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Apparently If i Don't Save The World, I Just Die!

FoolishSquid
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Synopsis
Miyazaki Yoru wasn’t a hero. But standing up for someone got him expelled, disowned, and eventually killed. When he died saving a stranger’s child, he thought it was over. It wasn’t. He wakes up in a fantasy world—inside the body of a suicidal dropout named Cane. His stats are garbage. His only talent? [I’m Crazy] – Gets stronger the more unhinged he acts. Also: he’s unnaturally attached to his katana. Don’t ask. The best part? He’s now guided by a very helpful (read: sarcastic and passive-aggressive) system. And if he fails its first mission? He just dies. Again. Yoru promised he’d stop saving people. But in a world this messed up, even minding your own business might just kill you. Note: Hi! I’m a new writer on Webnovel, and your support means everything whether it’s unlocking chapters, voting with power stones, or just leaving a comment. Thank you so much for reading. Let’s grow this story together! Cover made by: Shyrlo
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Chapter 1 - The Cost of Kindness

Miyazaki Yoru had never considered himself a hero. He was one of those students in school who just passed unnoticed—quiet and polite, overly considerate at times. Being in such a school like Higashi, indifference might really have been the social currency. Yoru spent his goodwill recklessly, but never asked for anything in return. No one hated him, and yet nobody truly understood him either. In fact, perhaps not being understood was worse.

In the heart of Saitama was situated the forty-eight modest mat two-storied house where he lived. It was his father who went working and came home late from his work, a logistics manager at Hanekawa Freight, and his mother was a kind woman having tired eyes and warm hands who managed a small accounting office. They did not have a lot of money, but the house was always warm. Meals were always shared, and no birthday was ever forgotten, although the parents were busy and they also never forgot to come home and ask him how his day had been. It was the sort of love that expected nothing in return.

That meant everything to Yoru.

The usual early-morning noise filtered through the corridors of Higashi High School. Grey figures in students' uniforms ebbed and conversed, laughed, and occasionally yawned in exhaustion. Posters of clubs adorned the walls. Nobody noticed them, Yoru thought as he slipped past them silently, his kendo bag slung over his shoulder, rediscovering the practiced invisibility that had frustrated teenage curiosity so much.

He saw it.

Just on the other side of the gymnasium, there was a crumpled figure sitting on the concrete. His bag lay a distance away, with textbooks and a bento box now in pieces, rice and pickles all over the dirt. Three other boys stood around him, laughing. The sounds etched into the still morning air.

Yoru hesitated.

He knew them.

The first was Narita Kaito, one of the most popular second-year students in the school and that year's ace on the baseball team. Hot-tempered and arrogant. Fujimoto Ren was all noise and no restraint. And then, Kagawa Shun: a smiling face to the world who was always pretending to be a bystander.

They had no reason for it. Just Daichi Sakai—a first-year, very small and soft-spoken.

Students on the other side of the courtyard noticed Yoru as he came to a stop. He threw his bag down.

"Oi."

Very low. So calm it was too calm.

All three boys turned.

Narita snorted, "So it's the wooden sword hero."

Yoru went forward. He didn't raise his voice, nor did he threaten them. But his gaze was icy cold.

"You've had your fun. Walk. Away."

Fujimoto snorted. "Or what?"

In response, Yoru reached into his bag and pulled out his shinai, the wooden practice sword. Its surface was smooth with wear from the many hours he had spent in the dojo.

He pointed it at Narita and the others and the boy on the ground, who still had not raised himself.

Narita sneered. "You think we're scared of a STICK?" "No," Yoru said, raising his shinai and assuming a stance. "But you'll regret underestimating THIS STICK."

The fight began, and it didn't last long. Yoru didn't fight like a typical high school student; he fought like a samurai in the modern era. His movements were precise, swift, and relentless. The air seemed to split each time he swung his sword. The first cry of pain came from Kagawa as Yoru's shinai struck his shoulder. Fujimoto soon followed, doubled over in agony from a jab to the stomach. Narita tried to attack, but Yoru dodged and landed a precise blow to Narita's thigh, sending him crashing to the ground.

