The bell rang through the classroom, yet the atmosphere remained strangely heavy.
Sitting in her usual seat, Amane kept her eyes fixed on the board without truly seeing it. Her empty gaze betrayed a deep pain that even time had failed to heal. It had already been three months since her boyfriend's accident, yet she still couldn't move on.
Every night, she cried in silence, curled up against her pillow, phone in hand, endlessly scrolling through their pictures together.
Around her, the students whispered. Some muttered her name, others avoided her eyes.
> "She's still pretending everything's fine…"
"Honestly, isn't it her fault he died?"
"Shut up. Didn't you hear what Yuki said? She was there that day—she knows it's not true."
Amane heard them. She heard everything. But she said nothing. She sat motionless, her shoulders slumped. Her downcast eyes seemed to stare at an invisible point, but in truth, they no longer saw anything.
Before her, the world itself felt extinguished. Colors had dulled, sounds were muffled, as if life itself had lost its light.
In her mind, memories surfaced with cruel clarity: she could still picture him at her side, his laughter ringing like a clear bell, his radiant gaze painting the world in brighter hues. With him, every ray of sunlight felt warmer, every breath of wind lighter, each morning carrying a fragile yet precious hope.
But now, those colors had faded. The sky seemed pale—almost sick—and the laughter around her was nothing but a cruel echo of a joy forever denied. Each moment rang hollow, like a bell without a soul.
Yuki, her best friend, watched her with a concern that went beyond friendship.
Amane, sitting there with distant eyes and a face drowned in silent despair, seemed further away than ever—slipping into a world Yuki could not reach.
Hearing the slander, Yuki suddenly burst out:
"Shut it already! Do you think she hasn't suffered enough?!"
The classroom fell silent, heavy.
"I wonder if you're happy, wherever you are…" The thought drifted through Amane's mind.
Then the door opened.
"I'll be gone for a few minutes. Stay quiet until I return," the teacher announced before stepping out.
But the moment he left, a blinding light flared from the ground.
A massive magic circle spread beneath their feet. The walls shook, desks rattled violently.
> "What's going on?!"
"Is this some kind of joke?!"
"Move! Get out of the circle!"
But it was too late. A violent surge of magic swallowed the entire class.
They opened their eyes. This was no longer their world.
A violet sky stretched endlessly above, and in the distance rose a colossal castle, its shadow looming over plains of strange, shimmering grass. Beneath their feet, the ground was etched with glowing runes that pulsed faintly, alive with power.
Amane blinked. The scene around her felt like a broken puzzle, each piece refusing to fit. Her shoes pressed against foreign soil, yet her mind rejected the truth. The air was thick, heavier than it should be, carrying an unfamiliar scent that was almost too vivid. Every sound came distorted—sometimes muffled, sometimes piercingly sharp, as if reality itself was unstable.
> "Where… are we?"
"This has to be a dream, right?!"
From the light of the circle stepped a woman. She was breathtaking in an unsettling way—icy features framed by flowing silver hair, her body draped in a white gown resembling that of a nun. In her hand, she carried a staff crowned with a floating crystal that pulsed gently with light.
"Welcome, chosen ones," she said, her voice calm yet commanding. "You have been summoned to the Kingdom of Elaria. You are our final hope."
The class erupted in chaos. Dozens of voices clashed, panic spilling out in waves. Questions overlapped, fear and disbelief taking hold.
Amane, however, did not speak. Her gaze lingered on the summoning circle etched into the ground, the faint glow reflecting in her empty eyes.
"Listen well," the woman continued. "You have been called here to become heroes. Our world is under the shadow of the Demon King. If you defeat him, the path home will open to you."
A ripple of whispers followed.
> "Heroes? This isn't some anime…"
"I don't care about saving anyone, I just want to go home…"
The priestess raised her hand, and silence fell like a weight.
"Each of you has been granted a unique ability. Focus inward, and your personal status window will appear in your mind. It will show your skills, attributes, and blessings."
One by one, the students obeyed. Gasps and shouts soon filled the air as glowing panels manifested before their eyes.
> "Whoa! Mine says [Scarlet Flame]!"
"I got [EXP x10]! That's insane!"
"No way, mine's even crazier—check this out!"
Excitement spread like wildfire. Yuki let out a cry of joy, her expression radiant as she realized just how powerful her ability was.
Then came Amane's turn.
She sighed softly and closed her eyes.
---
Name: Amane Seiren
Race: Human
Class: Unassigned
Level: 1
HP: 100/100
MP: 5/5
Strength: 6
Agility: 7
Endurance: 4
Magic: 0
Luck: 1
Unique Skill: [Writer]
Effect: Can rename any ability
Status: Unfit for combat
Potential: Unstable
---
A murmur of disappointment swept through the crowd.
> "Seriously? That's it?"
"Not even an attack..."
"Still useless, even here..."
Amane lowered her head. She hadn't expected much, yet the words pierced her heart all the same.
Yuki stared at her, his breath caught in his throat, his fists tightening unconsciously. He couldn't hide the shadow of concern that crossed his face. While the others cheered over their dazzling talents, his gaze never left Amane.
"Amane... are you okay?"
She looked up at him gently. Her expression was calm—too calm, as if carefully sculpted to reveal nothing. A fragile smile flickered on her lips, barely there.
"Yes... don't worry, I'm fine."
