The bell rang, signaling the end of the morning period, and soon after, students crowded around the bulletin board where the latest test results were posted. Excited murmurs filled the hallway as students scanned the rankings, some sighing in relief, others groaning in disappointment.
A group of girls suddenly squealed in delight, huddling around a tall, elegant girl with neatly tied dark hair.
"Mavu! You did amazing again!" one of them gushed.
"You got a 94?! That's insane!" another added, practically bouncing on her feet.
"You're seriously on another level. I barely scraped a 78," one girl admitted with a nervous laugh.
Mavu offered a polite smile, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "It's alright, I guess," she murmured, her voice composed but thoughtful. "But it's probably still not enough. Ren most likely scored higher."
At the mention of his name, the girls turned in unison, eyes locking onto Ren, who leaned lazily against his desk, completely unbothered by the commotion.
Dragging out the moment, he stretched his arms behind his head, then let out an exaggerated yawn. "Tch, another perfect score," he muttered, smirking. "Honestly, even a toddler could pass these." He shook his head with a chuckle. "Seriously, these tests are a joke. Can't believe people are actually struggling."
The air shifted as a few students frowned. The girls, in particular, bristled.
"Ugh, why is he like this?" one of them huffed.
"Such an asshole."
Mavu's lips pressed into a thin line, her grip tightening on her test paper. Her usual composure wavered as frustration flickered across her face. She hated losing, but what irritated her more was Ren's insufferable arrogance.
Before she could respond, one of the girls shot Ren a glare. Another turned back to Mavu, softening her voice. "You did great, Mavu! Don't let that jerk get to you."
The tension lingered for a moment, but the conversation gradually shifted as the class settled down. Ren barely paid attention. He leaned back in his seat, staring at the clock as the minutes crawled by. The second the bell rang, he was out the door, hands shoved into his pockets.
Now, the hallways were eerily quiet—like the school itself was holding its breath. A long stretch of flickering overhead lights buzzed faintly above Ren as he walked alone, each step echoing a little too loudly on the worn linoleum. The classrooms were dark, doors shut tight, desks empty.
Ren exhaled sharply, jamming his hands deeper into the pockets of his blazer.
"Damn teachers," he muttered, lips curling in annoyance. "Making me stay late for some pointless assignment. Everyone else is already gone…"
He moved faster, eager to get out, his sneakers squeaking just slightly as he passed the long row of lockers. That was when he heard it.
Thud.
Then again.
Thud.
A muffled grunt. A sharp rustle of movement.
Ren slowed, the sounds pulling at his attention like a tug on a frayed thread. He turned his head toward the back stairwell—the one that led down to the delivery area behind the gym. Barely monitored. Half the lights were busted.
And of course, he looked.
There, crumpled against the dented lockers, was Kaito.
His face was bruised, lip split and bleeding. His school jacket was half torn, the collar hanging loose like it had been yanked hard. He was trying—failing—to keep his arms up as he cowered beneath the two familiar silhouettes looming over him.
Yuto and Daichi.
Yuto leaned down, eyes narrowed and feral. "Shut the hell up!" he snarled, voice echoing like it belonged to someone older, meaner.
The hallway smelled like sweat, metal, and industrial-grade cleaner that couldn't quite mask the grime crusted into the corners. The flickering light above them buzzed, casting fractured shadows that danced across Daichi's face as he cracked his knuckles.
"You think you can just rat us out and walk away?" Daichi spat. His foot came down hard into Kaito's ribs. "You think we wouldn't find out?"
"N-no, I swear, I didn't—"
Kaito's plea ended in a cry as Yuto slammed him forward, his face smacking the floor with a sickening crack. His glasses skidded across the tiles, landing near Ren's foot.
And then Kaito saw him.
Through swollen eyes, he lifted his head just enough.
"Please… help me…"
Ren stood still, expression unreadable. He didn't move. Didn't blink.
A storm brewed behind his eyes, not of sympathy—but of irritation.
"Shit" he thought.
He was just trying to get home. Just trying to disappear into the night like everyone else.
Daichi's eyes flicked toward him, teeth bared in a sneer.
"You got a death wish or something? Mind your own fucking business."
Ren sighed, already turning on his heel. He shook his head once.
"Nah," he said, voice flat, cool. "Not my problem."
"Ren!" Kaito's voice cracked like splintering glass. "Please! Don't leave me here! They're going to kill me! Please—help me!"
But Ren kept walking.
His steps didn't rush, didn't hesitate. The echo of his soles was steady, calm—almost lazy as he passed through the school's front doors into the cool evening air.
He didn't flinch at the dull rhythm of fists and flesh behind him.
Didn't pause at the muffled cry cut off by another blow.
