Takashi Sato was the definition of ordinary.
He woke up each morning in a plain suburban house, brushed his teeth with the same worn toothbrush, and left for school with a half-eaten piece of toast in his mouth. He wasn't especially tall or short, thin or heavy, handsome or ugly. His teachers didn't praise him, but they didn't scold him either. His classmates didn't notice him unless they needed to borrow a pencil. He was there, and that was enough.
Takashi didn't complain. He wasn't the type to ask for more. His grades hovered around average, his track times placed him in the middle of the pack, and his hobbies were nothing special—video games, reading manga, scrolling on his phone until he got sleepy. He liked fantasy stories, though he never imagined himself in one. Those things happened to other people, not to him.
On a mild spring afternoon, Takashi walked home from school. His backpack straps dug slightly into his shoulders, and his uniform shirt clung uncomfortably to his back. He had forgotten to do the last two questions on his math homework, but the teacher probably wouldn't notice.
He stopped at the corner store, bought a melon soda, and continued down the familiar route that wound past narrow houses, a few vending machines, and a lonely row of cherry blossom trees that had already shed most of their petals. The ground was littered with pale pink, and the air carried the faint, sweet scent of blossoms fading into summer.
Takashi sipped his soda and thought about what might be for dinner. His mother sometimes made curry on Thursdays, and he hoped today was one of those days. He imagined himself at the table, steam rising from the plate, the taste rich and comforting after a long day of doing nothing remarkable.
He didn't notice the truck right away.
It came from the side street ahead, tires squealing as the driver tried to make the turn. Takashi's thoughts were still on curry when the heavy shape of metal and glass rushed into view. His eyes widened, his brain scrambled to understand, but his body was slow to react.
There was no time.
The truck's horn blared, the brakes screamed, and then—impact.
Pain exploded through Takashi's body, sharper and heavier than anything he had ever felt. The melon soda flew from his hand, the can spinning into the gutter. For a fraction of a second, he saw the sky overhead, blue and endless, framed by the branches of the cherry trees.
Then everything went black.
Silence swallowed him.
When Takashi opened his eyes, he wasn't on the road anymore.
He was standing—or maybe floating—in a place that didn't seem real. The ground beneath him was smooth and white, stretching out forever, yet he couldn't feel it under his feet. The air was neither warm nor cold. It was nothing. The sky above was blank, a white void without sun or clouds.
Takashi touched his chest instinctively. No pain. No blood. His school uniform was spotless.
"What… is this?" he muttered. His voice echoed strangely, like it was bouncing around a vast empty hall.
A soft light shimmered in front of him. Slowly, it gathered into a shape—a person.
The figure became clearer: a woman with long, silver hair that seemed to flow like water, and eyes that glowed golden, calm but distant. She wore robes that shifted between white and pale blue, their patterns unreadable and divine.
Takashi's breath caught.
The woman regarded him with a gentle expression. Her lips moved, and her voice filled the void, smooth and steady.
"Welcome, Takashi Sato."
His throat tightened. "You… know my name?"
"I know much about you," she said. "You lived an ordinary life. You dreamed small dreams. And now… you have died."
The words hit like another impact, though this time there was no pain.
"Died?" Takashi whispered. His mind replayed the blare of the horn, the screech of tires, the crushing force of metal. "The truck…"
"Yes," the woman said simply. "Your life in that world has ended. But your journey has not."
Takashi swallowed hard. His hands trembled. "If I'm dead… then what is this? Am I in heaven?"
The woman shook her head faintly. "Not heaven. Not hell. This is the place between. And from here, I will send you onward."
"Onward… where?"
Her eyes seemed to shine brighter. "To another world. A world that needs a hero."
Takashi's mouth opened, but no words came. Another world? A hero? That wasn't real. That was something from the manga on his shelf, the games on his console. Not something that happened to someone like him.
Yet the woman stood there, radiant and unshaken, her voice certain.
"You have been chosen, Takashi Sato," she said. "Chosen to begin again."
The endless void was silent, except for the sound of his quickened breathing.
Takashi clenched his fists slowly, as if to reassure himself he was still there. His heart pounded. He couldn't tell if it was fear or excitement.
Another world. A second life.
And him, an ordinary boy, standing at the edge of it.