BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
The shrill cry of my phone alarm pierced through the silence like a dagger through a paper heart.
I slowly open my eyes and stare at the ceiling, as my annoying phone alarm echoes in my room.
My arm flailed blindly across the bed, desperately swiping at anything that resembled the rectangular traitor blaring beside my pillow. After three failed attempts and a near miss with a glass of water, my hand finally connected with the screen.
I lay on my bed staring at the ceiling, my mind blank.
Several minutes pass. And reality strucks.
"Goddamit it's Monday" I muttered, as I sat up right.
My room looks pretty messy.
Damn I gotta clean this place up.
I took a towel out of my closet, wandered my way slowly to the bathroom, then stared at the mirror.
Man, I'm handsome.
I notice tears on my cheek.
The hell… Was I crying?
Well, anyway.
Teeth brushed in silence, the taste of mint barely cutting through the weight of routine.
The shower knob turned with a familiar creak, and a split second later—
A blast of liquid regret.
Cold.
Sharp.
Unforgiving, like nature herself waking up angry.
The water shut off as fast as it came on.
My soul left my body for a moment.
That's pretty damn cold.
But whatever. It's not like the world is going to pause just because the heater gave up on me.
Several minutes later. I shut off the shower, take my towel from the towel hanger, and wrap it around my waist.
Everything is peaceful, just as I like it.
Wait, where's my uniform?
I scramble around the closet, trying to look for it.
Oh there it is.
I put my pants on, and wiggle my arms in the sleeves. Perfect.
The floor felt cold beneath my feet as I wandered into the kitchen.
It was the same old kitchen—bland tiles, flickering light, a fridge that groaned like it hated being touched. Familiar. Comfortably dull.
The fridge offered its morning treasures: a lone plate of leftover rice, four eggs looking up at me like they knew their fate. I gave them no mercy.
Rice in one hand, two eggs in the other, I marched to the stove like a warrior on a sacred quest for breakfast.
Utensils assembled like a cooking montage on a low budget: frying pan, bottle of oil, a chopping board, four cloves of garlic (because one clove is for cowards), salt, and soy sauce.
The garlic was diced with all the grace of someone who thought they were on MasterChef but was really just trying not to cut their finger. It smelled good though—like memories.
The pan sizzled to life. A swirl of oil. Garlic in.
The scent hit like a warm hug from someone I forgot I missed.
Eggs cracked in next, a pinch of salt, then scrambled gently with a spatula that had seen better days. Once they started to look like, well, food, the rice went in. Then the soy sauce—just enough to turn everything a perfect golden-brown, not enough to drown it in salt.
Everything came together in that pan - yesterday's leftovers became today's comfort.
Back onto the plate it went, steaming and golden.
Still… something was missing.
Ah. Of course.
A quick raid on the fridge yielded a few scallions, barely holding on to their will to live. Chopped. Sprinkled on top.
There it is.
Egg fried rice
Perfect.
---
Breakfast devoured like a king on borrowed time.
A glance at the watch - 06:50.
That's still pretty early.
I think I can squeeze a few minutes on Minecraft.. Just a few...
I bolted to my PC, the one that could probably simulate a small country's weather patterns, yet existed solely to render blocky dirt and cubic cows. It cost me a leg—figuratively. Though at this point, I'm not entirely sure.
---
Several minutes later…
07:20.
Time, the silent assassin.
I stared down at my watch, betrayed but accepting.
"That's enough," I sighed, exiting the game like saying goodbye to a lover at a train station.
Goodbye, my love.
We'll mine again soon.
Phone? Found it under a pillow like a buried treasure.
Into the backpack it went.
Socks—on. Shoes—tied.
One last glance in the mirror.
Hair-tamed.
Tie-reasonable.
Face-carved by shadows and light, handsome in a way that makes silence stare…
The door swung open with a faint creak, and the morning sun greeted me like a flashbang.
I walked out of my apartment and made my way to school.
And there I felt the first drop.
Then another.
Then the sky let loose a sudden barrage.