"Maybe next time," Ren muttered to himself, "don't piss off the wrong people."
The gates closed behind him with a rusty groan.
And he never looked back.
Later that day, Ren found himself in the dojo he visited regularly. The soft light of the late afternoon streamed through the wide, open windows, casting long shadows across the polished wooden floor. The rhythmic clack of wooden swords echoed through the room, interspersed with sharp exhales and the occasional barked instruction. The faint aroma of incense lingered in the air, mingling with the sweat and effort of the students. But none of it brought Ren the usual sense of focus or calm.
He leaned against the far wall, the bokken in his hand tapping lightly against the ground. His gaze was sharp but unfocused, scanning the room without really seeing it. The other students moved with precision—their footwork measured, their strikes deliberate. Yet Ren's attention didn't linger on them for long; his eyes flicked to the sparring mats, where Yujiro Sensei stood with arms crossed. His presence was still and heavy, like the calm before a storm.
"Hey, Ren!" A voice broke through the hum of practice. "You ready, or are you just going to stand there all day?"
Ren's focus snapped to the speaker—a wiry boy with bright eyes and an eager grin. His bokken rested casually on his shoulder, and he bounced on the balls of his feet like he couldn't wait to get started.
Ren snorted, a sharp smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You've got a lot of energy for someone who spends more time running his fat mouth than training," he said, his voice dripping with disdain as he pushed off the wall and strode onto the mats.
Hiro's grin faltered—just for a second—before it returned, though his eyes narrowed slightly. Around them, the rhythmic clack of sparring slowed and stopped. The other students, their curiosity piqued, drifted closer, forming an unspoken ring around the two.
Yujiro raised his hand. "Begin."
Hiro lunged—fast, precise.
Clack! Wood slammed against wood as Ren deflected the strike. His counter was sharp, unrelenting. Hiro staggered but barely caught his balance—too late. Ren was already on him. Another strike, heavier. Faster. No time to breathe. No room to think.
Hiro grunted, scrambling to meet the onslaught. His arms trembled with each parry, his footwork faltering under the pressure. But Ren pressed harder. "Again. Again." His blows weren't just meant to disarm—they were meant to break. To overwhelm. To crush.
"Why won't he fall already?" The thought burned—raw, bitter. Each strike felt like swinging against something unseen. Something he couldn't break.
Ren's bokken came down harder.
A sharp crack. Hiro's grip gave out—his bokken spun from his hands and clattered across the mat. He stumbled back, chest heaving.
Silence crashed down, heavy and cold.
The only sound was Ren's breathing—hard and ragged. Around him, the students stood frozen, unease written on their faces. The usual camaraderie of the dojo had vanished, replaced by something colder.
"Ren." Yujiro's voice cut through the stillness. Calm, but firm.
Ren didn't look back. His hand loosened, and the bokken dipped low at his side as he turned to walk off the mat.
"Ren," Yujiro called again, sharper this time. "What's the first thing I taught you?"
Ren stopped, his shoulders stiff. His voice came out low and taut. "I know. Everything a man wields reflects his intent, right?"
Yujiro stepped forward. His voice was steady—like a blade honed to a perfect edge. "Then you should also know that right now, your blade reflects only anger. Fear. Sorrow. You weren't fighting Hiro." His gaze bore into Ren, unwavering. "You were fighting yourself."
Ren spun around, frustration blazing in his eyes. "Why does it matter how I feel if I win?" he snapped. "Isn't that the point?"
Yujiro's expression didn't change. "Strength fueled by anger or fear will win you battles," he said quietly. "But it won't bring you peace. Rage burns hot—but it only leaves ashes."
Ren's grip on the bokken tightened, his knuckles white. His jaw worked as he fought for a retort—but none came. The tension that had carried him through every strike suddenly felt hollow.
The bokken dropped from his hand, landing with a dull thunk.
"I'm done," he muttered, his voice flat and cold as he turned and strode for the door.
"Running won't bring you the answers you seek," Yujiro called after him. His voice softened—like he was speaking less to a student and more to someone he wanted to reach. "No matter how far you go, Ren..."
The sliding door rattled as it slammed behind him.
Outside, the cool evening air hit his face. It should've calmed him, but it didn't. His chest heaved, his fists clenched tight. His heart pounded from more than just the fight.
Later that evening, as the sky darkened and the faint hum of crickets filled the air, Ren was back home, sprawled in front of his gaming console. The glow from the screen bathed his messy room, the controller firm in his hands as he focused intensely on the online multiplayer ranked match.
The tension in the game was palpable, his teammates barking commands through his headset. Ren's brow furrowed in concentration. "Play the objective, you noobs!" he snapped, his voice dripping with frustration as the action heated up.