Her words hung in the air, sweet but hollow, like a melody played on broken strings. Yuki's chest tightened. He knew she was lying.
In her dim, clouded eyes he saw a glow he recognized all too well—the look of someone carrying a burden in silence.
The priestess resumed speaking.
"You will be divided into three groups according to your potential. Those with exceptional promise will be trained by the royal knights. The others, by veteran soldiers. The weakest will serve in the rearguard."
"What...? You're going to separate us?" Yuki blurted, his voice heavy with injustice.
"Listen well," the priestess replied, firm yet calm, her words carrying the weight of authority. "This division is not punishment. It is a necessary step to strengthen each of you."
"…Okay…" Yuki murmured, hesitant but yielding. "I... I understand... I think..."
Amane, standing slightly apart, felt his subtle tremor. His words accepted reason, but beneath them lingered a thread of doubt—fragile and stubborn.
Groups began to form, and joy sparked among many.
> "Great, we're in the same team!"
"We'll be invincible!"
"Lucky me, I landed with the best!"
Amane was placed in Group Three, alongside others deemed unnecessary.
"It's not fair! We're not trash!" one shouted.
But the priestess remained unmoved.
"Those who refuse may leave… if you can find the way."
Yuki, only a few steps away, looked at Amane with a mix of worry and resolve. His eyes carried the promise of a bond unbroken, though a veil of sadness shadowed his features.
"We'll meet again, Amane," Yuki said firmly, though emotion tinged his tone. "Good luck."
A student from the first group raised a hand.
"Will it be dangerous? Could we... even die?"
"Exactly," the priestess answered without hesitation. "But with proper training, even toppling a nation will be within your reach."
Gasps of awe spread among the chosen, their fear drowned by excitement. Yet unease still lingered in the weaker group's hearts.
The priestess smiled faintly.
"Your group will begin training first. Follow me."
Amane's group was led into a vast circular chamber. At its center glowed another magic circle.
"Step inside," the priestess instructed. They obeyed, suspicion clouding their faces. A bag was tossed into the circle, landing at their feet.
"Equipment. Potions. You'll be teleported for a practical test."
Amane said nothing as she stepped forward. Something was wrong. This wasn't a mere training ground.
The others began to fidget nervously, but before they could react, the priestess whispered:
"Let the judgment of the weak begin."
The circle flared. A dome of magic sealed them in. Too late to escape.
Blinding light engulfed them.
When it faded, they stood in a dungeon—dark, damp, and suffocating. Distant howls echoed through the shadows.
"W-where are we...?"
"This isn't training!"
Panic erupted.
"Calm down, panicking won't help!"
"Help? We're doomed! That witch tricked us! I'll kill her if I ever—!"
Voices clashed, chaos rising. One boy, an otaku by his speech, muttered desperately:
"I-it's like a dungeon... we need to level up to survive..."
"What the hell are you talking about?!"
While they bickered, Amane stood apart, silent, her gaze empty. She let the others argue about plans, strategies, and dangers.
Then—red eyes pierced the darkness.
Mutant wolves, ravenous and wild.
The screams began. Claws ripped through flesh. Spells fizzled and failed. Blood sprayed across the stone.
Amane stood unmoving in the center of the massacre as her companions fell.
"Amane! Say something! What do we do?!"
She finally looked at them. Her eyes were void.
"I'm sorry."
Turning on her heel, she ran.
Behind her, the screams and tearing flesh echoed in the endless dark, but to Amane, they already felt distant—muffled beneath the crushing weight of her thoughts.
Battered and bleeding, she staggered through the dungeon's corridors until she stumbled into a hidden chamber.
A forgotten treasure room. Piles of gold, ancient weapons… and, at its center, a strange necklace resting on a pedestal.
She stopped, trembling, her hand hovering in the air, her gaze lost in the overwhelming sight of riches.
Each artifact seemed to whisper to her—questions without answers, choices she could never make, memories she was forbidden to relive.
The gleam of gemstones reflected in her eyes. For a moment, she thought she heard the voices of her fallen classmates—painful murmurs, threading their way into her mind like poison.
Despair washed over her, heavy and suffocating: guilt for surviving, loneliness deeper than the abyss, and the crushing weakness of being powerless when everyone else had died.
Why am I still alive?
Why am I so weak?
Why couldn't I protect them?
The questions swirled inside her like a merciless storm, tearing her apart from within.
Hot, bitter tears spilled down her cheeks, dripping onto the cold stone floor. The voices of her dead companions echoed in her head—ghosts of accusation, fragments of pain.
And then she heard it.
"Do you wish for your desire to be granted?" whispered an unfamiliar voice from deep within.
"If so… come to me."
Her despairing eyes locked onto the necklace. It called to her, pulling her closer with an invisible thread. Without realizing it, she reached out—and grasped it.
"Yes," the voice breathed, resonating from the jewel itself.
She placed the necklace around her neck. A malignant aura flared, seeping into her very soul.
"This despair… greater than I ever imagined," the voice mused within her.
Her trembling hands then closed around a sacred sword buried among the treasures. She thought of everything she had lost—her family, her friends, Yuki, her old world… and everything she had sworn not to lose again.
"…Thank you," she whispered, tears still flowing.
"Thank you for being in my life. And you, Yuki… forgive me."
With those final words, with no hesitation left, she raised the blade and pierced her own heart.
But fate had not spoken its last word.