Flames raged across the throne room, licking up shattered obsidian pillars and crawling along the cracked black floor. The air smelled of smoke and sulfur, thick with miasma seeping from every fracture in the stone. The Demon Lord’s sheer presence pressed down on Noah like invisible chains, each breath heavier than the last.
“Damn… these flames are spreading fast. They’re everywhere.” Noah narrowed his eyes, heat stinging his skin. “If I don’t end this now, the whole place is going to swallow us.”
Behind the Demon Lord, the princess strained against fading silver chains.
“Noah! Be careful!” she cried, fear and hope tangled in her voice.
A low laugh rolled through the chamber.
“I commend you for coming this far, young hero,” the Demon Lord said, flames coiling around his blade. “But coming here to save her? Thinking you could defeat me? This is the end of the line for you.”
Noah exhaled slowly.
“Funny,” he said, adjusting his grip on the golden sword. “That’s coming from someone covered in scratches and panting like he just ran a marathon.”
The Demon Lord’s eyes flared.
Noah took a vial of amber liquid from his inventory — a Potion of Prowess. It grants +15 points to STR and DEX for sixty seconds.
He uncorked it with his teeth and downed it in one swallow. Heat surged through his veins — not burning, but sharpening. The world slowed just a fraction.
The empty vial shattered against the stone.
Immediately afterward Noah began casting support buffs on himself.
“Attack Up!”
“Defense Up!”
“Speed Up!”
“Magic Surge!”
Blue sigils ignited around him, lightning beginning to crawl across his armor like living veins.
The Demon Lord’s smirk faltered.
“You fight as a warrior… yet you chant support spells mid-combat?” His voice dropped lower.
“How much magic do you possess? That kind of mana pool is unnatural. It isn’t human.”
Noah’s eyes sparked electric blue.
“I’ve been a one-man party my whole life.”
He moved.
Left feint — right slash.
Steel rang. Sparks exploded.
The Demon Lord blocked, but Noah was faster now. A shallow cut along the thigh. A slice across the forearm. A thin line carved across the demon’s cheek.
Another exchange — another cut.
The Demon Lord’s grin disappeared.
“You are not enough!” the Demon Lord roared, swinging downward with crushing force.
Their blades collided, magic grinding against magic. Flames poured from the Demon Lord’s greatsword while lightning crawled violently along Noah’s golden edge.
“I don’t care if I’m enough,” Noah shouted through clenched teeth.
“You’re going down one way or another!”
The Demon Lord thrust out his free hand, summoning a roaring sphere of condensed hellfire. It burned dark crimson at its core, flames spiraling inward like a miniature sun.
Noah answered immediately, electricity snapping violently into his palm. A dense sphere of kinetic lightning formed, humming with unstable charge.
They hurled them.
Flame met lightning midair.
The collision detonated in a blinding flash, a shockwave tearing across the chamber and forcing both backward several steps. Stone shattered. Fire scattered. The princess screamed.
Smoke began to roll in between them.
Without hesitation, Noah burst forward again, boots cracking the floor beneath him. Lightning cloaked his body like a storm.
“I’m going to end you in a flash, Demon Lord! You’ll regret the day you took her hostage!”
He thrust straight for the Demon Lord’s chest — for the place where his heart pulsed beneath infernal armor.
The Demon Lord caught the blade with both hands.
Flames exploded around his grip as he stopped the sword inches from his core.
“Is that truly your final strike?” the Demon Lord sneered, pushing the blade slowly away. “You disappoint me, hero.”
Noah smirked.
“Not even close.”
In a flicker of blue light, he vanished — teleporting low, just beneath the Demon Lord’s guard.
The golden sword slipped from his grip.
From his inventory, a second blade materialized in his hand in a burst of light.
The Demon Lord’s eyes widened — just a fraction too late.
Noah drove the new sword upward in a brutal thrust straight into the Demon Lord’s chest, piercing through armor and into the core beneath.
