a single second.
"Whoa…" Marcel was staring at his hands like they were made of gold.
He looked like a totally different person, someone who is confident, strong, and legendary.
All of them look as if some invisible weight had been lifted.
Even their clothes had been "buffed," looking sharp and expensive despite being just hoodies.
Then, there was me.
The "fantasy" ended the second I looked down.
No aura.
No glow.
Just the same old Grey in his faded jeans with a burger grease stain on the leg. I was just a nineteen-year-old introvert and a loner.
Something inside me—that tiny, secret hope I'd carried since I was a kid, the one that longed for a world of magic to finally make sense of me—shattered silently.
I was the 'Extra'.
I was just the guy who happened to be walking by when the world decided to grab some heroes.
'Of course I'm the Extra,' I thought.