I am Yuki Asahiro.
Age sixteen. 172 cm tall.
Shoe size: who cares.
Favorite food? Anything cheap and microwavable.
Hobbies? Breathing. Occasionally blinking.
Special skills? Making myself disappear in a room full of people.
Yes, that's me. I'm basically the free trial version of a human being. You get all the organs, basic motor functions, and a working pulse—but no interesting personality traits, no athletic ability, and absolutely zero plot relevance. If life were a TV show, I'd be the character that dies in the first five minutes to show things are getting serious.
In short: I am not important.
And society—bless its cruel, efficient indifference—makes damn sure I remember that every single day.
High school in Tokyo is a well-oiled machine. Loud students, crowded hallways, and enough fake smiles to power the national grid. Everyone fits neatly into their assigned social roles. The handsome athlete. The perfect honor student. The annoying couple that makes out next to your shoe locker. And then there's me.
The awkward background extra with unskippable anxiety.
Every morning, I navigate the school building like I'm walking through a minefield. Eyes on the ground, mouth shut, heart racing. If I speak too softly, I get ignored. If I speak too loudly, I get stared at. If I speak at all, someone probably snickers.
Teachers don't remember my name. Students don't remember I exist. One time, I sneezed in class, and the girl in front of me looked around and said, "Was that the wind?"
Yes, Erika. The wind sneezed.
But hey, at least I'm consistent. I eat alone. Walk home alone. Talk to myself on occasion—and let me tell you, the conversations are thrilling.
Sometimes I wonder if I'm cursed. Like maybe, in a past life, I was the guy who invented group projects. Or whoever thought pineapple on pizza was a good idea. That would explain a lot.
And sometimes... I wonder if some cosmic author out there is just writing my life as a bad joke.
Whoever you are—hey, thanks for the plot. Real exciting stuff, man.
Anyway. Let me tell you about the day my routine shattered. The day the world, my world changed.
---
It started, as most terrible things do, like any other boring, gray afternoon.
I had just finished another round of existing unnoticeably through six classes, two humiliations, and one failed eye contact attempt with a girl who doesn't even know my name. I walked the same route home as always. Past the train tracks. Past the broken vending machine that still eats coins like it's hungry for souls. Past the canal that cuts through the city like an ugly scar.
And that's where I saw it.
Or rather, felt it.
A shiver.
Not from the cold, but from the air itself. Like the world hiccuped and forgot to pretend everything was normal for a second.
I stopped.
Something was lying in the canal below the overpass.
I squinted through the metal railing. At first, I thought it was a bag of trash.
Then it moved.
"Hmm?"
I blinked. It was still there.
A small creature, curled up and bleeding. Its body shimmered like oil in sunlight—black as night, no wings, like a dragon sculpted from shadows. Long tail tipped with purple flame like light, glowing silver eyes like moons.
It looked like death wrapped in beauty.
I should've walked away.
But...
My feet moved before my brain could argue.
I slid down the concrete slope, shoes slipping slightly on the wet surface. As I got closer, I saw how badly it was hurt. Blood—if you could call the glowing yellow fluid that—pooled beneath it. Cuts ran deep along its side. Its chest rose and fell fast and weak.
It looked up at me.
And for the first time in my life, someone—or something—truly saw me.
Its mouth didn't move. But I heard it. Inside my head.
"...You...can you hear me...?"
I froze.
"I-I... I guess?" I stammered. "You're talking. In my head. Oh god, I'm hallucinating. Did someone spike the school lunch again—?"
"No time... They're coming..."
"They?"
I looked up.
Footsteps. Fast. Heavy. From the opposite side of the canal, three shapes emerged—cloaked figures, all in black. Their eyes glowed like coals, and long, sickle-shaped weapons gleamed under their robes.
One of them pointed.
"There's the host. Kill him before it fuses."
My heart dropped straight into my shoes.
"W-what? Excuse me—kill who? Me?! No, no thanks! I have a math test tomorrow!"
The creature lifted one shaking paw.
"Help me... bond with me... or we both die."
Bond?
"What are you—"
And then it lunged.
There was no pain—only light.
A blinding, searing burst of warmth exploded through my chest as the creature slammed into me—not physically, but spiritually. I felt something wrap around my heart, around my spine. My vision went black, then white, then something I don't even have a name for.
And then I heard the voice again, deeper this time. Older.
"Contract formed. Host accepted. Survival protocol engaged."
My body convulsed.
I dropped to my knees. I screamed—but only silence came out.
My last thought before I lost consciousness was this:
Maybe being invisible wasn't so bad after all.
But then—
My bones snapped. My skin split.
And something inside me opened its eyes.