The Demon Lord gasped — a raw, choking sound.
“How… could I fall for that…?”
Noah leaned close, lightning crackling between them.
“I’ve got a whole bag of tricks,” he said quietly. “And honestly? I’m shocked you fell for that.”
Rage twisted the Demon Lord’s face.
“You insolent—”
His body began to fracture, cracks of fire racing across his skin. Flames erupted outward as his form destabilized.
With a final roar of fury and anguish, the Demon Lord dissolved into ash.
Silence fell.
A large purple gem — his core — dropped from the fading inferno and bounced once against the obsidian floor before settling at Noah’s feet.
The flames began to die. The miasma thinned, and the throne room grew quiet.
The throne room stood in ruin. Ash drifted lazily through the air. The last of the flames flickered out against blackened stone.
Noah exhaled.
The lightning around him faded. His buffs wore off one by one, the blue sigils dissolving into nothing.
Behind him — a faint metallic clink.
He turned.
The silver chains around the princess shimmered once… then cracked. One link. Two. Then all of them shattered and fell to the floor.
She stepped forward slowly — carefully, as if the world might break again.
“You… you really did it,” she said softly.
Noah gave a half shrug, trying not to look as winded as he felt.
“Yeah. Guess I did.”
She smiled.
That same smile — the one that made his chest tighten for reasons that had nothing to do with battle.
Up close, the resemblance hit harder. The same eyes. The same soft way she tucked her hair behind her ear.
Weird.
Why does she look so—
No.
Focus.
She closed the distance between them. Close enough that he could feel her warmth through the smoke-cooled air.
“You came back for me,” she whispered.
“Of course I did.” His voice came out steadier than he expected.
Her fingers lightly curled into the front of his shirt.
His brain immediately stopped functioning.
The throne room was silent now. No demons. No flames. Just the two of them.
She rose slightly on her toes. His heart pounded louder than the battle had.
Her face tilted up. His leaned down.
Their breath mingled.
For a split second — he thought:
“Maybe this time it won’t—”
BEEP.
BEEP.
BEEP.
Noah lunged forward—
And headbutted drywall.
THUD.
“—OW!”
He snapped upright in bed, clutching something tight against his chest.
Not silk. Not armor. Not a princess.
A pillow.
He blinked, forehead still throbbing.
The alarm clock kept screaming on his nightstand.
He looked down, noticing he was hugging the pillow like it had just confessed its feelings to him.
Silence…
“…You’ve got to be kidding me.”
He slowly released it. The cracked ceiling stared back at him. No throne room. No lightning. No princess. Just faint morning light slipping through cheap blinds.
He rubbed his forehead.
“…Why does it always end right there?”
The alarm kept beeping.
He glared at it.
“I literally saved the princess, and beat the demon lord.”
BEEP.
“And I still can’t beat a five-dollar alarm clock.”
He slammed it off.
The room fell quiet.
For a second, he just sat there.
Then —
He flopped backward into his mattress, staring at the ceiling once more.
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
“…Unbelievable.”
he ceiling didn’t stare back heroically.
It had a crack shaped like a lightning bolt — as if it were mocking him.
Noah rolled onto his side. Blanket half-twisted around his leg. Pillow exiled to the floor.
He rubbed his forehead again.
Still sore.
“…Great.”
He reached for his phone.
07:06 AM.
School.
Of course.
He dragged himself upright. The small, mostly empty apartment greeted him with silence. Thin walls. Cheap desk and gaming PC. His uniform hanging from a hook by the door.
No glowing sigils.
No miasma.
Just dust floating in morning light.
He shuffled toward the bathroom. Bare feet against cold tile. The mirror light flickered once before turning on.
He stared at his reflection.
Messy black hair.
Blue eyes.
A faint red mark forming on his forehead.
He leaned closer.
“…You almost had it,” he muttered.
