For most who have never met Yoshida Hiroshi, he'd be considered a loser. This is how it was, and he didn’t care. Unmotivated, yes. Unconcerned, unemotional, also yes. Yet, to his own eyes, Yoshida was just a normal, ordinary young man from Tama having the best life anyone could hope for.

Yoshida rose slowly from his pillows, a groan of relief escaping as he stretched his stiff back. He dragged his feet across the cluttered floor, each step sending aside empty cups and chip bags. As he reached for his jacket draped carelessly over the bed, he let out a wide, unhurried yawn. His gaze lingered over the room, taking in the mess he’d been piling for days. “Why is it so messy? I need to clean it up.”

Perfect days were simple, repetitive, and structured. The morning was short because he always got up late. Time for a shower and buying pre-cooked food. Afternoons were for reading, whether it was the newest trendy shonen or some epic fantasy tome. Another short walk to the supermarket to buy dinner and the rest of the day for video games. 

A life unburdened by the weight of responsibilities, free from the strain of demanding friendships, and untouched by the distractions of fleeting emotions.

After Yoshida descended the stairs, he instinctively reached down to rub his knee, trying to soothe the ache which appeared everytime it was to rain. 

It wasn't too cold outside, though the evening darkness and a pesky wind made the walk unpleasant. Before he reached the shop, one of the girls from his old class crossed his path. Yoshida didn't remember her name but they had talked amicably numerous times. He raised a timid hand to which she responded with an equally timid nod and a quickening of her steps. "Well, it's fine," he whispered to himself.

Yoshida's fantastic life had not always been like this. As a young boy he was good at sports. So good that it was even believed that he could become a professional in one of the many disciplines he practised. That was curbed by an injury, which left him with a useless knee and much more time to enjoy reading and video games. Which to him, was fine.

His popularity did not change much with his injury. He was a good student, always willing to help others to get those needed points up on the next test. Promising one might say, yes. Noone would have doubted he’d get a degree in a good university. And then a respectable, well paid job. But that changed too. 

When his parents' business started to fail. He’d dropped everything, and in helping them in such difficult endeavours he also succeeded. The family business, which was dedicated to the well-being of elderly people with alternative medicines and various therapies, became popular and profitable thanks to his help with paperwork that her visionary father did not manage well and with ideas her ‘guru’ mother did not fully understand. When that happened, they decided to sell to a corporation and travel the world without stopping. So, he ended up unemployed and alone. But well, it didn’t matter to him either. It was fine.

Having a good house for yourself, a monthly stipend to buy games, food and whatever you like and all the time in the world is great. Isn’t it?

After Yoshida paid for a couple of sweet buns and three cans of milk coffee, he casually checked his phone. Only two messages awaited this time, both asking about his silence over the past months. After the family business closed, his phone used to be a hive of buzzing messages, a bothersome burden grating on his nerves daily. Over time, the influx had waned and to that, he was also fine.

When he got to his room, his mother's cat was waiting for him to open the balcony. "Where were you, Mews? Flirting with the ladies?"

Mews blurted out and rushed inside. Yoshida set aside his stash of supplies for the upcoming marathon, turning his attention to the box of games and pitching a few for the night. He opted for a football one first, a change of pace after immersing himself in fantasy RPGs for an entire week. As the game loaded and the sun dipped below the horizon, he remained blissfully unaware of the unseen presence hovering just above him. Mews though, hissed and ran away.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

The presence; a consciousness born of raw power, with a mind devoid of thoughts and a will free from desire, waited. All its energy and all its purpose directed toward a singular goal: to bring one of the inhabitants of the world of Champions home. 

The divine force lingered, watching from the realm of the untouchable, its focus sharpening with every passing moment. Time moved forward, and night fell. Below, the young man from Tama celebrated his in-game victories with enthusiasm. Sleep was near. As tiredness seeped into his eyes, the piece of the Broken Sphere reached a decision. Fate was sealed: The God of the Dark had chosen. 

Moments before, in a world not so distant,

Rina ground her teeth at the incessant knocking on her door. With a sharp intake of breath, she filled her glass and downed it down in one fierce gulp. A low growl of satisfaction rumbled from her throat as she slammed her fist on the table, causing the runes on her practice sheets to flicker. “You know it’s open! Just enter!”

Testa's blond hair peeked slowly from behind the door, tentative as ever. “No bottle throwing?” He pretended to be concerned, but the banterer in him was always too obvious.

“No. What do you want? It’s late, Testa,” Rina muttered, already refilling her glass, which she drained even faster than the first.

Testa's timid and pretended demeanour vanished as he surged into the room like a storm. Muddy footprints stained the floor, and with a careless sweep of his arm, he sent Rina's rune papers flying as he pounded the table with his fists. Then, with the badly made flourish of a cheap magician's trick, he brought forward a small bag held in a hand previously hidden behind. “Ta-da!”

Rina’s eyes narrowed. “Impressive. What’s that?”

“I went to the black market,” Testa said, his voice alight with excitement. “I found something you might want.”

Her suspicion deepened. “I don't like where this is going.”

Testa placed the bag on the table and deftly untied its string. As he unfolded the fabric, a piece of black glass tumbled out, rolling across the desk. Rina sighed heavily. “How much did you pay for this?”

He perched himself on the edge of the desk, scratching his head. “Just a bit.”

“You’re such a bad liar,” Rina muttered, reaching into a drawer for her magnifying glass. She held the glass over the dark shard, her breath catching as she inspected it. “Did you touch this with your bare hands?”

“Why? Is it real?” Testa’s voice trembled with barely contained excitement. “They said the remnant pieces aren’t dangerous anymore.”

Rina stood abruptly, her head spinning. Her sight blurred slightly as she reached for her tweezers. Upon picking up the shard, she placed it in the farthest corner of her bookshelf, where others, all white and dust-covered, lay forgotten. “Maybe. Why did you buy this?”

“Why? Because Master Saphirin can study it! And you can too. Anything to make you feel better!”

“You’re a kind man,” Rina replied, though her tone held little warmth. “I was expecting some idiotic scheme to bring back champions like in the old days.”

As Rina’s gaze lingered on the piece of glass, Testa leaned closer, his eyes fixed on her. “Could that happen? Could you do it?” he whispered, an exasperating hint of hope in his voice.

Rina snapped. She shoved him towards the door, her strength barely enough to move Testa’s playful resistance. “Come on, Rini. I’m just joking! Are you drinking? Let’s drink together!”

Rina yanked the door open. “Not with you!”

“Why not? I’m a great drinking partner!” Testa said as she shoved him out and slammed the door behind him.

Rina's forehead came to rest against the wood, and her hand brushed over the worn surface. “That’s exactly why, you idiot,” she murmured.

Rina staggered back to the desk, as unsteady as someone who has drowned a whole Nyrnfire bottle can be. She dropped heavily into her chair and reached for the flask, no longer bothering with a glass. She drank until empty, casting it aside with a growl of frustration when she couldn’t find anything else to shove down her throat. Her anger flared, only to be replaced by a deep sadness. She buried her face in her arms on the table. A sob escaped as she surrendered to the exhaustion of the day, oblivious to the faint purple light pulsing from the Sphere’s shard as it stirred to life.