When it was all over, the trio lay on the ground, groaning, cursing, and breathless. Yoru ignored them and knelt beside Daichi, who was trying to sit up, his lip bloody and wincing in pain.

"You're okay," Yoru said, offering his hand. Daichi was taken aback but accepted it.

"They won't bother you again," Yoru said. "But you can't keep running. You need to stand up for yourself, or they'll keep bullying you." Daichi listened, nodding slowly, as if trying to convince himself.

Soon after, Daichi thanked Yoru and bid him farewell. "I'll try to defend myself, Yoru-san," Daichi said, his still-fearful eyes trying to muster some courage.

The next day, Yoru came to school expecting consequences for his actions. Maybe a lecture. Maybe punishment. But instead, he saw an ambulance. Amidst the whispers and murmurs of the students.

Sakai Daichi had faced his bullies that morning. Alone. No one knew what happened, only that he was found unconscious at the bottom of the eastern staircase, his head bleeding, and he wasn't moving.

By noon, news of Daichi's condition spread – the bad news was that Daichi was in a coma.

Yoru's chest felt tight with disbelief at what he heard. He demanded an investigation from his teachers, but all he got was rejection, citing bureaucratic reasons. "There are no cameras in that part of the building." "There are no direct witnesses." "We can't act without evidence." "You might as well give up." All the teachers said the same thing – rejection after rejection.

Yoru felt something was off, like all the teachers were trying to cover up the case.

The school was a fortress of apathy. To make matters worse, the ones Yoru suspected of doing it, Narita and his friends, were still there, laughing and joking around. Yoru sat in class, watching them laugh as if nothing had happened.

Yoru could only vent his emotions on himself, clenching his fist so hard that the pen in his hand snapped.

That night, Yoru's mind was a mess. Anger burned in his empty stomach. He couldn't sleep, his mind replaying the image of Daichi's face - the person he had tried to help. The blood, the sound of a body crashing down the stairs... it all felt like it was happening all over again.

Unable to sleep, Yoru went to the minimarket to grab some essentials. As he finished shopping, he walked past the alley behind the store and heard familiar voices.

"...that idiot really thought he could fight back." "...we should've pushed him harder."

Yoru changed direction, abandoning his plan to head home. Instead, he followed the voices into the alley. With all his might, he smashed into them, his fists connecting with their noses. Screams echoed through the alley. There was no discipline or restraint left in him - just pure rage and emotion unleashed on the people who had brutalized his junior.

In the end, they lay there, a bunch of broken noses, twisted fingers, and battered bodies with shattered pride. Yoru didn't even realize what he had done; the consequences unfolded rapidly. He got expelled without a hearing or a chance to defend himself.

The news of what he did spread like wildfire, further than he could've imagined. That night, his father's boss called, the conversation dripping with condescending power and coldness. The silence that followed was deafening. And then the layoffs started.

First, his father lost his job. Then his mother, whose accounting firm quietly distanced itself. No one mentioned Narita Daiko name - it wasn't necessary. The man was a king with a hundred arms, controlling media, logistics, finance... he had a piece of everything. His son got humiliated and beaten up by someone who was nobody, and revenge was inevitable.

Job offers for his parents vanished. Friends stopped calling. Neighbors turned away, like the house Yoru lived in was empty. Bills started piling up.

His father began drinking. His mother stopped smiling. Dinner, once filled with warmth, became a silent affair. And then came the words Yoru had anticipated. "Do you think justice is more important than family?" "Do you think you're a hero?" "We never raised you to be so reckless."

They stopped mentioning his name, referring to him as "he" or "him". "He's the one who ruined our lives." With cold gazes, they watched Yoru, who could only sit silently, absorbing the pain.

One night, they told him to leave. "You're not safe here," his mother said, her voice distant. "And we're not safe with you."

Yoru packed in silence, grabbing what he needed. He stared at his shinai, the one he'd used to train and the cause of all this chaos. He wanted to lash out and destroy it, but it was too late. Yoru left without looking back or saying goodbye.