He picked up his toothbrush, applied toothpaste, and began brushing. Mint foam gathered at the corner of his mouth as a displeased look slowly formed on his face.
His eyes stayed locked on the mirror.
That look from the dream.
The princess.
That smile.
He paused mid-brush.
“…She really did look like—”
He stopped himself.
Spit.
Rinsed.
Turned off the faucet.
“Yeah. Sure. Because that makes sense.”
He wiped his mouth. Straightened his hair. Pulled on his school uniform. Threw his bag over one shoulder.
He looked at himself one more time.
No lightning cloak.
No golden sword.
Just a regular guy.
“…Level zero.”
He flipped off the bathroom light and headed toward the door.
Then he stopped.
On the wall hung a picture with his full name inscribed on the bottom of the frame –
It read, “Loved always, Noah J. Blackwell.”
A gift from his parents.
In the picture was his mother — long, beautiful dark hair flowing over her shoulders, blue eyes bright in the sunlight. She wore a simple green sundress. In the photo she was lifting him up in her arms.
He couldn’t have been older than seven.
His father — short dark hair, green eyes, wearing an obnoxiously bright blue Hawaiian shirt — was mid-run toward them after setting the camera timer. The picture had gone off too early.
Dad was half in frame.
Holding up a peace sign.
Completely unprepared.
Completely smiling.
It was technically a failed picture.
But it was perfect.
His dad had always been that way.
Silly.
Unapologetic.
And somehow, his mom fell for that immature charm.
They believed in living in the moment.
In finding beauty in small things.
Even mistakes.
A small smile cracked across Noah’s face. A quiet scoff escaped him, followed by a soft laugh.
“I miss you guys so much…”
Sadly, they both had perished in a car accident when he was eight. Noah was looked after by his uncle, who never really seemed to care. When Noah was old enough to know better, he vanished never to be seen again taking what money Noah had left from his parents. Noah has done what he can to get by up till now.
He adjusted the strap of his bag.
“I’m headed to school. Then work later.”
A small sigh.
“Wish me luck.”
He touched two fingers to his lips, then gently pressed them to the corner of the frame.
“I love you both.”
He stepped out.
Closed the door behind him.
The hallway outside his apartment smelled faintly of old carpet and someone’s burnt toast.
Noah adjusted the strap of his bag and started down the stairs.
Morning air hit him the second he stepped outside.
Cool.
Quiet.
A few cars rolled past.
The sky was pale blue, streaked with thin clouds drifting lazily overhead.
He shoved his hands into his pockets and started walking.
Power lines stretched across the street like tangled wires from some unfinished spell.
No floating castles.
No demon kings.
Just street signs and traffic lights.
His phone buzzed.
He frowned.
Unknown number.
“…That’s never good.”
He answered.
“Hello?”
A breath on the other end.
Then—
“Mr. Blackwell.”
No greeting.
Just pressure.
Noah slowed his pace.
“Morning, Mr. Hayashi.”
“It is not a good morning.”
Noah already knew where this was going.
“You are past due on your rent.”
A couple students passed him, laughing about something trivial.
He stepped aside near a vending machine.
“I know,” Noah said quietly.
“You said that last week.”
“I know. But I just got hired at the bookstore. My first paycheck comes in tomorrow. I can bring it to you tomorrow evening. I promise.”
Silence.
Then—
“If I do not have it by tomorrow,” the landlord said firmly, “we will have a different conversation.”
The line went dead.
Noah stared at the blank screen for a second.
“…Great.”
He slid the phone back into his pocket and resumed walking.
One-man party.
Sure.
Rent overdue.
Grades slipping.
Part-time job.
Midterms.
He flexed his fingers.
They didn’t spark with lightning.
They just felt tired.
The school gates came into view.
Students filtered in through them.
Noise.
Movement.
Normal life.
He blended into the crowd.
Always did.
—
The classroom smelled like pencil shavings and cheap air freshener.
