Sora Akiyama had always been ordinary. He was just another 19-year-old, drifting through life with no purpose, no direction, and no idea what the future held for him. In the bustling streets of Tokyo, he was nothing but a shadow among millions. A college student, half-asleep through every lecture, barely scraping by, and working a dead-end part-time job to pay for instant ramen and rent.
But there were days when Sora dreamed. Days when he'd lie on his futon, stare up at the cracked ceiling, and imagine what life could be. Maybe he could be a hero. Maybe he could be someone that people looked up to, someone powerful, someone who mattered.
But reality had other plans.
The night it all happened, Tokyo had been drowning in rain. The downpour was heavy, pounding the streets like an angry scream of danger. Sora was rushing back to his apartment, his umbrella flipping inside out as he sprinted across the crosswalk. That was when he saw it — the headlights barreling toward him. There was no time to move, no time to scream. Just the blinding glare and the sickening crunch of metal and bone.
Darkness.
And then... light.
*
Sora's eyes snapped open, his body drenched in sweat. His heart hammered against his ribs like a caged beast. He stared up at a wooden ceiling, unfamiliar and creaking. The scent of herbs and incense filled the air. His head spun as memories blurred together, the accident, the crash, and... her.
"Ability Stolen: Soap Conjuring," a sultry, mocking voice rang in his mind, and a dark screen flashed in front of his eyes.
[System Notification]
[ Ability Stolen: Soap Conjuring — Conjure a bar of soap at will. ]
Soap conjuring? Sora swallowed, his eyes narrowing. "Are you kidding me?" he muttered, his voice a low, frustrated hiss. "What the hell am I supposed to do with that?"
The system interface flickered away, and Sora's breath came in shallow pants. He turned his head slowly, his eyes landing on the girl beside him.
She was asleep, her chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. Dark hair spilled over the pillow, framing a face that was deceptively angelic. Sora's cheeks flared crimson. The memory of what he'd done, of what he'd had to do, crashed into him like a blast.
He hadn't wanted this. Not in any lifetime. Not even in the worst of his dreams. Yet here he was, lying next to a girl he barely knew, the heat of their bodies still lingering in the sheets. And all for... soap?
"Just how many more..." Sora bit his bottom lip, forcing the thought down. If he was going to get stronger, if he was going to survive in this insane world where mages ruled and power was everything, he'd have to keep going. Keep stealing. Keep... seducing.
With a heavy exhale, he slid out of bed, careful not to disturb her. The wooden floor creaked beneath his feet as he found his clothes, scattered like discarded dreams across the room. He pulled on his shirt, the fabric sticking to his damp skin, then reached for his pants, slipping one leg in, then the other.
"Mmm..." a low, sleepy groan sounded behind him. Sora's body stiffened, his hands stilling at his belt buckle. He glanced over his shoulder, eyes locking onto hers as she blinked drowsily up at him. Her eyelids fluttered, her expression foggy. "Leaving already?"
"Yeah," Sora said, his voice rough and forced. "I've got... things to do."
"Right..." She let out a breathy sigh, eyes drifting shut again. "You were good... at least, I think so..."
Sora said nothing, his throat tight. He finished buckling his pants, his fingers shaking. Without another word, he turned and moved toward the door, his footsteps soft and cautious, as if he could sneak out of the mess he'd made.
He closed the door behind him, the chill of the hallway air hitting him like a slap. Sora leaned back against the door, eyes shutting tight, fists clenched at his sides. How many more times would he have to do this? How many more people would he have to touch, to use, to steal from just to get a little stronger?
He forced his feet to move, one heavy step at a time, until he reached the wooden staircase leading down to the tavern. The scent of ale and roasted meat wafted up to meet him, and the sound of raucous laughter rang through the hallway. He swallowed, sliding his hand over the banister as he descended, each step creaking under his feet.
When he stepped into the bar, he plastered on a grin, the kind that didn't reach his eyes. His gaze swept the room and landed on a familiar blonde sitting with a group of men, a large mug gripped in her hand. Asami.
Her long, sunlit hair tumbled over her shoulders in loose waves, her cheeks flushed from drinking. Despite the casual, rugged look of the room, Asami radiated a confidence that made her seem untouchable, powerful in her own way. And she was one of the few people Sora had managed to call a friend since arriving in this world.
Her eyes snapped to him instantly, and she smirked, leaning back in her chair. "Well, well. Look who decided to join the living. Where'd you run off to, Sora? Sneaking off to kiss a princess?"
Sora's jaw tightened, the fake smile slipping just a fraction. "None of your business."
Asami threw her head back and laughed, the sound loud and unapologetic. "Touchy, touchy. Guess the princess wasn't all that, huh?" she said, and her words rang around the room, drawing a few chuckles from nearby tables.
Before Sora could retort, a heavy arm swung over his shoulder, yanking him against a broad chest. "Oi, there he is!" Daren boomed, his breath reeking of ale as he pulled Sora closer. "What's up, stinky? Smells like you rolled around in a pigsty. Or did you forget to wipe?"
Sora grimaced, shoving Daren's arm off with more force than necessary. "Maybe it's just your breath, idiot."
"Ohhh!" Asami cackled, slapping her thigh as the other guys whooped and hollered. "He got you, Daren!" she called, pointing at Daren, who was still grinning like a fool.
Daren clutched his heart dramatically, swaying in his seat. "Ahhh! I'm wounded! Sora, my man, that one hurt!"
Sora forced a tight laugh, his jaw clenched. They were all having the time of their lives, knocking back drinks, throwing jokes, wasting time. Meanwhile, he was still thinking about that poster. The low-paying job they could all be doing right now instead of getting drunk and acting like idiots.
But he had to keep up the act. Stay civil. Play nice. Because right now, these losers were all he had.