BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP—
The shrill sound of an alarm echoed through a plain, unremarkable room. The first rays of sunlight peeked through the gaps in the curtains, marking the start of another day. It could have been peaceful—if not for that damn alarm.
With a lazy hand, a young man smacked his phone and slowly lifted his head.
Five-thirty. Sharp.
"Ugh…" he groaned, dragging himself upright.
The blanket slipped off, revealing a shirtless body—neither slim nor chubby, definitely not athletic. Just... average. Brown hair, dark eyes, average height. The textbook definition of a nobody.
This was Ângelo de Souza Silva. A complete nobody.
He shuffled across the room and opened the door.
The house was silent. No TV, no clinking dishes, no voices. Just the occasional distant honk and the faint hum of cars outside—normal for a big city.
He headed to the bathroom on autopilot. Opened the door. Locked it.
Routine. Bathroom. Shower. Done.
Now he stood in front of the mirror, a blank expression on his tired face. After a slow exhale, he whispered to himself:
"Alright, Ângelo. Just one more day. All you gotta do is survive until graduation… Just survive."
"Just survive. Just survive…" he mumbled again as he left the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist, heading back to his room to change. Still had time before work. Tossed on a random outfit, wrestled with his messy hair, grabbed his backpack. He'd need to head straight to college after work.
"Tomorrow I'll have the day to myself. Alone... but hey, I'll take it." He chuckled bitterly at his own sad thought.
Downstairs, in the kitchen, a dirty mug sat on the counter next to a plastic bag of bread.
"He could at least make some coffee," he sighed. But this was nothing new.
Even though his father woke up around the same time, the man never waited for him. Never even exchanged a word. He just left. Like the house was empty.
His stepmother and half-sister were probably still asleep. Not that it mattered. The house always felt cold, always distant.
"Sigh... Today's the day" Ângelo muttered as he brewed his own coffee and carried on with his day.
Later...
Crappy job. A barely-paid internship at a restaurant that opened early. His boss? A distant acquaintance of his father. "Lucky," apparently.
Didn't change the fact he was treated like a slave.
Registering, cleaning, stockroom, sometimes even cooking. No pay increase. No gratitude. Just orders.
Another day like any other. A lady complaining her kid's food was too cold, holding a baby while a toddler screamed nearby.
His boss started shouting in the kitchen again.
And with a polite smile, Ângelo served the woman and apologized, even though the kitchen wasn't his responsibility. If hell existed, it probably looked a lot like this place.
College.
What to say about those mind-numbing lectures on economics and business law? Words floated in and out of his brain—none of them made sense.
His father—who barely acknowledged his existence—had insisted he study business. Something about "the right path."
Back then, Ângelo had no dreams, so he agreed.
Now? He regretted it.
Second year in, and this place felt like psychological torture. But at least he didn't get yelled at here.
Maybe chasing that silly childhood dream of living on a quiet farm would've been better. Happier.
"Ahhh… Not like it matters now."
Evening.
Back home, laughter echoed from the living room. Through the front door of their modest two-story house, Ângelo walked quietly into the kitchen, passing by the living room.
His father, stepmother, and half-sister were giggling at something on the TV. The little girl was proudly showing off something in her notebook.
A picture-perfect family.
Only… Ângelo wasn't part of it.
They didn't even notice him walk in—or if they did, they clearly didn't care. He'd grown used to it after all these years.
He reheated the leftover dinner in silence, ate alone, washed the dishes.
Upstairs, he followed his nightly ritual: shower, brush teeth, pajama pants. He hated sleeping in shirts. Finally, he collapsed into bed, a faint smile on his lips.
"Tomorrow, I'll treat myself. Some Japanese food, maybe buy something nice..."
Still smiling, he drifted off to sleep. Just another day. Just another week.
Saturday.
On the bus, Ângelo smiled as he tapped away on his phone, whistling a tune. It was Saturday at last—his one day of freedom. Sure, the bus reeked and was packed tight, but whatever.
He was happy. Thinking about what to eat.
He'd always been a foodie, even without much cash. Loved trying new things.
Once off the bus, he strolled through a lively neighborhood with clear Japanese influence—paper lanterns, signs in kanji, people of Japanese descent, and beautiful women everywhere.
But most importantly: food!
Ângelo could already taste it. He just had to turn one last corner and—
A flash of blue light lit up his face.
What… is that?
A portal?