Rows of desks.
Chalkboard at the front.
Test papers face down on every desk.
Noah slid into his seat near the back window.
Sunlight cut across his desk.
"Midterm Evaluation."
"Forty-five minutes."
"No talking."
"No phones."
The teacher’s voice droned on.
Noah picked up his pen.
Read the first question.
Then the second.
The words blurred.
Not because they were hard.
Because his mind wasn’t there.
It drifted.
Uninvited.
Back to the throne room.
Back to the lightning.
Back to her.
He glanced sideways.
Three rows over.
There she was.
Aoi Takamine.
Head tilted slightly as she read.
Brown hair falling neatly past her shoulders.
Biting the end of her pencil when she concentrated.
That same soft expression.
His chest tightened.
“…Unbelievable,” he muttered.
He shifted his test paper upward slightly.
Slid a small sketch pad over it.
Just enough to cover what he was really doing.
His pen moved.
Hair first.
Then the eyes.
He knew those eyes too well.
A careful curve of her smile.
A slight shadow beneath her lashes.
He refined the jawline.
Adjusted the bangs.
Shaded lightly.
He didn’t even realize how long he’d been drawing.
“Mr. Blackwell.”
His pen froze.
He didn’t look up.
“…Yeah?”
The teacher stood beside his desk.
Arms crossed.
Expression flat.
“Would you care to explain why your test appears to have eyelashes?”
A few quiet laughs rippled through the room.
Noah looked up slowly.
“…Creative multitasking?”
More laughter.
The teacher didn’t smile.
“This is the third time.”
Silence settled heavier than the joke had.
“Third time you have chosen to doodle during an exam.”
Noah leaned back slightly.
“It’s not like I don’t know the material.”
“Then prove it.”
The sketch pad was lifted.
Held just high enough.
His crush shifted slightly in her seat.
Their eyes almost met.
He looked away first.
“Principal’s office,” the teacher said calmly. “After class.”
The sketch pad was placed back down.
Face down.
Noah stared at the test paper underneath.
Rent overdue.
Principal meeting.
Grades falling.
First paycheck tomorrow.
And somehow—
All he could think about—
Was the girl three rows over.
And the battles waiting for him at night.
He picked up his pen again.
This time—
He began to fill out answers. Upon making it to number 3 a loud shout broke the silence.
“Time!”
The word landed like a quiet execution.
Chairs scraped against tile. Papers shuffled forward in neat, obedient stacks.
Noah stared at question three.
He knew the answer.
He’d known it last week.
He just hadn’t written it down.
His pen hovered.
Didn’t move.
“Mr. Blackwell.”
He stood.
Walked to the front.
Placed the half-empty test on the desk.
He didn’t look at the teacher, and
didn’t need to.
He could feel the disappointment without eye contact.
Three questions answered.
Forty-five minutes wasted.
Again.
He stepped into the hallway, adjusting his red tie against the collar of his white shirt. The fabric suddenly felt tighter than usual. Suffocating.
His bag shifted on his shoulder as he walked.
And behind him—
Something slipped free.
A soft flutter of paper against tile.
He didn’t notice.
But someone else did.
Three rows back, she lingered at her desk a moment longer than she needed to.
Her eyes fell to the floor.
To the page.
She recognized the sketch instantly.
Not because it was labeled.
Because it was unmistakably her.
Not a rough outline.
Not a careless doodle.
Careful lines.
Deliberate shading.
The small way her bangs curved toward her cheek.
The detail in her eyes — the way they softened at the corners when she smiled.
Her breath caught.
He’d been watching.
Not in a creepy way.
In a… noticing way.
Her fingers hesitated before lifting the page.
The paper was still warm from his hand.
She glanced toward the hallway where he’d disappeared.
Then back at the drawing.
A faint warmth spread across her cheeks.
“…You idiot,” she murmured under her breath, though there was no bite in it.
