His consciousness felt hazy and blurred, as though it were sinking into the serene depths of a tranquil sea.
Faint but undeniable noises reached his ears, gradually sharpening his awareness, like a diver slowly rising to the surface. The sensations of his body began to return bit by bit.
As if awakening from an endless slumber, Shiraki slowly opened his eyes, staring blankly at the stark white ceiling.
An unfamiliar ceiling…
That was the first thought that flickered through his mind.
The air was thick with the slightly acrid scent of disinfectant. Beneath him, the soft, fluffy texture of the bed contrasted with the heavy weight of his body, which was soon overtaken by a sharp pain radiating from his left leg.
Shiraki instinctively furrowed his brow. The urge to move his leg was cut short the moment an even more intense pain surged through him.
Shifting his gaze, he saw his left leg wrapped in pristine white gauze and bandages.
Beyond his leg, his arms, abdomen, and sides throbbed with an indescribable pain, as if his body were on the verge of falling apart.
The lingering daze of waking was swiftly dispelled by the assault of pain on his nerves. Memories from before he lost consciousness flooded back into his mind.
Shiraki finally grasped what had happened, his eyes gradually growing clearer.
Before explaining what occurred, an introduction is in order.
My name is Shiraki, 25 years old, renting a 10-square-meter apartment on the outskirts of Tokyo. I'm unmarried and a firm believer in staying single.
I work at a small IT company, often staying late until 10 or 11 p.m. due to overtime.
I don't smoke or drink. I go to bed at 1 a.m., never getting a full eight hours of sleep.
Years of overtime and accumulated mental fatigue have taken their toll. A psychiatrist told me I should be hospitalized or take a break from work to rest properly.
Unfortunately, the mortgage my father left behind doesn't allow for that.
Last night, after my usual overtime, I watched the latest short film for Honkai Impact 3rd, titled Graduation Trip, on my way back to my apartment.
I'm not a day-one player, but I've been with the game for four years, and now it's finally reached its conclusion.
The main cast endured partings of life and death, as well as unforgettable twists and turns, ultimately nudging their imperfect world just a little closer to the one they dreamed of.
Those subtle yet unforgettable stirrings of the heart, those surges of passion that once roared in my chest, combined with the universal longing for something better, made it a compelling story.
The scene where Kiana lifts her younger self, paired with a soothing, melodic tune, evoked years of memories. It was as if clear, gentle spring water flowed into a parched soul, stirring a faint warmth in Shiraki's cold, lonely heart.
A story that stirs emotions and leaves you reflecting at its end is, at the very least, a good one.
With that thought, Shiraki closed the video player, glancing at the view, like, and favorite counts that seemed oddly inflated. He shrugged it off carelessly.
The "story" was beautiful, but reality?
Reality was just… reality.
Shiraki merged into the crowd, drifting through the river of people weaving through one another, carried along aimlessly by the rhythm of Tokyo's inhabitants.
He wasn't the kind of dashing protagonist readers would cheer for with easy relatability. Shiraki was ordinary—someone you'd lose in a crowd, someone you wouldn't glance at twice as you passed by.
In this era, even just being attractive granted access to opportunities and resources far beyond what an ordinary person could reach.
The bustling crowd was an unchanging backdrop, but today, something was slightly different.
Under a pillar in the subway station, an old man in a traditional robe was… let's call it "setting up shop."
No proper stall, of course—it was a subway station. His sign was just a bamboo pole with a cloth tied to it, easy to pick up and move.
A red cloth lay in front of him, and on it sat a tablet displaying a pattern of yin-yang and the eight trigrams.
Normally, Shiraki would never strike up a conversation with a stranger, but the fleeting warmth from *Graduation Journey* left his emotions in a softer state.
"Ojisan, your setup is pretty modern, huh?" he remarked.
"Hahaha, times have changed!" The old man chuckled, stroking his white beard. "Young man, care for a fortune?"
Shiraki glanced at the sign reading "500 yen per reading" and shook his head. "Nah, I'll pass."
What's the difference between that and tossing 500 yen into the wind?
500 yen is still money!
Raised in a single-parent household, Shiraki lost his only parent—his father—in an accident not long ago, leaving him with a 28-year mortgage.
Not a Tokyo apartment, of course.