How?! The sky was clear like 5 minutes ago?!
Of course I didn't bring an umbrella. Why would I remember something sensible like that?
I break into a sprint. School wasn't far, maybe five minutes away, but in this rain, five minutes feels like a marathon. Cold needles of water stabbed through my school uniform. My sneakers squelched with every step. The world blurred behind streaks of gray, and the only thing I could focus on was not slipping on the pavement.
I made it to school looking like I'd fallen into a lake. Dripping from every edge, I shuffle through the gates and into the hallway, ignoring the looks.
Whatever. Not like anyone cared enough to comment.
My classroom is on the second floor. Room 2-B. I climb the stairs, water dripping behind me like a snail trail. Open the door and trudge in.
I sat on my seat. The back seat. Corner, right next to the window. Cliché right?
I rested my cheek on my palm and stared out at the rain-smeared glass, hoping the day would pass by quickly. Then I noticed someone approaching from the front.
A girl. Classmate. From the teacher's desk.
Oh no.
Here it comes.
An inevitable dialogue.
My soul winced before the words even left her mouth.
What's she gonna say?
What does she want?
Please don't ask me about homework. Or feelings. Or group work.
"Hey, uhh…"
Her voice hovered midair like a paper airplane without a destination.
She forgot my name.
Of course she did.
"What?"
Damn I said that perfectly!
"Can I borrow a pen? There's some maniac stealing pencils again hehe…"
A pen.
Of course.
Good thing I brought two.
Not out of kindness—out of experience. The battlefield of high school taught me well.
I slid my hand into my backpack, not breaking eye contact like I was defusing a bomb.
"Here."
Smooth. Efficient. Emotionally distant—like a cashier handing change.
"Thanks, dude," she said with a quick grin before vanishing to the front row like a gust of wind that smells vaguely of shampoo and chaos.
I let out a slow breath. Crisis averted.
The door suddenly slams open.
Our teacher marches in with a grin too big for a Monday.
"Is everyone ready for the quizzes in all subjects?"
Groans echo across the room.
All of them? That's outrageous.
"But Ma'am! Aren't we supposed to discuss the next topic?" a brave student asks.
"Nahhh, that's postponed for tomorrow!"
"I even said it in the school group chat!"
"But Ma'am, you just sent that message a few hours ago…" brave student number 2 says as she's looking at her text message:
(05:26-Ms.Tanaka): Everyone study all the subjects! The whole day is gonna be full of quizzes! Best of luck.
"I'm pretty sure 2 hours is plenty! "
"Crap, I totally forgot to send that message last night…" Ms.Tanaka thinks to herself nervously.
"But Ma'am 2 hours is not enough to study ALL subjects!" brave student number 3 says.
Silence…
"Well too bad! Should've studied last night at home to prepare for the unexpected huh?"
"Now everyone put your phones on my desk!"
The room practically vibrated with frustration.
I just sigh and pull my stuff out. No point resisting the inevitable.
---
The bell rings.
Sweet, sweet freedom.
I swipe everything off my desk into my backpack like a man escaping a heist.
I'm lucky, I passed all of them pretty easily.
Am I forgetting something?
…Nah. If I forgot it, it probably wasn't important anyway.
Out the classroom.
Down the stairs.
Through the gate.
No hesitation.
"Hmm? Who's phone is this…? "
"I'm just gonna put it here and leave the door slightly open."
"Hopefully no one steals it." Ms.Tanaka says.
---
A convenience store glows in the corner of my eye.
Yes.
A side quest.
I stroll in like I own the place, grab a bag of potato chips and a cold soda—my post-battle offering.
Victory never tasted so… average.
But hey, it's the little things.
My apartment waits just a few blocks away, on the fourth floor, standing there like always, quite small but dependable.
I take the elevator to the fourth floor, walk down the hallway, and there it is… my sanctuary.
I step inside and drop my backpack onto the couch with the grace of a dying pigeon.
Wet and miserable shoes off.
I collapse into my chair like I've just climbed a mountain.
What day is it again?
Oh. Right.