If he could draw her like this…
Why couldn’t he just talk to her?
Her thumb brushed lightly over the edge of the paper.
Careful.
As if it might crease.
She folded it once.
Neatly.
And slipped it into her bag.
Not as evidence.
As something to keep.
She looked toward the doorway again.
And for just a second—
She wished he would turn around...
The principal’s office felt colder than the hallway.
Not temperature.
Atmosphere.
Noah stood in front of the heavy wooden desk. Hands at his sides. Shoulders straight.
The principal removed his glasses slowly.
“This is the third exam.”
Noah said nothing.
“Your teachers have reported a pattern.”
Still nothing.
“You are intelligent, Mr. Blackwell. Which makes this behavior difficult to tolerate.”
"You are also 18 this year i see, and these grades are crucial for your future ."
Noah’s jaw tightened slightly.
“All this goofing off is causing your grades to fall.”
Pause.
“If this continues, you will be suspended.”
Another pause.
“And if your performance does not improve by the end of the term, we will begin discussing whether repeating the year is necessary.”
Held back.
The words settled heavy in his chest.
He pictured another year in these same halls.
Another year of whispers.
Another year of—
He swallowed.
“I understand,” he said quietly.
“I hope you do.”
Dismissed.
The restroom lights buzzed overhead.
Noah leaned over the sink and splashed cold water onto his face.
The chill helped.
A little.
He looked up.
White shirt.
Red tie.
A student.
Not a hero.
The door creaked open.
Footsteps.
A familiar laugh.
“Well, well…”
Noah didn’t move.
“If it isn’t Noah Blackwell.”
Red hair.
Smirk carved too wide.
Two shadows behind him — brown hair, same uniform, same grin.
“You get promoted yet? Or are you still failing tests?”
Snickers.
Noah straightened slowly.
“Not today.”
“Relax, Book Boy.”
The red-haired boy stepped closer, tugging lightly at Noah’s tie.
“You look stressed.”
He leaned in just slightly.
“Heard you’re getting held back.”
The words were deliberate.
Calculated.
The other two laughed.
Something inside Noah — already stretched thin from rent, principal, failure — snapped.
“Let go.”
“Ooo,” the red-haired boy mocked. “Or what?”
The shove wasn’t hard.
But it was enough.
Noah’s fist moved before his thoughts did.
The crack of knuckles against cartilage echoed sharply against tile.
The red-haired boy staggered backward, blood blooming instantly beneath his nose.
“What the—”
One of the others lunged.
Noah shoved back.
Bodies collided with sinks.
A stall door slammed open.
Someone yelled.
They stumbled through the doorway into the hallway.
Students froze.
Gasps.
A teacher shouted.
Hands grabbed Noah’s shoulders.
Pulled him back.
The red-haired boy clutched his nose, eyes wide with shock more than pain.
“Office. Now.”
An hour later.
“Effective immediately, you are suspended for one week.”
The principal’s tone carried no anger now.
Just decision.
Noah stared at the floor.
One week.
Rent due tomorrow.
First paycheck not enough to cover everything.
Grades slipping.
Now this.
“You were warned.”
He nodded once.
Didn’t argue.
Didn’t explain.
Didn’t mention the shove.
Didn’t mention the tie.
He stepped back into the hallway.
Students whispered.
The red-haired boy passed him, gauze pressed to his nose.
Smirking.
Noah didn’t look at him.
He didn’t trust what might happen if he did.
And in a classroom down the hall—
A folded sketch rested safely inside a girl’s bag.
The suspension paperwork was handed to him before lunch.
He didn’t argue.
Didn’t try to explain.
By the time he stepped outside the school gates, the sun was already higher.
Brighter.
Mocking.
He checked his phone.
A message from his boss.
Don’t be late. We’re short today.
Of course.
—
The bookstore sat on the corner of a quiet side street.
Small.
Old wood exterior.
Hand-painted sign above the door.
