The world is nothing more than a massive, meaningless circus. Everyone plays their part, reciting boring lines from a script they never bothered to read, oblivious to the fact that the audience died a long time ago.
I was staring out of my bedroom window, watching the people below crawling like ants. Everyone was in a hurry to get somewhere, driven by a frantic energy. But if you stopped any one of them and asked why they were running, I doubted they'd have a coherent answer.
"Reyansh! Are you deaf or just ignoring me?" My mother's voice pierced through the kitchen walls like a serrated blade. "Go to the market and get some fresh meat. If dinner isn't ready on time, you're going to bed on an empty stomach. Do you hear me?"
I exhaled a long, weary sigh. For me, this 'mission' was a quest, but unlike the fantasy novels I read, there was no legendary sword—just a plastic grocery bag and the smell of exhaust fumes. "I'm going, Mom," I muttered, knowing my voice wouldn't reach her, nor did it matter.
Outside, the air was a thick cocktail of smog and noise. As I walked, I encountered a crowd gathered in the middle of the street. Two cars had collided, and their owners were screaming at each other, veins bulging in their necks.
"You hit me! Are you blind?" one bellowed.
I paused for a fraction of a second, my eyes scanning the wreckage. The dent in the rear bumper was deep, the angle of the skid marks suggested a delayed reaction to a sudden stop. It was obvious: the car in front had jumped a yellow light and slammed the brakes, and the one behind was tailgating.
'Both are idiots,' I thought, my mind automatically calculating the physics of the crash. 'Neither has the sense to apologize and clear the road. Honestly, people like this should just be blown up. One loud bang and the world would be a lot quieter.'
I shook my head and disappeared into the throng of the market. The butcher shop was crowded as usual. The owner slid a slab of red meat across the counter toward me. "Here you go, kid. Fresh from this morning."
I leaned in, narrowing my eyes. The color was slightly dull, and the surface lacked that iridescent sheen found in truly fresh cuts. I looked the butcher in the eye. "Uncle, the moisture in this is gone. This has been sitting since at least yesterday evening. Don't waste your energy trying to trick a kid."
The butcher froze. He looked me up and down, surprised that a scrawny teenager noticed the subtle signs of decay. "Sharp kid, aren't you?" he grumbled, reaching under the counter to pull out a different tray. "Fine, here. This one was butchered an hour ago."
On my way back, I saw thick black smoke billowing from a narrow alleyway. A crowd had already formed, but no one was helping. Instead, they had their phones out, jostling for the best camera angle to capture the growing flames.
I didn't hesitate. I pulled out my phone and dialed the emergency services. "Fire at Main Street, Alley 4. It's an old wooden structure, it'll collapse soon. Send a unit now." I gave the coordinates clearly and hung up.
The bystanders were still filming. 'One person calls, ten people film. If ten people called, the sirens would be here by now. Humanity is a cheap currency,' I thought. I didn't stay to watch the fire. I had meat to deliver.
Back home, I dropped the bag in the kitchen. "The meat's on the counter, Mom. I'm going to my room. Don't disturb me."
My room was my fortress. I picked up a manga I had been reading—the usual tropes. Fairies, magic, and a hero who saves everyone with the power of friendship. 'Fantasy... what a pathetic concept,' I mused. 'People dream of going to worlds filled with danger just to feel special. I like the aesthetics—the beauty of the fairies, the design of the palaces—but the heroics? No thanks. In the real world, there are no heroes. Only survivors and those who get in the way.'
Later that evening, I headed to my Judo class. I was physically weak, which made me an 'easy target' for the more aggressive students. During a practice match, a hulking boy tried to shove me with brute force. I didn't resist. Instead, I used his own momentum against him. As he lunged, I hooked my foot behind his heel and dropped my entire weight backward.
Thud!We both hit the mat. He landed on top of me, but his face slammed directly into the floor.
"Reyansh! Stop with these cheap tricks!" the coach yelled, assuming I had tripped him out of spite. I just stood up, dusted off my gi, and bowed silently. Arguing was a waste of breath.
The walk home was unusually dark. Suddenly, the city's power grid flickered and died. Total silence engulfed the street. I stopped and looked up. A rusted utility pole, weakened by years of neglect, groaned and began to tilt directly toward me.
My brain screamed: 'Move!'
But my body was too slow. The heavy timber was descending like the blade of a guillotine. I didn't want to die—certainly not such a mundane, stupid death.
At that moment, the clouds above tore open. A bolt of blood-red lightning struck the pole, and then me. The sound was deafening, a roar that shattered my senses. Everything turned a blinding, searing white.
When I opened my eyes, the pain was gone. But I wasn't on a cold city street.
I was standing in the center of a magnificent, vaulted hall. The floors were polished marble, and the walls were lined with strange, ornate banners. Before me, seated on a high throne, was a King whose face was etched with arrogance. Guarding him were soldiers clad in shimmering plate armor.
I glanced to my side. Four others stood there—a boy who looked like a stereotypical anime protagonist and three girls whose beauty was almost otherworldly, like the fairies in my books.
'This is exactly like that manga,' I thought, my heart hammering against my ribs. 'A summoning? What am I doing here?'
The King spoke, his voice booming through the hall. "Welcome, Oh Great Heroes! You have been summoned from your world to deliver ours from the encroaching darkness."
I looked at my hands. They were trembling, but not from fear. It was a strange, prickly sensation—as if something was crawling under my skin. My life as a "Silent Observer" had just been deleted.
I looked at the "Hero" group, then back at the King. A dark thought crossed my mind.
'They want a hero? They picked the wrong person. I just want to go home and read my books. But if they won't let me... I wonder what happens if I blow this palace up?'
As the thought formed, a flicker of that red lightning danced behind my eyes, and a splitting headache began to form. A voice, faint and distorted, echoed in the back of my mind—not mine, but someone else's.