It was a usual day—those same lazy mornings, those same familiar faces of students and teachers moving like shadows across the halls. Asher sat slouched in his seat, half-listening to the monotone lecture that buzzed through the classroom like a mosquito's hum. His gaze lingered outside the window where the sky stretched wide and indifferent, mocking him with its freedom.
Every tick of the clock seemed louder than the teacher's voice, dragging the day forward at a snail's pace.
"Why is everything so boring?" Asher muttered under his breath, not caring if anyone heard.
Life had become a cycle he despised: wake up, go to school, return home, repeat. A routine so monotonous it felt like it was leeching the life out of him.
At eighteen, Asher was in high school—but he was no ordinary boy. He had been blessed by the heavens, or so people said, as if his very name carried divine favor. A genius born once in a century, handsome to the point of envy, intelligent to the point of alienation.
He lacked nothing. Talent came to him like breath to lungs. Fighting, crafting, designing, building—once his mind latched onto something, mastery followed effortlessly. He was a prodigy so complete that people could only describe him with extremes. They had given him countless titles, but two clung to him most tightly: "The Lazy Genius" and "The Sin of Pride."
And indeed, Asher carried pride like a crown. He knew he stood higher than most. He knew his worth. And that pride made others loathe him—but what of it? He didn't care. He was content in his arrogance, almost amused by the way others struggled in places he strolled through.
Yet, in truth, it was all hollow.
Boredom gnawed at him like a parasite. He had scaled the peaks of knowledge, skill, and recognition, but what lay beyond was only emptiness. Nothing challenged him anymore. Nothing made his heart tremble.
"I wish some kind of apocalypse would happen… so I could finally be free from this boredom," he murmured one evening, sprawled on his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling as if the plaster above would answer him. His voice was calm, yet tinged with an unspoken yearning.
---
And then—
A blinding white light burst before his eyes. For the first time in years, Asher flinched, shielding his face. When he lowered his arm, the familiar ceiling, the walls, the world itself was gone.
He stood on an endless plain beneath a sky so clear it felt unreal, stretching forever without horizon. The air carried no sound, no scent, no trace of life. It was a world stripped bare of everything, and yet it was breathtaking.
"Where am I? Am I dead…? Or is this just a dream?" Asher muttered, though his voice betrayed a calm curiosity rather than fear.
And then it appeared.
A figure stepped forth out of the nothingness—without sound, without warning. One moment there was only emptiness, and the next, it stood there.
Asher froze. His breath caught in his throat. For the first time in years, his carefully sculpted calm cracked. His eyes widened, shock flashing across them like lightning.
"Why… why does he look like that?" Asher whispered, his voice caught between awe and unease. The figure radiated an aura that twisted reality around it, as if Asher wasn't even meant to see this being.
And yet, beneath the shock, something stirred inside him—an emotion he had almost forgotten. Excitement.
---
The figure's voice echoed, not loud, but resonant, as if the plains themselves carried the words.
"You seem more surprised than I expected, Asher."
It paused, studying him with eyes that felt older than the stars.
"The genius of the century—the one who stands at the peak. I offer you my respects."
Asher narrowed his eyes, forcing his breathing back under control. Respect? For me? He tilted his head, smirk tugging at his lips.
"Do I know you?"
The figure shook its head slowly.
"No. But I know you."
The words slithered into him like a secret he wasn't supposed to hear.
"You're bored. You're tired of your world. And I… have come to offer you a chance to change that."
Asher's smirk widened into something sharper. His heart gave a thud against his chest—a strange, forgotten thrill.
"You're saying… you can make my heart race again?"
The figure took a step closer, and the ground itself seemed to ripple.
"Don't you want to know where you truly came from, Asher? Don't you want to know… who I really am?"