Warm wind drifted slowly across a vast desert, where thousands of swords were embedded deep into the sand.
A gray sky hung low overhead, leaving only a thin opening through which faint orange light filtered down.
Amid the endless stretch of iron and sand, a white-haired man walked alone.
His steps were steady. Unhurried. Unwavering.
In his hand rested a simple sword—its blade dull, scarred by countless marks, yet emitting a strange, invisible pressure.
His gaze was empty.
Slowly, he lifted his head, staring at the drifting clouds above.
For a brief moment, the world fell silent.
Then—
From beyond the cloudy sky, ancient cogwheels began to fall.
Their shapes were strange, carved with intricate patterns, rusted as if gnawed away by time itself. Yet instead of crashing into the ground, each cogwheel floated gently, defying gravity.
The white-haired man merely watched, expression unchanged.
The next instant—
DONG.
A single heavy toll echoed from the heavens.
The sound rolled across the desert, passed through the forest of embedded swords, shook the air itself, and resonated all the way to the horizon.
"Is that all you brought home?" my mother's voice rose sharply. "This isn't even enough for today's living expenses."
"I just got back from work. Is this how you welcome me?"
The sound of arguing drifted from the living room, followed by the sharp clink of shattered glass. There was no need to listen further to understand the cause.
Money.
A hand raked roughly through my hair as I kept walking. No curiosity. No urge to interfere. Even if they screamed and wrecked the entire house, it would never escalate into violence. This was nothing more than a dull morning routine.
Reaching the front of the bedroom, my younger brother stood there in his school uniform, pacing back and forth with awkward movements.
"What are you doing loitering around here?" I asked flatly.
The moment our eyes met, he froze. Nervousness was written all over his face.
"N-nothing. I just wanted to check… if I forgot something."
The excuse sounded reasonable—our rooms were right next to each other. But after living together for so long, something about his reaction felt off.
"Try to spend more carefully this week. I can't give you extra if you keep wasting it."
He lowered his head. "Okay," he muttered, barely audible, before quickly brushing past and rushing downstairs.
I watched his back for a moment before entering the room.
We were family, yet no one in this house truly felt close.
My parents—I hated them simply for existing. As for my brother, my feelings toward him were far more complicated.
He was foolish and troublesome. Far too often, things he should have understood just by listening in class had to be explained repeatedly.
And then there was his lack of restraint.
Once, food had been bought and stored in the fridge. He'd been clearly told not to touch it, since it was meant to be eaten after returning from prayers. But by the time I came back, it was already gone.
That incident repeated itself more than once, along with countless other small things that slowly eroded my patience.
Yet it wasn't entirely his fault. No one in this house had ever taught him basic manners. Truthfully, I pitied him—he was walking the same path I once did.
There was a time when he went to school carrying nothing but a bottle of mineral water. That was why, after finding work, weekly allowance became a routine.
If anything, his life might even be more miserable than mine.
When I was still young, my parents didn't own a house. We drifted from place to place, eventually staying with the family of a restaurant owner.
It was there that many lessons were learned—things that shaped who I am today.
But my brother…
He had no one. Our parents were too busy working. And I was too consumed with my own struggles, never knowing how to give him proper attention.
A bitter smile crept onto my lips.
"If I could trade my lifespan for money, I would've done it without hesitation."
After putting on my school uniform, the desk drawer was opened and a wallet and a pack of cigarettes bought the day before were taken out, before heading downstairs for breakfast.
"There's no food left," my mother said flatly, water splashing as she washed the dishes. "That's why I keep telling you to listen when I warn you. I've said countless times not to stay up late."
From the start, if the food ran out, it was never my fault. It simply meant the portions were never enough to feed four people.
"It's fine," I replied, turning away. "I'll buy something at school."
"Oh, right," her voice followed. "When's payday? Your brother needs money for a school trip. You understand, right?"
My steps stopped.
An unpleasant feeling slowly gnawed at my chest. When I was younger, I had never joined trips like that. But that wasn't what hurt.
What hurt was how I was treated—like an experimental subject. And when they felt they'd failed with me, they tried to make up for it by giving him better treatment.
"According to schedule," I answered shortly, "next week."
Without looking back, I stepped outside, drawing slowly on a cigarette. My body felt heavy, crushed by accumulated exhaustion and sleepless nights.
Every weekday followed nearly the same routine: school from six in the morning until three in the afternoon, work from five until nine at night, then studying until late. Only weekends allowed real rest.
Fortunately, payday is close. Hopefully the boss pays on time. That way, we won't be forced to eat grass next month.
I still need to pay for my brother's uniform and prepare money for his notebooks.
Damn it. Why can't that idiot earn a scholarship like I did?
After walking for a while, the school gates finally came into view, accompanied by students rushing inside. The burning cigarette was crushed barehanded before being tossed into a roadside trash bin.
The moment I stepped through the gates, a heavy weight dropped onto my shoulder.
"Yo, top student."
A young man in a messy uniform slung an arm around my shoulders. Several others stood behind him, grinning mockingly.
"You look tired this morning," he said. "Got problems?"
"Ck." A frown creased my brow.
"What's with that attitude?" he snapped. "Feeling smug after getting first place again?"
No response came. My steps continued toward the exam results board. Three large panels stood in a row, one for each grade. On the third-year board, my name sat once again at the very top.
First place.
"Three years in a row, huh?" he sneered. "How does it feel?"
Honestly, nothing was felt. Ranking wasn't everything, but it wasn't something that could be ignored either. It was simply one of many stepping stones toward changing my life.
"Pretty decent, I guess."
His face twisted, ready to spit out more—
"Ding dong. The assembly will begin shortly. All students are requested to gather on the field."
"Ck, lucky you." His arm dropped, followed by a light shove, before he turned away with the others.
A quiet breath escaped as I headed toward class. Today wasn't my department's turn for assembly. With eight majors per grade, the field simply couldn't hold everyone at once.
As always, no one greeted me upon entering.
Not that praise or attention was desired. But every other student was welcomed by friends. Everyone—except me.
There were no friends here. Not from lack of trying, but because their conversations revolved around games and trending gossip. None of it interested me, leaving no place in their circles.
After settling into my seat and waiting a moment, the teacher entered.
"Good morning, everyone. You've all seen your exam results."
He glanced over and smiled. "Shiro, congratulations. First place again."
Several students turned with bored expressions.
"This is the first time in school history a student has ranked first every semester with perfect scores. I'm proud of you."
Then his expression hardened. "As for the rest of you, I hope you reflect on your weaknesses. The national entrance exam is drawing near."
The atmosphere instantly tightened. Those scores would decide their universities—and their futures.
Class began with a full review of the material studied over the past three years, preparing us for the upcoming exam.
After a dull evaluation session, the lunch bell finally rang.
I left the classroom, heading toward the cafeteria.
But in the hallway, the same guy leaned against the wall, waiting with several others.
"Yo," he said. "We need to talk."