The classroom roared with laughter.Not because of a joke. Not because of joy.Because of him.
Akira Tanabe.
The boy with no friends. The boy who spoke too softly. The boy whose lunch was stolen every day, whose desk was always smeared with chalk insults—"Rat." "Trash." "Die already."
Riku, one of his tormentors, slammed Akira's notebook shut.Riku: "Yo, Rat-boy, you writing love poems to yourself again? Nah, wait—" he flipped the pages, sneering "—you're practicing apologies, huh? 'Sorry I exist.'"
The room howled. Akira didn't even try to take it back. He just sat there, jaw tight, heart screaming.
Three years.Three years of this.
Every. Single. Day.
Night.
Rain lashed the streets as Akira trudged home. His body ached, not from work but from fists. His phone buzzed—messages from his mother. Sweet words, asking if he was eating, if he was safe. He typed a lie: "I'm fine."
But he wasn't.
For the thousandth time, Akira asked himself: Why me?What crime had he committed against the universe to be branded the eternal joke?
The headlights came too fast.A horn. A screech.Then—impact.
Bones shattered. Pain bloomed like fire across his chest. The world spun, blurred, and drowned in darkness.
But death… was not the end.
He opened his eyes to silence. The rain was gone. The pain—gone. He lay not on concrete but soft white sand. An ocean stretched endlessly, its waves glowing faintly, as though each ripple carried starlight.
The sky above was fractured, shards of light and shadow colliding in chaotic beauty.
Akira staggered to his feet. His hands were clean—no bruises, no scars. Yet when he looked into the tidepool beside him, the reflection was not his own.
The boy he knew was gone.In his place stood a figure cloaked in shadow and brilliance, eyes burning crimson, faint sigils carved into his skin like scripture of gods long forgotten.
Voice of the Heavens:"Akira Tanabe… the outcast who was broken.Now, rise as… Azeron."
The name seared into his being. His human shell crumbled. His soul expanded. And with it, power like a tidal wave surged through his veins.
He gasped. His hand trembled—then the sea answered. Waves bent unnaturally, pulling upward, swirling around him like servants awaiting command.
Akira: "…Me? A god?"
No.Not Akira.Azeron.
The Island of Nex stretched before him—black stones like ribs piercing the sky, forests that whispered with unseen voices. The air was heavy, alive, charged with malice and reverence.
And then… they came.
Creatures of smoke and bone, crawling from the forest's edge. Eyeless, jawless, their limbs twisted at impossible angles. They shrieked, a sound like metal tearing flesh.
Fear should have seized him. But instead, a cruel smile curved across Azeron's face.
Azeron: "…For three years, I cowered.No more."
He raised his arm. The ocean roared behind him, a colossal wave spiraling upward. With a flick of his fingers, it crashed forward, crushing the first swarm into nothingness.
Their bones dissolved. Their shrieks silenced.
Azeron stared at his dripping hands, trembling not with fear, but with awe.The bullied boy who once prayed to disappear… had become the storm itself.
The Island of Nex was no paradise. It was a trial. A throne wrapped in danger.But for the first time in his life—Akira, no… Azeron—felt alive.
And the world would learn what it meant to mock an outcast who had become a god.