My name is Haruki Kiryuu, and while many might envy my life, the truth is, I've never considered it perfect.
I'm the grandson of one of Japan's most influential businessmen, which means I've lived a comfortable life, free from material worries. From a young age, I was surrounded by luxury—elite education, designer clothes, and an apartment in one of Tokyo's most prestigious neighborhoods. To most people, that would sound like a dream. But to me… it's always felt like a silent cage.
I've always been quiet, introverted. I prefer the calm of books over the chaos of human interaction. I have no friends—and I don't seek them. Most people only come near because of my name or my money, and I learned early on to keep them at arm's length.
My family? That's another mess entirely. I have two cousins I don't get along with, to say the least. Not that it matters. I see them maybe twice a year at family gatherings, where everyone pretends to care while hiding their true intentions behind fake smiles and expensive whiskey.
I live alone, in a high-rise apartment in Tokyo. From my balcony, the city flickers below me—an artificial sky made of glass and neon. I usually spend my afternoons reading light novels with a cup of green tea in hand, the scent of jasmine drifting in from the nearby gardens.
My world is neat. Quiet. Predictable.
And for me, that means safety.
The only real connection I have is with my grandfather. The man I respect more than anyone. We don't share blood, but he adopted me when I had nowhere else to go, gave me a home and a reason to keep going. Everything I am, I owe to him. He's the reason I try. The reason I want to become someone worthy.
I thought my life was stable. That nothing would change.
But fate doesn't need much time to become cruel.
It all started on just another ordinary afternoon.
As usual, I was out on the balcony, completely absorbed in a light novel titled The God of Calamity. A story about a lonely god who brought destruction to everything he loved. My grandfather had given it to me as a child—he paid over 200,000 yen for it, just because he liked the medieval-style cover. Back then, I thought he was crazy for spending so much on a book. But in time, I came to understand that for him, it was never about the price—it was about what it meant.
Just as the story reached its most intense moment, my phone vibrated.
It was my aunt.
"Haruki…" Her voice trembled—barely a whisper, strained and broken. "You need to come to the hospital. It's your grandfather… He's in critical condition."
My mind went blank.
The book slipped from my hands and hit the floor.
My heart started pounding—too hard, too fast.
Everything around me grew quiet, distant…
As if the world itself had faded out of focus.
"What… did you say?"
I didn't know it then, but that was the last afternoon the world ever made sense.