Vial sat on the edge of the bed, his foot hastily bandaged with tissues and tape. The sting still pulsed, dull and persistent.
He stared at the floor, eyes unfocused.
"God… how did it take me this long to get it?" he muttered to himself.
He let out a bitter laugh.
"I mean, seriously. A society where men are practically legends. Girls acting like they've seen a ghost. That chick on the street almost fainting. The woman in the elevator holding her breath like I was radioactive. And I thought… what? That I was just having a really long, vivid dream?"
He pressed both hands to his face.
"How dense am I?"
But after a moment, the frustration softened into something else. Something quieter.
"…No. I just didn't want to believe it," he admitted.
That was the truth.
This world was too polished. Too clean. Too off. From the oddly respectful stares to the eerie balance of silence and order—it all screamed unnatural. His brain must have buried the warning signs under the comfort of denial.
"Better to think you're dreaming than to admit you might be stuck."
But now, denial was no longer an option.
This was real.
Every sterile corner of it. Every strangely-behaved passerby. Every second he kept breathing in this unfamiliar world.
He glanced down at his foot. The tissue bandage was already tinged red—proof this world could hurt.
The questions started pouring in.
How did I get here?
Can I go back?
What even is this place?
Why me?
Is there a reason I was sent here—or was it random?
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped.
"…Am I supposed to do something here?" he said quietly.
Silence answered.
No glowing symbols. No system messages. No voices from the sky telling him he was 'chosen.'
Just pain, confusion, and a whole new world outside his door.
His jaw tightened.
"Alright," he muttered. "No more pretending."
If this world was real, then he needed to treat it like it was.
Fully understanding and accepting his situation, Vial reached for the phone on the nightstand.
The screen flicked on with a soft glow.
"Alright," he muttered. "If this is the world I'm stuck in, then I need to start learning how it works."
He opened the browser and typed in the most obvious question: Why are there so few men in the world?
Dozens of articles and videos popped up.
As he scrolled, a grim timeline unfolded.
Decades ago, an unknown genetic degeneration—nicknamed the XY Decline—began affecting male births across the globe. At first, it was a minor statistical anomaly. One in fifty. Then one in a hundred. Then fewer. Scientists struggled to explain it, but the Y chromosome had begun failing to replicate correctly in embryos. One by one, countries declared states of emergency. Social systems collapsed. Entire cities fell into chaos.
Only a handful of major zones stabilized—and the capital he was in now was one of them.
He swallowed hard.
'Most of the world is gone... and I landed in one of the last functioning cities.'
He kept reading.
Due to their extreme rarity, men had become the most protected demographic in society. Laws were enacted to ensure their safety and control their exposure to potential risks. Males were monitored, assigned state guardianship until adulthood, and sometimes even prohibited from leaving certain zones without clearance. Most never held dangerous jobs—if they worked at all. They were often steered into roles like symbolic figureheads, researchers, negotiators, or, disturbingly, long-term reproductive donors under government care.
His brows furrowed deeper the more he read.
In some areas, men were barely seen in public. Public appearances could cause unrest. In older regions, stories of men had become urban legends. Some girls even considered them fictional—until they saw one.
He clicked through images of male public figures.
They didn't look free. They looked... curated. Polished. Watched.
'So that's why Maki reacted like that. And Celeste, too. I'm not just rare—I'm something society actively tries to shelter and control.'
He leaned back against the headboard, staring at the screen.
"This is worse than I thought."
This world wasn't just different—it was inverted. Every social rule he knew had been rewritten, restructured, and repurposed to adjust to the loss of half the population. Women ran everything. Led everything. Did everything.
And men?
They were a symbol of survival.
He sighed heavily, rubbing his temples.
"Study in my world… study in another world," he said dryly. "How wonderful."
But deep down, he knew this wasn't just about curiosity anymore. It was about survival.
If he was going to live in this world—truly live—he couldn't stay ignorant.
He needed to understand the system.
He needed to understand his place in it.