It was an ordinary and mundane day, with the city as busy as usual. The morning subway was packed with bleary-eyed commuters, the streets wafted with the oily smoke of breakfast stalls and the rich aroma of coffee shops, and everything carried the familiar and repetitive scent of life—until the sky suddenly changed its face.
The originally thin clouds surged without warning, as if stirred violently by an invisible hand. The clouds gathered, stretched, and extended, finally condensing into a giant, smooth curtain high in the sky. A light source from an unknown origin cast a bright light screen onto it, like a super screen suspended in the heavens.
Pedestrians on the ground stopped in their tracks. Commuters, food delivery drivers, parents holding their children's hands, those looking down at their phones—everyone looked up, letting out uncontrollable gasps. Traffic gradually ground to a halt, and the sound of car horns was drowned out by the whispers of the crowd and the shocked intakes of breath.
Some took out their phones to film, some murmured prayers, and others had already begun spreading panic.
"Is it an alien invasion?"
"It's a miracle! Definitely a miracle!"
"Could this be a holographic projection advertisement from some company?"
Videos and photos spread explosively across social media with viral momentum.
#SkyScreen instantly topped the trending charts, and the entire city seemed to have been pressed with a pause button, as everyone waited for an explanation.
At that moment, the light screen suddenly lit up. A voice rang out—indistinguishable as male or female, with a processed electronic effect, yet brimming with an almost comically high-pitched emotion: "People of the world, good morning, good afternoon, and good evening! Please do not panic, relax. This is neither an alien invasion nor the descent of a god, but simply a... Doomsday Preview."
The crowd fell into a dead silence for an instant, then erupted into a clamor. Someone cursed on the spot: "I'd rather it be aliens!?"
The voice continued, its tone lighthearted as if introducing an upcoming carnival: "As you can see, I am an esper. My ability is simple — I can see the future. And I have used a special method to broadcast the fragments I've seen to everyone."
It paused slightly, like a dramatic actor's intentional beat, then continued enthusiastically: "I saw a very, very wonderful future — I saw a person, how he became a god, and then changed from a god back into a human. He is the most powerful existence in this world, he is disaster, he is destruction, yet he is also... the Star of Salvation! To be honest, I am his number one fan! So I want to spoil his story to the whole world in advance."
"I want everyone to know—what an interesting, crazy, and amazing existence this lovely devil is!" "Alright, enough talk, in thirty seconds... the main feature begins!"
The light screen in the sky began counting down. People looked at each other, most still looking bewildered, feeling the whole thing was as absurd as a farce. The tone was far too unserious, wasn't it? How could a real doomsday be announced like this?
But not everyone laughed it off. On the flip side of this world, those hidden among ordinary people, or those at the pinnacle of power who wielded extraordinary strength... were now frowning deeply, their expressions solemn. They knew this was definitely not a joke.
Meanwhile, the light screen in the sky had already begun flickering with images. It first went dark, like a giant beast closing its eyes, and then slowly lit up—
The film opened with a fast-paced, emotionally intense montage, accompanied by deep and infectious background music.
(At a street corner late at night, a well-dressed, gentle-looking man was putting a bag of trash into a public bin. Just as he turned to leave, a faint cry of a baby made him stop in his tracks.
He hesitated, eventually following the sound, and carefully discovered a baby boy wrapped in an old blanket at the edge of the trash bin.
The baby's face was red from the cold, and his cries were weak. A flash of shock and pity crossed the man's eyes; without further thought, he gently picked up the baby, wrapped him in his warm coat, and took him home.
The tone remained warm. The camera cut rapidly: the man clumsily mixing formula, pacing the room with the crying baby, the baby giggling as he grabbed his finger for the first time, the child wobbling as he took his first steps... The father and son depended on each other, and the small apartment was filled with love and warmth.
The boy gradually grew up, becoming a bright and clever elementary school student. One day, sitting by his father's desk and watching him handle case files, he suddenly asked softly: "Dad, why does everyone else have a mother, but I don't?"
His father put down his pen, neither brushing him off nor avoiding the question. He turned around, gazing seriously and tenderly into his son's eyes, and said in the most solemn tone: "It's not that you don't have a mother. You are the most precious gift heaven gave to me, my one and only 'treasure'."
The boy blinked. He had actually vaguely known some of the truth from the whispers of the neighbors. But his father's words, that unreserved love and cherishing, instantly dispersed the small gloom in his heart. He threw himself into his father's arms and nodded vigorously.
Under his father's rational and upright guidance, the boy grew into a sunny and cheerful teenager with excellent grades, praised by teachers and envied by classmates. Everything seemed wonderful.
Until — the tone suddenly shifted to a cold blue.
One evening shortly after starting middle school, while passing a bridge over a river, the boy suddenly heard cries for help and saw the flickering figure of a girl in the water!
Without a moment's hesitation, not even having time to put down his backpack, he leaped from the several-meter-high bridge into the icy river!
He swam with all his might to the girl's side and struggled to drag her, who had stopped resisting, to the shore. The girl's face was purple, and her breathing was faint. Remembering the first-aid knowledge his father had taught him, the boy immediately knelt on the ground and began performing CPR and mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. He gave it his all, every compression intensely focused, with only one thought in his mind: save her!
Just then, the girl's mother ran over in a panic. The scene she saw was: a soaking wet boy pressing down on her daughter, making mouth-to-mouth contact. This woman was an extreme feminist, her heart filled with prejudice and hatred toward men. The sight before her did not evoke any gratitude; instead, it instantly ignited her rage and hatred.
Under the boy's first-aid, the girl finally coughed up water and regained faint breathing. However, what the boy received was not thanks, but the woman's shrill curses and physical assault.
Soon after, there was even a cold lawsuit—accusing him of "using rescue as a pretext for molestation."
An absurd and desperate lawsuit began. Although the boy's father hired the best lawyer and, along with himself, fought with all his might to defend his son, presenting various evidence to prove the necessity of the first-aid, under the opposing lawyer's deliberate incitement of gender conflict and the woman's hysterical performance, the scales of the court weirdly tilted toward the plaintiff.
Finally, the gavel fell. "Guilty."
The boy was spared prison due to being a minor, but the heavy fine and the label of "molester" were like a brand, seared deeply onto him.
At the moment of the verdict, his father tore up his lawyer's badge and practicing certificate in court, the fragments scattering across the floor. On his face, besides overwhelming anger, there was more of endless sadness and self-reproach—the law he had believed in all his life had so easily destroyed his most precious "treasure."
From then on, the boy's world completely collapsed. At school, he became a "plague" that everyone avoided, followed by isolation, exclusion, and pointing behind his back. Even after his father changed his name, the shadow of that trial never dissipated. His father became his only emotional support and confidant.
Then, one day... the greatest blow arrived.
News of his father's accidental death arrived. The cause of death... according to The Authorities, it was an accident.)
The real world beneath the light screen.
Sōbu High School, Class 2-F. In the back row of the classroom, Kuchiba Hiro ignored the gazes of his classmates, which he had long since grown used to.
He stared fixedly at the light screen, his fingernails digging deep into his palms. He no longer cared about those unbearable memories. What he cared about now was that at some point in the future... his father had died!