The morning sun rose slowly over Kitanoshima Town, spilling soft gold across the sea and rooftops alike. From my bedroom window, the horizon looked calm—too calm. Fishing boats rocked gently against the docks, their wooden hulls creaking in a rhythm so familiar it almost blended into silence. Seagulls cried overhead, circling lazily before diving toward the water, and the wind carried the sharp, salty scent of the ocean through the narrow streets below.
Kitanoshima wasn't big or impressive. It didn't shine like the massive cities you saw on television. It was a coastal town built on routine—on tides that came and went, on weather reports listened to more carefully than the news, on people who woke up early and slept tired. Wooden houses with sloped roofs lined the streets, their paint faded by years of sun and sea air. Small family-run markets opened near the harbor every morning, fishermen unloading their catches while chatting as if nothing in the world could ever truly surprise them.
Everyone knew everyone here. Or at least everyone knew of everyone.
To me, it was just home. Ordinary. Predictable. Safe.
I lay in bed staring at the ceiling as pale morning light crept across my room inch by inch. Posters covered the walls—heroes, legends, figures that felt impossibly distant from real life. A guitar rested against the corner near my desk, strings untouched for days. On the windowsill, a small potted plant trembled as the breeze slipped in through the open glass.
Then—
"Zen! Wake up already! You'll be late for school!"
My mother's voice echoed up from downstairs, warm but firm. I groaned and rolled over, burying my face into the pillow.
"Five more minutes…" I muttered, even though I already knew it wouldn't work.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs, each creak painfully familiar. With a resigned sigh, I pushed myself up and swung my legs off the bed. The cold floor bit into my feet, sending a jolt through my body that finally chased the sleep away. I stretched, arms overhead, joints popping quietly as I yawned.
I made my bed carefully—smoothing the sheets, straightening the pillow, tucking the blanket in tight. It was a habit I'd picked up over time. A small thing, but it gave me a sense of control. Like if my room was in order, maybe the day would be too.
From downstairs came the faint sizzle of cooking eggs and the soft bubbling of miso soup. My stomach growled in response.
"Zen!" my mother called again. "Breakfast!"
"I'm coming!" I shouted back, grabbing my clothes and heading downstairs.
The kitchen was already alive when I entered. Steam rose from bowls of rice arranged neatly on the table. The smell of omelette filled the air, warm and comforting. My elder sister, Yumi, was pouring tea with practiced care. My two older brothers, Haruto and Sora, were already seated, arguing over something trivial. At the head of the table sat my father, calm as always, newspaper folded neatly beside him.
"Morning," I said, taking my seat.
"About time," Haruto smirked. "Thought you were planning to sleep through school again."
"I wasn't that late," I shot back, reaching for my chopsticks.
Yumi smiled softly. "Try not to rush too much today. You always forget something when you do."
"I won't," I said automatically.
I started eating. The omelette was warm and fluffy, the rice perfectly cooked. Simple food, but it felt grounding. Familiar.
My father looked at me over his tea. "How are your school days going?"
"They're good," I replied honestly. "Classes aren't too bad. I've been having fun lately."
"That so?" Sora said with a grin. "Didn't think you'd ever say that about school."
"I'm serious," I said, shrugging. "It's not terrible."
My father nodded, satisfied. "That's good to hear. Just don't neglect your responsibilities."
The conversation drifted easily after that—small jokes, light teasing, familiar warmth. It felt normal. Comfortable. Like nothing could ever disrupt it.
Then I glanced at the clock.
"…Oh no."
I shot up from my chair. "I'm going to be late!"
"Zen—your lunchbox!" my mother called as I grabbed my bag.
"I'll take it!" I said without thinking, already halfway out the door.
The morning air hit me as I stepped outside, crisp and salty. I ran through the streets of Kitanoshima, past houses and canals reflecting the sunlight. The town moved at its usual pace, unaware of how fragile that calm really was.
Halfway there, I caught up with a few friends from school.
"You're cutting it close again," one of them laughed.
"Don't remind me," I replied, slowing to match their pace.
School passed as it always did—classes, notes, teachers talking while students half-listened. My mind drifted now and then, but nothing felt out of place. By the time lunch arrived, my stomach reminded me of something important.
I opened my bag.
Empty.
"…I forgot it."
With a sigh, I bought some bread from the cafeteria instead. It wasn't great, but it was enough to quiet the hunger.
The afternoon dragged on. As the final classes neared their end, I stared out the classroom window—until something strange caught my eye.
Two lights hovered far in the distance.
One purple.
One yellow.
They floated unnaturally in the sky, bright enough to make me squint. Murmurs spread through the classroom as others noticed.
"Are those… fireworks?" someone asked.
Before anyone could answer, the lights vanished—then reappeared, colliding violently.
The air shuddered.
The lights dimmed just enough for shapes to form within them—two human silhouettes, clashing at impossible speeds. They flew, collided, separated, then slammed into each other again.
A blast erupted from the purple figure's hand.
The yellow figure dodged and retaliated.
The shockwave rippled outward.
The ground trembled.
Stray energy crashed down into Kitanoshima Town.
Buildings shattered.
Streets split.
Screams filled the air.
Panic erupted instantly. Students shouted. Teachers yelled for everyone to get down. Then—
BOOM.
A stray attack struck the school roof.
The entire building shook violently. Ceiling tiles fell. Desks toppled. I grabbed the window frame to keep myself upright as the world lurched.
I looked outside.
Fire consumed the town.
Buildings burned, smoke spiraling into the sky. The ground was cracked open in places, waves crashing violently against the shore, tossing boats like toys. Energy blasts streaked through the air, raining destruction from above.
People ran—screaming, crying, trying to escape.
My chest tightened.
My hands trembled.
"…Is this," I whispered, my voice barely audible, "the end of the world?"
Above it all, the purple and yellow figures continued to clash—unbothered by the destruction below.
And as I stared at the chaos consuming my hometown, one thing became painfully clear.
This was only the beginning.