“Megumi Books.”
Noah stepped inside and bowed slightly.
“I’m here.”
His boss barely looked up from the counter.
“You’re late.”
“It’s only three minutes.”
“That is late.”
Noah changed quickly into the store apron and stepped back outside with the folding sign.
He flipped it open.
MEGA SALES — USED BOOKS 50% OFF
He stood on the sidewalk.
White shirt.
Red tie.
Apron over it.
Holding a sign like a human advertisement.
Cars passed.
Pedestrians ignored him.
The wind picked up slightly, tugging at the cardboard edges.
He adjusted his grip.
He tried not to think about the suspension.
About the principal.
About rent.
A red car rolled slowly down the street.
Music loud.
Windows down.
Noah didn’t need to look to know who it was.
The car slowed right in front of him.
“Well, if it isn’t Book Boy.”
Red hair leaned out of the passenger window.
Gauze still stuffed in one nostril.
The two brown-haired followers laughed from the back seat.
“Didn’t know detention came with community service.”
Noah kept his eyes forward.
“Don’t.”
The red-haired bully grinned wider.
“You hit pretty hard.”
Pause.
“I’ll get you later, Book Boy.”
The car began rolling again.
“This isn’t over.”
Laughter trailed behind them as they sped off.
Noah’s hands tightened around the sign.
The door behind him swung open.
“What are you doing?”
His boss stood in the doorway.
Angry.
“You think yelling in the street is good for business?”
“I didn’t—”
“I don’t care who they are. You don’t bring trouble here.”
Noah swallowed.
“They started it.”
“And you will finish it by not engaging.”
The boss stepped closer.
“If I see you attracting attention like that again, you’re done. Do you understand?”
Rent due tomorrow.
First paycheck tomorrow.
No room for pride.
“…Yes, sir.”
“Then stand properly and smile.”
The door shut.
Noah stood there.
Holding the sign.
Smiling.
At nothing.
—
The shift dragged.
Dusting shelves.
Stacking paperbacks.
Restocking manga volumes.
Helping an elderly woman find a gardening guide.
The store smelled like ink and old paper.
Quiet.
Calmer than school.
By the time the sun dipped low, his shoulders ached.
“You may go,” his boss said without looking at him.
Noah bowed slightly.
“Thank you.”
—
The apartment was quiet when he returned.
He kicked off his shoes near the door.
Dropped his bag.
The fridge light flickered when he opened it.
Half-empty.
A pack of instant ramen.
A single egg.
A small carton of milk.
He stared at it.
“…Luxury.”
Water boiled.
Noodles softened.
He sat at his desk with the bowl in front of him, steam rising into his face.
Gaming PC humming beside him.
He slurped quietly.
Finished.
Drank the last of the milk straight from the glass.
Then—
He put on his headset.
Monitor glow filled the darkening room.
Login screen.
A low hum filled the room as the world rendered in.
Stone archways.
Floating banners.
Crowds of players moving through the central hub like a living current.
Shouts echoed through the plaza chat.
“Dragon Raid forming — need tank!”
“Level requirement 45+ only!”
“Two healers ready, need DPS!”
“Last call for Dragon King — we’re pulling in five!”
Spell effects flashed across the square. Portals shimmered. Armor gleamed under torchlight.
Noah stood still in the middle of it.
Golden sword resting on his back.
Lightning insignia faintly glowing on his gauntlet.
Party invites popped up.
Declined.
Another.
Declined.
“Hey, you running solo again?” someone typed in local chat.
He didn’t respond.
He never did.
He didn’t need a tank.
Didn’t need a healer.
Didn’t need a support.
He flexed his fingers over the keyboard.
“One-man party,” he muttered quietly.
A system banner flared across the sky:
World Event: Dragon King — Final Phase Unlocked
The crowd surged toward the raid gate.
Noah moved with them.
The portal swallowed him in blue light.