His father was a simple construction worker. Even centuries of labor wouldn't buy a place in Tokyo.
It was just a house in a small rural town.
Even so, it was enough to force Shiraki to tighten his belt, cutting out nearly all entertainment expenses.
Honkai Impact 3rd was his only indulgence, and even then, he was a pure free-to-play player.
"Very well, meeting today is fate. Come, I'll read your fortune for free," the old man said grandly, handing the tablet to Shiraki.
"Or maybe you're just bored out of your mind?" Shiraki quipped, tapping the screen.
The yin-yang and trigrams began to spin.
"Ahem, don't put it like that. This is called fate!" The old man coughed lightly, clearly bored out of his mind.
After a dozen seconds, Shiraki and the old man leaned in to see the result.
"This reading…" The old man squinted, stroking his beard as he recalled the direction Shiraki had been walking.
"Young man, are you heading north?"
The old man waved his hand with an air of mystical wisdom.
"Yeah."
"…" Shiraki's flat response left the old man a bit deflated. Come on, kid, play along a little!
Shiraki stared at the trigrams. "And?"
"Metal drains while aiding wood. This reading suggests that heading north, you'll meet a noble person who will help you," the old man said with a flourish. "It's an auspicious sign."
"Oh? I don't think so." Shiraki's calm tone made the old man's eyes widen.
"Ojisan, look at it this way." Shiraki crouched beside him, pointing at the tablet. "Upper Qian, lower Xun. Outer metal overcomes inner wood, harming from without. This suggests injury, possibly to the femur, or an accident like a car crash causing a fracture. This is a portent of disaster."
The old man froze, dumbfounded. "...Huh?"
What kind of move is this?
"Young man, you know this stuff?" The old man leaned back, eyeing Shiraki up and down.
"Just a little," Shiraki said modestly. Reading too many novels had left him with random bits of knowledge he rarely used.
"Ojisan, am I right?"
"Let me take another look." The old man set aside his beard-stroking.
What followed was a spirited debate over whether the reading meant "noble assistance" or "impending disaster." They exchanged views, dissected their differences, and each found the other's argument somewhat convincing.
Then… the subway arrived.
Shiraki smiled, thanked him, and left, leaving the old man to ponder the trigrams alone.
He didn't entirely dismiss the mystical, but Shiraki kept a 99% skepticism, with 1% reserved for possibility.
After all, in probability, nothing is ever 0% or 100%.
Even something like a spiritual resurgence from fantasy novels wasn't impossible—just improbably close to it.
Leaving the station, Shiraki rented a shared e-bike and headed toward his apartment.
Then…
He got hit!
Not by a truck or a dump truck handling "isekai business," and he didn't die.
As for the details?
Shiraki stared blankly at his bandaged left leg, pain surging through his body like a tide.
No way!? It actually came true!? he screamed internally.
"You're awake."
A clear, melodious voice carried a hint of relief. Shiraki froze, then shifted his gaze to the unfamiliar figure.
Her lightly made-up face was as fair as snow in the sunlight, her silky hair cascading like a waterfall. A white sweater with green accents highlighted her slender, graceful figure.
Beyond that, Shiraki, ever perceptive, noticed her distinct aura.
Yes, aura.
It sounded vague, but it was undeniably real.
Most people could easily pick out a college student in a crowd of working adults—they stood out like a sheep among dogs.
Her smile was polite but formal, warm yet distant, like an untouchable flower on a high peak.
It wasn't crude arrogance but a refined pride and confidence, born of her upbringing and family.
"Who are you?" Shiraki raised an eyebrow, unfazed by her appearance or demeanor.
Normally, he'd never cross paths with someone of her caliber.
He had no interest in cars and couldn't identify common brands, except for the legendary Wuling Hongguang.
But that didn't stop him from guessing that the car that hit him was worth millions of yen.
Clearly, she was the culprit.
"My name is Mai Kisaragi. This accident was my fault, and I'll take full responsibility, including compensation. I'm truly sorry."
Mai bowed deeply, her apology textbook-perfect.
In old urban novels, you'd see rich second-generation villains bullying victims after a crash.
But in reality?
That compensation money was pocket change to a true heiress.
A few days' allowance, at most.
In contrast, connections and favors in high society were far more valuable and used sparingly.
