Kaido sat up in his bed, staring blankly at the wall. His body felt heavy, like he’d been running for hours. His heart still racing from the vivid dream or whatever that was. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to make sense of the bizarre encounter with the Curator and the vision of his classmates in that strange world.

For a while, Kaido simply sat there, trying to convince himself that it had all been a dream. But it left a lingering sensation in his chest. An odd, almost electric feeling that had sparked when the Curator spoke to him. It was too real to ignore. No dream had ever felt that vivid, that alive.

He glanced over at his computer, the soft glow of the screen illuminating his cluttered desk. The online forum he’d been browsing before falling asleep still waited for his attention, but something about it felt hollow now, unimportant.

Kaito stood up, his legs shaky beneath him. He needed answers. If it wasn’t a dream… what was it?

His room felt oppressive all of a sudden, the walls closing in on him. The silence that once comforted him now felt like a prison. Without thinking, Kaido grabbed his jacket and slipped outside, hoping the fresh air would clear his mind.

The streets were quiet as always, the same stillness he’d come to expect in his sleepy town. But tonight, that stillness unnerved him. It reminded him too much of the void, the emptiness he had wandered after his classmates disappeared. He quickened his pace, his footsteps echoing off the pavement as he headed toward the park.

When he arrived, the park was empty, as it usually was at this hour. The swings creaked softly in the wind, and the faint glow of street lamps bathed the playground in pale light. Kaido sat on a bench, his mind still racing with thoughts of the Curator.

Why me? he wondered. Why wasn’t I taken with the others?

As if in response to his unspoken question, the air around him shimmered. Kaido froze, his breath catching in his throat. He had seen this before, the same distortion that had appeared before the figure in the robes

From the shadows of the park, a figure emerged.

This time, the Curator looked different. Gone were the scholarly robes from the previous encounter. Instead, he wore a casual button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His hair was neatly combed back, and he looked younger, closer to Kaido’s age. In his hands, he held a sketchpad, idly doodling as he approached.

“Good evening,” the Curator said cheerfully, his tone light and conversational, as if they were old friends meeting after a long time. He sat down beside Kaido on the bench, not bothering to ask if he could.

Kaido stared at him, struggling to find his voice. “You… you’re real?”

The Curator glanced at him from the corner of his eye, a knowing smile on his lips.

“I suppose that’s one way to put it. I exist in this story, just as you do.”

Kaido frowned. “Story?”

The Curator tapped his sketchpad with the pencil. “Yes, a story. Everything is, in one way or another. We’re all part of a narrative, Kaido, whether we realize it or not.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Kaido muttered. “What do you mean, a narrative?

My classmates disappeared. They’re in some other world, and I’m-”

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“-left behind, yes, yes, I know,” the Curator interrupted, flipping a page in his sketchpad. “But that’s just how it starts. Every story needs a protagonist, after all.”

Kaido’s frustration boiled over. “Then why me? Why was I left behind!? They all got powers, they’re doing… I don’t know what, but they’re out there, and I’m stuck here!”

The Curator raised an eyebrow, pausing his sketching. “Why does it bother you so much, Kaido? You’ve always preferred to be alone, haven’t you?”

Kaido flinched, the Curator’s words striking a little too close to home. “That’s not the point,” he muttered. “I didn’t choose this.”

The Curator leaned back on the bench, looking up at the night sky. “True. But sometimes, the best stories don’t start with a choice. They start with a twist a push, if you will.”

Kaido clenched his fists, the memory of his classmates standing there, empowered, while he faded into nothingness still fresh in his mind.

“So what? Am I just supposed to be some side character in all this? The one who gets left behind while the real heroes save the day?”

The Curator chuckled softly. “Oh, Kaido, you misunderstand. The fact that you were left behind is precisely why you’re important.”

Kaido blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

The Curator stood up, stretching his arms as if he’d been sitting for too long. “Think about it. Your classmates were given powers, yes, but you… you found a way into their world on your own. Without any gifts, without any divine intervention.”

He turned to face Kaido, his expression serious now. “That makes you different, Kaido. Special. They’re following a path that was laid out for them. But you? You’re creating your own.”

Kaido shook his head, feeling a mixture of confusion and disbelief. “But I don’t have powers. I don’t even know how I got there.”

The Curator smiled again, his earlier lightness returning. “Not yet, no. But stories are funny things. They change. They evolve. And yours is far from over.”

For a moment, Kaido didn’t respond. He stared at the ground, processing the Curator’s words. Part of him wanted to reject the idea entirely. It sounded ridiculous, like something out of one of his games or books. But another part of him, the part that had felt the emptiness of being left behind, was beginning to believe there might be some truth to it.

“So… what now?” Kaido asked quietly. “What am I supposed to do?”

The Curator tilted his head, considering the question. “That’s up to you. I’m just here to observe, to guide when needed. You’ll figure it out.” He tapped his sketchpad again. “In fact, I’m rather curious to see what you’ll do next.”

Kaito looked at him skeptically. “You mean you don’t already know?”

The Curator grinned, the twinkle in his eye returning. “I might know a few things. But the best part of any story is the surprises.”

He turned to leave, walking back toward the shadows of the park. Kaido watched him go, a thousand questions swirling in his mind. But before the Curator disappeared from view, he called out.

“Wait! If I’m supposed to figure this out… where do I start?”

The Curator paused, turning his head slightly as if considering the question. Then, with a casual wave of his hand, he replied, “Start by going back. Back to where it all began.”

And with that, he vanished, the air around him shimmering briefly before returning to normal.

Kaido stood there, alone in the park once more. The Curator’s words echoed in his mind. Go back to where it all began.

He knew exactly what the Curator meant.

The school.

It had all started there, with the strange hum, the flash of light, and the sudden disappearance of my classmates. If there were any answers, that’s where they’d be.

Kaido’s pulse quickened. He didn’t know what he would find, but for the first time in days, he felt like he had a purpose.

Without another moment’s hesitation, he started walking toward the school, his steps more certain than they had been in a long time.

Whatever was waiting for him there, he was ready to face it.