—
The battlefield loaded in.
Ruined coliseum.
Molten cracks splitting the stone.
And above—
A massive dragon circling in the smoke-filled sky.
Wings wide enough to blot out the moon.
Scales like forged iron.
Eyes glowing molten gold.
The Dragon King landed with a quake that shook the arena.
Health bar stretching across the top of the screen.
Massive.
Intimidating.
Players rushed in.
Groups forming naturally.
Shields raised.
Spells cast.
Noah didn’t wait.
He dashed forward alone.
Flame breath scorched the ground behind him.
He slid beneath it by inches.
Countered with a charged strike to the foreleg.
Damage numbers burst across the screen.
The dragon roared and whipped its tail.
He jumped.
Perfect timing.
Landed behind the wing joint.
Another combo.
Clean.
Efficient.
Controlled.
Voice chat crackled nearby from other players.
“Tank down!”
“Healer’s out of mana!”
“Someone pull aggro!”
Noah ignored them.
He didn’t need aggro management.
He was the aggro.
Lightning surged across his blade.
He timed the wing beat.
Struck during recovery frames.
Dodged the claw slam.
Rolled through fire.
The dragon lifted into the air for its ultimate.
Meteor rain.
Players scattered.
Some didn’t make it.
Explosions rocked the arena.
Noah kept moving.
Frame-perfect dodges.
No panic.
No hesitation.
He activated his burst window.
Lightning Cloak.
Attack Up.
Speed Up.
Magic Surge.
All chained together.
He launched himself upward with a jump strike as the dragon descended.
Golden blade pierced between scales.
Critical hit.
The health bar plummeted into its final segment.
The dragon roared in fury.
One final charge.
It lunged.
Noah stepped forward.
Not back.
Perfect timing.
Counter slash.
Lightning detonated along the blade’s edge.
The Dragon King froze mid-motion.
Health bar emptied.
Silence.
Then—
The massive creature collapsed.
Stone cracked beneath its weight.
System banner exploded across the screen.
DRAGON KING SLAIN
Loot scattered in radiant beams.
Players cheered in chat.
“Who got final blow?!”
“No way someone solo’d that!”
Noah leaned back in his chair.
Breathing steady.
Hands relaxed.
He didn’t type.
Didn’t brag.
Didn’t stay.
He collected his drops.
Opened the inventory window.
Examined the rare materials quietly.
Closed it.
Logged out.—
The room returned.
Small.
Dim.
Quiet.
No cheers.
No victory banner.
Just the soft hum of his PC fans winding down.
He removed his headset slowly.
The apartment felt heavier again.
Suspended.
Rent due.
Bullies waiting.
But in that world—
He wasn’t late.
He wasn’t failing.
He wasn’t “Book Boy.”
He was strong.
He shut the monitor off.
The screen dimmed.
Then vanished into black.
The only light left in the room came from the street outside, slipping through the thin curtains in pale orange streaks. The ceiling crack caught it faintly, casting a crooked shadow above him.
A small fan hummed near the window, pushing a soft breeze across the room. The curtains shifted gently with each rotation, whispering against the wall.
Noah lay back on his bed.
Hands resting loosely over his stomach.
The mattress dipped beneath his weight.
The room felt smaller in the dark.
Quieter.
The world outside carried on — distant tires against pavement, a door closing somewhere down the hall, muffled footsteps.
He stared at the ceiling for a long moment.
Then exhaled.
“…I wish…”
His voice was barely more than breath.
“I wish I could be reborn in a new world.”
The fan continued its steady rhythm.
“Somewhere I could actually be someone.”
His eyes began to grow heavy.
“Where I could live freely… and just…”
He shifted slightly against the pillow.
“…just live happy.”
Silence filled in the rest of the sentence.
The streetlight flickered once outside.
The fan kept turning.
His breathing slowed.
Evened.
And before he could finish the thought fully—
Sleep took him.