Like that infamous brawl at a street food stall—getting caught gave rivals leverage, with dire consequences.
Raised with an elite education, Mai wasn't as calculating as her parents, but she was polished and tactful.
Especially now, with her father at a critical point in his career, she couldn't afford to give his rivals any ammunition.
Mai wasn't arrogant or unreasonable. The accident was her fault, and her apology to Shiraki was sincere.
"We can discuss compensation later. For now, focus on your recovery."
Her polite tone and impeccable manners marked her as a true second-generation elite.
"Shiraki… right? How do you feel?" she asked.
A nurse and doctor approached, perhaps influenced by Mai's presence, their tones unusually gentle.
"The anesthesia should wear off soon, so you may feel some pain…"
Shiraki answered their questions honestly, learning the extent of his injuries.
Multiple external injuries, two broken ribs, and a shattered left leg.
Thanks to Mai's quick action in getting him to the hospital and securing a top surgeon, his condition wasn't as bad as it looked.
His leg would recover to normal function in six to eight months.
After the medical staff left, Mai and Shiraki discussed compensation.
Medical fees, meal allowances, transportation, lost wages, nutritional support, and mental damages totaled 20.9 million yen.
This excluded surgery and primary hospital costs.
To Mai, it was a trivial sum. Her goal was to resolve the matter, not to shower Shiraki with money.
She aimed to minimize her losses while taking responsibility.
For Shiraki, 20.9 million yen was an offer he couldn't refuse.
If he signed the settlement agreement today, the money would be in his account by tonight.
Without much hesitation, Shiraki made the choice most ordinary people would.
A shattered leg's compensation equaling a beating's payout wasn't ideal, but not everyone was a top-tier elite.
Mai had countless ways to avoid paying, like dragging it out with insurance.
Her demeanor suggested the settlement was important, but Shiraki knew nothing of her background or its significance.
For someone at the bottom, 20.9 million yen was a fortune. Weighing everything, Shiraki signed the agreement without fuss.
Instructing the hired caregiver to look after him, Mai apologized again and left gracefully.
Confident in her appearance and aura, Mai was slightly surprised that Shiraki showed no trace of intimidation or admiration during their talk.
In a CEO romance drama, this would be the moment for, "This man is interesting."
But that was it—just a flicker of curiosity. She and Shiraki were from entirely different worlds.
With the settlement in hand, their paths would never cross again.
A rich girl falling for a nobody only happened in novels.
Is this what that old man meant by 'noble assistance'? What a… Shiraki thought, watching her leave with a wry smile.
"Phew, whatever."
Exhaling heavily, Shiraki's gaze shifted from the IV drip to the starless night sky, Tokyo's neon lights painting the cityscape.
Alone, without family, Shiraki didn't care much for his own life. Death might even be a release.
No resentment, just a quiet reflection.
This 20.9 million yen, even after medical and miscellaneous expenses, would cover his father's mortgage.
Without eating, drinking, or living, it'd take him nearly 20 years to earn that much.
Lying on the soft hospital bed, bathed in silvery moonlight, Shiraki's racing thoughts began to quiet.
Hm!?
In the stillness of his soul, Shiraki's eyes snapped open.
Something was off.
Since waking, he'd felt a strange disconnect, so subtle it went unnoticed in the day's noise. Only now, in the quiet, did he confirm its existence.
It wasn't physical pain but something deeper, like a sensation from his soul.
Tossing and turning, Shiraki traced this odd feeling and drifted into sleep.
To his shock, his consciousness remained clear even after falling asleep.
Guided by a mysterious force, his perspective soared.
The hospital, Tokyo, Japan, Asia, Earth…
His view kept expanding.
Earth, the Earth-Moon system, the Solar System, the Local Interstellar Cloud, the Local Bubble, the Gould Belt…
Across distances incomprehensible to humans, his consciousness, protected by that force, stayed lucid.
The Orion Arm, the Milky Way, the Local Group, the Local Sheet, the Virgo Supercluster, the Laniakea Supercluster…
Beyond the 93 billion light-year observable universe, past single universes, through multiversal barriers…
Until he reached a spatiotemporal dimension utterly beyond human comprehension.
Shock and awe flooded Shiraki's mind.
What was happening?
What was happening?
What was happening?