The Fated Morning

That morning, the world was as still as death.

The moment I woke, an unnatural silence pressed against my ears.

The sounds I should have heard were completely absent. No newspaper delivery motorcycle, no early-rising neighborhood dog barking, not even sparrows chirping.

It was as if someone had hit the mute button on the entire world.

"… It's here."

I rose from bed and threw open the heavy curtains.

The sky visible through the window glass was stained a murky purple-black.

To ordinary eyes, it would appear as nothing more than thick cloud cover.

But my Mana Sight couldn't be fooled.

What spread across the entire sky wasn't clouds.

It was a high-concentration stagnation of maso, festering like rotted flesh.

Through the gaps in that purple veil, cracks like dark red blood vessels ran silently.

It was at its limit.

The "membrane" separating this world from that other world was screaming, unable to support its own weight.

Hours until it burst.

Today was the last day of peaceful Japan.

I changed clothes in silence and moved to inspect the equipment I'd prepared in the corner of my room.

First, my feet.

Instead of my worn-in sneakers, I tightly laced up thick-soled trekking boots.

What I'd be treading on from now wasn't flat hallways.

It was rubble and seas of blood.

Under my clothes, I'd strapped improvised armor made of magazines wrapped in duct tape.

It was barely better than nothing, but it might stop a goblin's claws.

And my main weapon.

I picked up the black hard rod case leaning against my room's wall. A fishing rod case.

The surface had a clueless sticker reading "Sweetfish Fishing Enthusiasts Club," but its contents were utterly brutal.

Six kilograms of mass dug into my right shoulder with a heavy thud.

A deformed rebar I'd procured from a home improvement store and honed night after night.

Finally, I shouldered a large mountaineering backpack.

Water, preserved food, medical kit.

Total weight approximately fifteen kilograms. At sixty liters, it was a massive lump about the size of a human torso.

Naturally, if I attended class carrying something like this, I'd either be thrown out by a teacher or stared at as if I were insane.

"… I should go early and hide it in the back of the cleaning supply closet."

I muttered to myself.

I'd keep the rod case at hand as my weapon, but this backpack with the survival kit needed to be jammed into a classroom corner or on top of a locker to hide it.

I needed to enter the classroom first, before any other students arrived.

"… Alright."

I checked my reflection in the mirror.

What was reflected there wasn't an ordinary high school student you could find anywhere.

It was a man with the eyes of a starving predator who had sharpened his fangs to hunt prey.

I quietly left my room and descended the stairs.

From the living room drifted the smell of miso soup for breakfast.

A symbol of everyday life.

But even that warm air felt like events from a terribly distant world to me now.

"Oh, good morning, big brother… Whoa, what's with that luggage?"

My younger sister Chika, who had been munching on toast, widened her eyes when she saw me.

No wonder.

A school uniform with a mountaineering backpack and a fishing rod case in hand. No matter how you looked at it, I was suspicious.

"… Fishing."

"Huh? It's a weekday, you know? What about school?"

"I'm bringing it on my way to school. I'll go fishing after classes."

A flimsy excuse.

But Chika just shrugged, looking exasperated, and said, "Hmm, exam stress?"

Mom called out "Be careful" from the kitchen, her back still turned.

As I put on my shoes at the entrance, I looked back once.

The news on TV, Chika's school uniform, Mom's apron.

I burned this scene into my eyes.

Until I finished what I needed to do at school, there was no guarantee this house, this family, would remain safe.

But if I held the front line and stopped the enemy, their survival odds should increase.

"I'm off."

I said briefly and opened the heavy metal door.

The outside air contained a damp warmth and a smell like iron rust.

 

*

 

The path to school was wrapped in an eerie atmosphere.

It was still early for commuting hours, but I could see scattered figures of salarymen heading to the station and early-morning club students.

But their complexions were uniformly poor, their steps heavy as if walking through mud.

"My head hurts…"

"Something feels off…"

People I passed were pressing their temples, groaning.

Maso intoxication.

The otherworldly maso saturating the atmosphere was disrupting humans' autonomic nervous systems.

They didn't understand why they felt unwell and were trudging toward their companies and schools like zombies, simply following social habit.

That diligence seemed pitiful today.

I gripped the belt of my rod case and slipped through them.

I wasn't exactly comfortable either.

My skin prickled painfully, and my mana circuits throughout my body were running hot from overload.

But this pain was a "warning."

A switch to rouse my wild instincts and shift me into combat readiness.

I happened to look up at the power lines.

Not a single bird.

The crows that were usually so noisy, the sparrows. Every last one had vanished.

The wild animals had instinctively realized.

That this place would soon become "hell."

And they'd scattered like spiderlings.

Only the dull-sensed humans remained.

Cresting the hill, my destination came into view.

The prefectural high school building.

An ordinary four-story concrete structure.

But to me now, it looked like a massive tombstone, or perhaps a gateway to the demon realm.

"… So this is it."

I stopped and glared at the sky above the school building.

The cracks in the sky were concentrating, piercing directly into the school's rooftop.

The bottom of a funnel.

Or the eye of a typhoon.

All the maso, all the distortion, was being drawn to this single point.

As I thought, this was the epicenter.

The first "hole" would open from within this school's grounds.

It was still before seven o'clock. Almost no students were passing through the school gate.

Just as planned.

This way, I could stuff this massive backpack into a classroom locker without anyone noticing.

I needed to be light on my feet, or I'd fall behind at the start.

Through the rod case, I confirmed the hard feel of the rebar inside.

No fear. Only battle tremors.

I had prepared for this moment by slogging through mud and grime.

There was nowhere to run. This was the front line.

"… Bring it on."

I took a deep breath.

What entered my lungs was the smell of iron rust and ozone.

This was no longer school air.

It was dungeon air.

I stepped past the school gate.

Crossing the boundary from everyday life.

I thought I heard the warning bell chime, but to me, it was nothing other than the gong signaling the start of battle.

The fated morning had begun.

The sun was blocked by thick clouds, and only dim shadows fell upon the earth.

In those shadows, only I had eyes gleaming bright, eagerly awaiting the arrival of my prey.