He had no idea where to go, no clear direction. Given everything that had happened, he decided to visit the hospital. Room 217. Daichi lay still, machines beeping softly in the background. A nurse nodded and left him alone.

Yoru sat beside the bed, gazing at Daichi's pale face, the boy's head wrapped in bandages. He had visited Daichi several times, when Daichi's parents couldn't be there. Yoru had never seen Daichi's parents; the nurses said Daichi's mother was too busy working to pay the hospital bills.

Yoru's emotions had reached their peak. He couldn't hold back anymore. "You've ruined my life," he whispered. "I helped you, but what did I get in return? I lost everything."

His voice cracked. "I'm stupid. I thought... if I fought back, if I did something useful... maybe it would've been different if I had just let you get beaten up..." The words wouldn't come out right, but Yoru couldn't stop them.

He stared at the ceiling. "I hate this world."

Just then, the door creaked open, and a woman entered slowly. She wore a worn-out sweater, her hair tied back, and dark circles under her eyes. She looked like she hadn't slept in weeks.

"Excuse me, are you... Yoru-kun?" she asked.

Yoru turned slowly, his eyes swollen from lack of sleep, his jaw tense from holding back. He nodded slightly, unsure of what expression to show.

The woman bowed. "I'm Daichi's mother. I... I heard Daichi mention your name the day before the incident. He said he wanted to change for himself because of you, because you save him."

Her voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. She stepped forward, clutching her bag strap as if it was the only thing holding her up.

"I just wanted to say... thank you. For helping him."

She paused, her lips trembling. "I've been working non-stop. I didn't even know what happened. I couldn't be there for him."

Her voice cracked, and something inside her seemed to break. Her knees hit the floor.

She tried to bow, her forehead almost touching the ground. "I'm sorry... for putting this burden on you... Thank you. Really... thank you..."

Yoru moved reflexively, catching her before she fell further. "Please, don't do this," he whispered, his voice unsteady.

She cried on his chest, her sobs growing louder and shaking both of them.

In that fragile moment, Yoru's thoughts returned to the words he had just spoken. "You've ruined my life."

The anger, the bitterness, the weight of everything he had lost felt far away now, fragile compared to the genuine gratitude that pressed on his chest. His tears were real. His pain was honest. And her thanks... touched him deeper than anything had in weeks.

He felt something inside him loosen. His throat tightened again, not from bitterness, but from relief. From guilt. From something heavier than both.

He closed his eyes. "I wanted to hate you," he whispered. "I thought... if I hated you, this wouldn't hurt so much."

He looked at her with blurry eyes, confused. "But I couldn't. I should be able to, like a normal person. I tried to lash out, but I still can't hate. I'm just..." His voice cracked. He turned away. "I'm just tired."

The woman placed her trembling hand on Yoru's shoulder. "You were there when no one else would," she said. "That's something I'll never forget."

Yoru didn't say anything; he couldn't. All he could do was cry, for the first time without shame, his loud sobs echoing through the room.

"I don't regret saving Daichi that day," he said it with honest feeling. "I don't regret what I did."

That night, Daichi's mother took Yoru out for a simple dinner. There was nothing fancy - just minimarket onigiri. They sat on a quiet park bench under streetlights, the silence between them finally feeling peaceful.

As they walked back to the station, a faint sound came from across the street.

A ball bouncing. The ball rolled across the intersection onto the sidewalk. Small footsteps followed.

A little boy ran after the ball. "Atsushi!" a voice called out.

The traffic light turned red. From the left, a truck came, its engine roaring as it turned too fast. Yoru dropped everything. He only had his shinai in his hand, his body moved before his mind did. He sprinted toward the boy.

The boy reached for the ball. The truck honked. The tires screeched.

Yoru leaped and used his shinai to push the boy out of the way of the truck. The boy fell hard onto the sidewalk, rolling to safety.

As Yoru looked up, he saw the truck's headlights filling his vision. His heart felt calm. Still. He smiled.

Then everything went white.