Morning arrived without ceremony.
Reeve woke before his alarm, eyes opening to a dim ceiling stained by age and neglect. The city outside was already alive—vendors shouting, horns arguing, footsteps rushing toward futures that didn't wait.
He lay still for a moment, listening.
Every sound followed a pattern. Every routine repeated itself. Humans loved believing they were free, yet moved like clockwork.
Reeve got up, washed, and dressed simply. Neutral colors. Nothing memorable. He checked his phone while eating a plain breakfast.
News headlines scrolled endlessly.
Another official caught embezzling funds.
Another "investigation" promised.
Another apology drafted by lawyers.
People would rage today and forget tomorrow.
On the walk to the metro station, Reeve noticed new posters pasted over old ones—different faces, same smiles. Election season again. He stopped briefly, pretending to check his phone while reading the slogans.
Change.
Justice.
Future.
Empty words recycled like trash.
At the station entrance, a crowd had formed. The ticket machine wasn't working properly, and people argued with the guard.
"It's been like this for days," someone shouted.
"Then fix it!" another demanded.
The guard shrugged, uninterested.
Reeve watched quietly, then stepped forward.
"Excuse me," he said gently, addressing the guard, "maybe the machine just needs a reset? Yesterday it froze too."
The guard frowned. "You know how?"
Reeve smiled sheepishly. "Not really… just guessing."
But the suggestion worked. The guard fiddled with the panel and muttered curses, and the machine whirred back to life.
The crowd dispersed, tension dissolving instantly.
The guard glanced at Reeve. "You're smart."
Reeve waved his hand. "Just lucky."
Luck was what people called it when they didn't understand cause and effect.
On the train, Reeve stood near the door, swaying slightly as the metro moved. His reflection stared back at him in the dark glass—unremarkable, forgettable.
Perfect.
At college, the atmosphere felt heavier than usual. Whispers spread faster than facts. A professor had been suspended. Rumors claimed bribery. Others said he angered the wrong people.
Reeve listened without reacting.
During a break, a classmate leaned toward him. "Hey, Reeve… You heard about the exam schedule change, right?"
Reeve blinked. "Uh… no? Did it change again?"
The classmate sighed, clearly relieved to be the knowledgeable one. "Yeah. They moved one subject forward. Totally unfair."
Reeve frowned. "That's… bad. Do you think they'll change it back?"
"Only if enough people complain."
Reeve nodded slowly, thoughtful. "Maybe the student council can help?"
The idea spread faster than fire.
Within minutes, a group discussion formed. Complaints were drafted. Messages sent. Names attached.
Reeve stayed on the edge, watching.
By the end of the day, chaos had been organized. A protest is planned. A delegation was selected.
Reeve's name was not on the list.
He had planted a seed and stepped away before roots could reach him.
After classes, he walked instead of taking the metro. The longer route cleared his head. Shops lined the street—some legal, some barely pretending. A police officer stood chatting with a store owner, laughing too comfortably.
An exchange happened. Money changed hands without ceremony.
Reeve didn't look away.
This was the world as it was, not as people pretended it to be.
At his part-time job, things were no different. His boss complained loudly about taxes while avoiding receipts. A coworker blamed the system for being underpaid while stealing supplies.
Everyone justified themselves.
Reeve worked quietly and efficiently. When a customer complained unfairly, he apologized smoothly. When another tried to scam the shop, Reeve redirected them without confrontation.
Conflict was inefficient.
Later, as he walked home under a sky stained orange by pollution, his phone buzzed again.
Messages.
Bro, you're not joining the protest?
They said we need more people.
You're good at explaining things.
Reeve replied with hesitation.
I'm not sure… I don't really understand politics.
I might just make things worse.
They didn't push.
People rarely argued with self-doubt.
At home, he sat on the floor, back against the bed, and opened a manga chapter he had saved. The story was simple—power, revenge, exaggerated emotions.
He closed it halfway through.
Too loud. Too dramatic.
Reality was quieter.
Reeve leaned his head back and stared at the wall.
Why did people need villains to explain their suffering?
Systems didn't need malice to function. They just needed participation.
Before sleeping, he checked social media once more. The protest was already trending. Speeches are being drafted. Enemies being named.
Lines drawn.
Reeve turned off his phone.
Lying in darkness, he felt something odd—not fear, not excitement.
A pressure.
As if the world was tightening around him, slowly, patiently.
A thought slipped into his mind, uninvited:
If corruption is everywhere… Then why does everyone act surprised when it wins?
The city outside hummed endlessly.
Somewhere between waking and sleep, Reeve had the strange sensation that the question didn't fade.
It sank.
As if it was being stored.