The world had never been kind to Eidolon Kage, so he had learned to move through it like a ghost—unseen, unheard, and untouched. His life was a monotonous cycle of gray: the cold fluorescent hum of a classroom where his name was never called, followed by the grease-stained air of a dishwashing job that paid just enough to keep his ribs from touching his spine.
He didn't mind the hunger. He didn't mind the exhaustion. He had a North Star to guide him through the grime.
"I'll always be on your side, Eidolon."
Her voice was the only melody in a life of static. For that smile—soft, gentle, and deceptively warm—he would have crawled through glass.
Today was her birthday. In his pocket, the small velvet box felt like a lead weight. It wasn't a diamond, just a simple silver band he'd skipped meals for three months to afford. As he stood by the school gates, his heart hammered against his chest like a trapped bird.
He saw her. She was framed by the golden afternoon light, surrounded by the usual crowd of admirers. She looked like a goddess.
"Hey..." he whispered, stepping forward.
She turned. The smile he lived for touched her lips, but it didn't reach her eyes. Before he could offer the box, a shadow loomed over him. It was her brother, a man whose reputation for violence was whispered about in dark alleys.
"Who's this trash?" the brother spat, his voice like grinding stones.
Eidolon's throat went dry. He looked to her for a lifeline, for the "I'm on your side" she had promised.
She didn't move. She didn't flinch. She simply tilted her head, her expression shifting into one of weary disgust. "I don't know, Kenji. He's been stalking me for weeks. It's starting to get creepy."
The world didn't just break for Eidolon; it dissolved.
"What…?" The word was a pathetic croak.
He didn't see the first punch. He only felt the explosion of heat in his jaw and the copper tang of blood filling his mouth. Then came the boots. They rained down with rhythmic, sickening thuds. He curled into a ball, clutching the small box against his stomach as if it could protect him.
Through the gaps in his flailing arms, he looked at her. She wasn't turning away in horror. She was watching with a terrifying, placid curiosity, as if witnessing a bug being crushed under a heel.
"Idiot," she leaned down, her voice a silk ribbon of poison as the gang stepped back to let him bleed out. "You really thought a shadow like you deserved to stand in my light? You were just a footstool, Eidolon. And I'm bored of sitting."
She walked away, her laughter mingling with the fading footsteps of the men who had broken his ribs.
Eidolon lay in the dirt, the silver ring rolling out of his limp fingers into a puddle of his own blood. His vision began to tunnel. The physical pain was a dull roar, but the silence of the street was louder. He was dying in the gray world he had tried so hard to color.
So this is my ending, he thought, a jagged, bitter smile touching his bloody lips. A fool's errand for a lie.
Darkness took him.
A sudden, sharp intake of breath.
Eidolon lunged upward, his hands clawing at the earth. But it wasn't cold asphalt beneath his fingernails—it was lush, cool grass. The air didn't smell like exhaust and grease; it smelled of cedar, ozone, and ancient earth.
He stumbled toward the edge of a nearby stream, his movements fluid and strangely effortless. He looked into the crystal-clear water and froze.
The hollow-cheeked, exhausted boy was gone. In his place was a youth with hair the color of fresh snow and eyes that burned like crushed amethysts.
He didn't cry. He didn't scream. He began to laugh—a low, jagged sound that started in his chest and tore through the quiet forest. It was the sound of a man who had lost everything and realized, for the first time, that meant he was finally free.
"Isekai," he whispered, the word tasting like a foreign curse.
He stood up, the phantom pain of the metal rod still echoing in his skull. He looked at his hands—pale, strong, and unscarred. The boy who was never chosen was dead.
"You wanted a stalker? You wanted a monster?" He looked at his reflection one last time, his purple eyes hardening into flint. "I'm done being the character in your story. From now on, I hold the pen