Monday.
Damn it. Leg day.
I peel off my shirt and take a breath.
"No excuses."
"No mercy."
"Time to suffer."
---
Two hours pass.
My legs are no longer legs.
They're just trembling sticks of regret, trying to impersonate muscle.
Every step feels like gravity's playing a prank on me.
I limp across the room like a baby deer learning betrayal.
Out of habit, I reach into my pocket to get my phone.
Silence.
No familiar weight.
Just air.
Other pocket?
Still nothing.
Just more betrayal.
A slow, creeping panic starts to rise—small at first, like a bead of sweat, then all at once like a flood.
I check the floor. The couch. Under the couch.
I twist the blanket like it's hiding secrets.
I even open the fridge. Why? I don't know. Desperation.
I hobble around my apartment like a dying NPC, running an endless "Find My Phone" quest with no rewards.
Then—
A sudden flash.
A memory.
"Now put your phones on my desk!"
The teacher's voice echoes in my brain like a line from a cursed prophecy.
Flashback ends.
Reality sinks in.
My whole body stills.
No way.
I left it.
At school.
On her desk.
How does that even happen?!
I stare out the window like a war survivor.
The battlefield behind me.
My soul… still stuck in that classroom.
Damn it.
I have no choice…
I limp my way back toward the school, every step a negotiation with my legs.
The sun starts to dip below the skyline, painting the buildings in soft oranges and bruised purples.
A beautiful evening.
One I'm far too sore and grumpy to appreciate.
The school looms ahead—quiet now, the kind of quiet that feels too big for a place meant to echo with chaos.
Most classrooms sit in darkness, doors locked, windows blank like sleeping eyes.
But then—
Our room.
Door slightly ajar.
Light spilling faintly from inside.
The janitor must've missed it.
Bless his overworked soul.
And there it is.
Lying on the desk like a holy relic bathed in fluorescent light.
My Asus ROG Phone 9 Pro.
"There it is. My love," I whisper with all the drama of a soap opera finale.
I pick it up like it's a long-lost child, cradling it against my chest with silent reverence.
Warm.
Safe.
Mine.
With the mission complete, I close the classroom door, and begin the long walk home.
The sky shifts from gold to navy, stars blinking awake like shy spectators.
Crickets chirp in the grass.
The streetlights hum.
The world exudes a sleepy calm.
Too calm.
As I pass the intersection, my thoughts drift—
the kind of lazy wandering you do when your legs are sore and the sky looks like a painting.
I wonder if I can get myself to reincarnate.
Like those goofy isekai anime.
Not that I want to die, exactly.
I just… want magic.
Fireballs. Swords. Talking slimes. The good stuff.
Suddenly,
A screech—
Rubber against asphalt, violent and sharp.
Tires.
A red ball rolling into the street.
And a kid chasing after it.
Then—
A truck.
No way! Did I just jinx myself?!
This is not a coincidence.
This is my destiny.
It barrels around the corner like it's trying to win a race no one else signed up for.
Too fast.
Too close.
This is it.
My moment.
My cliché!
"This is my chance," I mutter, like I'm stepping into a final boss cutscene.
I run.
Well—
More like launch myself forward with the grace of a collapsing shopping cart.
My legs scream. My calves curse my ancestors. My thighs beg for mercy.
But I won't stop.
"Get out of the way!"
I dive.
Arms out.
Full send.
The kid goes tumbling to the sidewalk—safe.
Me?
Not so much.
Everything slows.
Headlights bloom like twin suns.
Then—impact.
A sudden, brutal symphony.
Metal kisses flesh.
Bones crack like dried twigs.
I bounce.
Once. Twice.
Pain rushes in like a tsunami.
Too much to track.
Too much to hold.
Blood.
So much of it.
Damn. I didn't expect to getting run over by [truck-kun] hurted this much…
Then…
silence.
My mind begins to float—numb, cold,
drifting into the space between one life and the next.
And in that quiet, one final thought curls around my fading consciousness:
This better be worth it.
Darkness swallowed me.