My name is Kiyoto Takahashi.
Before the portals opened, that name meant very little, even to me. I was ordinary in the most forgettable way. Not invisible, but close enough that people rarely noticed when I entered a room and almost never when I left it. I went to school, came back home, finished my responsibilities, and tried not to take up too much space in anyone else's life.
I didn't have a talent people admired. I wasn't especially smart, strong, or confident. I wasn't the loud one, the funny one, or the leader. I existed somewhere in between useful when needed and forgotten when not.
That morning, I was riding my bicycle to school.
The road was familiar. The air was normal. My biggest concern was whether I'd be late again and how tired my teacher would look when she sighed at my name during attendance. Then the sky changed.
At first, it felt wrong before it looked wrong. A pressure settled in my chest, heavy and sudden, like the air itself had thickened. I slowed my bike, frowning, and looked up. The sky wasn't blue anymore. It shimmered, subtly at first, like glass bending under heat. People around me noticed it too, but no one spoke. We all shared the same quiet thought: this doesn't make sense. And then the portal opened. The world screamed.
Light erupted from the sky, blinding and violent. The ground shook so hard my hands slipped from the handlebars. A deafening roar followed, not like thunder, but like something tearing apart. I didn't see the shockwave. I felt it.
It hit me from the side, lifting me off the ground like I weighed nothing. The bicycle flew one way. I flew another. My body slammed into the road, pain exploding through my shoulder and back. Then everything went dark. Or so I thought. In that darkness, memories surfaced. Not the good ones. The first thing I saw was home. Not a warm routine.
A quiet house where words were measured and emotions stayed unspoken. Expectations hung heavier than affection. I was never yelled at, never abused, never truly neglected, and yet, I always felt like I was falling short of something no one explained to me.
"Do better."
"Be more."
"Why can't you be like …"
The sentences were never finished, but I understood them anyway.
I remembered sitting at the table, nodding while being corrected. Apologizing even when I wasn't sure what I'd done wrong. Learning early that being agreeable was safer than being honest.
Then the memory shifted.
Laughter.
I saw my friends, small moments, nothing dramatic. Sharing food after school. Walking aimlessly with nowhere to be. Sitting together in silence that didn't feel uncomfortable.
They didn't expect anything from me.
They didn't ask me to be more.
I could just… be me.
Those moments were short, fragile, and imperfect, but they were real. They were the only times I didn't feel like a burden for existing.
That was the positive part. That was where I felt alive. The ground shook again.
Pain snapped me back to reality.
I coughed, my lungs burning as dust filled my mouth. My eyes opened to darkness, not night, but ash-choked air blocking out the sun. Sirens wailed somewhere far away, then cut off abruptly.
People were screaming.
Buildings burned.
The sky… the sky was broken.
I tried to move and failed. My body felt heavy and unresponsive. Fear crept in slowly, wrapping around my thoughts.
Am I going to die here?
I didn't want to.
Not like this.
Not without doing anything that mattered. Somewhere above, the portals pulsed again.
And as I lay there, half-buried in dust and fear, I didn't know it yet, but the world that had ignored me was about to demand everything I had.
I closed my eyes.
And the world moved on without waiting for my answer.