"Ren?" His mother's voice called from the doorway.
"Not now!" Ren shouted without turning, his hands gripping the controller tightly as his character dodged an incoming attack.
She stepped inside, wearing a light sweater over a simple skirt with an apron tied at her waist. She carried the scent of freshly made dinner with her, soft and motherly despite her son's tone. "Dinner's almost ready," she said gently, her voice cutting through the sounds of gunfire from the game.
Ren groaned loudly. "I'm in the middle of a ranked match! I can't pause this!" His voice was sharp, frustration clear.
"But it's your favorite—teriyaki, with extra sauce," she offered, her tone warm but hesitant. "Just the way you like it."
"I'll eat in my room later!" Ren snapped, glancing briefly at her. "Just leave it there, okay?"
She frowned but didn't press further. Stepping closer, she brushed a stray lock of hair out of his face, her fingers hesitant. "Ren, we'd love it if you'd join us tonight. Your father's already at the table. We hardly get to sit together as a family anymore."
Ren ducked away from her hand, his eyes flicking back to the screen. "Yeah, yeah, I'll eat later."
Her smile faltered, but she straightened, adjusting her apron. "Alright, I'll leave a plate for you. Just… don't let it go cold, okay?"
"Okay," Ren muttered, barely acknowledging her.
She left quietly, the sound of her slippers fading down the hallway. Ren returned to the game, but his focus wavered for a moment, his frustration bubbling over as the enemy team gained the upper hand.
"Damn it, no! Push left! What the hell are you guys doing?" he shouted into his headset. But it was too late—his team lost the match.
Ren slammed the controller onto the desk, letting out an angry growl. "Ugh! Are you kidding me?! Thanks, Mom!" he yelled at the now-empty doorway, blaming her interruption for his loss.
He sat there, fuming, the controller abandoned on the desk. His phone buzzed on the coffee table, pulling his attention away. Snatching it roughly, he unlocked it to find a flood of unread messages from one of the school group chats.
He scrolled through the chat, irritation bubbling up as he read:
YukiShine✨: Ren, could you cover me for math homework tomorrow? I'll owe you one!
😌👍: Hey Ren, can you bring your notes? I missed the last two classes.
Ren's lips curled into a sneer. "Yeah, right," he muttered, arching an eyebrow.
"They never ask how I'm doing or what I want. It's always just: Hey, help me out with this. Do that. I'm not their personal assistant." He thought bitterly. "I bet they don't even remember my name."
With a sharp flick, he muted the chat and tossed his phone aside, letting out a heavy sigh. He grabbed his plate of food, plopped down on the couch, and opened YouTube, scrolling aimlessly for something to watch. He settled on a gaming stream and dug into his food.
The streamer's voice filled the room, but it couldn't drown out the nagging noise from down the hall. His parents' laughter echoed faintly, warm and unbothered. Ren rolled his eyes, irritation bubbling up.
"Do they always have to be so loud? Can't they take their happy little chats somewhere else?" he thought bitterly. "I get it—you're the perfect couple. Now shut up already."
He set his plate down, wiping his hands on his pants, and grabbed his phone. Scrolling through social media, he paused on a post.
[LIMITED-TIME OFFLINE EVENT — GACHA: ETHER SOULS - MEGACITY TOKYO LOCATION]
Date: TOMORROW, 9 AM - FIRST COME, FIRST SERVE!
His eyes widened.
"No way…" he breathed, leaning forward like the news might vanish if he blinked. His fingers flew across the trackpad, scrolling through the comment thread below. Screenshots of exclusive merch, in-game rewards, and early beta character trials flooded the feed.
A pang of urgency jabbed at his chest.
If he wanted to go—really go—he'd need to move fast.
He glanced at the clock.
01:12 AM.
"Damn," he muttered. "That's happening tomorrow?"
For a moment, he froze. Then he yawned, stretching like a cat too lazy to care despite the chaos. His knuckles cracked. His back popped. He shut his laptop with a low thunk, the screen fading to black and casting the room in dim LED shadows.
The pile of unwashed laundry in the corner of his room might as well have been a mountain. The desk was a disaster zone—half-crushed cans of melon soda, torn-up gacha codes, and instant ramen wrappers formed a little ecosystem of neglect.
But Ren didn't care.
"Shit," he mumbled, voice muffled by the pillow he flopped face-first into.
The phone he tossed onto the chair buzzed once, showing a reminder to "Charge your pass for train fare."
Ignored.
He let out a final groan, burrowing into his bed like the world outside no longer mattered. Within moments, his breath steadied. The hum of the city outside melted into the white noise of a sleepless Tokyo night.
Tomorrow could wait.
But Ether Souls couldn't.