Asher slipped his phone back into his pocket, the screen still faintly glowing with a half-read message. The weekend shift had finally ended, and the dull ache in his shoulders reminded him he wasn't invincible—not yet, anyway. The fading sun cast long shadows across the city street, and the distant hum of traffic gave way to the soft rustle of wind.
He ran a napkin across his forehead, wiping away the sweat clinging stubbornly to his skin. Short black hair clung to his brow, and his eyes—strikingly yellow, like polished Munsell gold—caught the last of the light.
He was Asher. Seventeen this year, or so the orphanage records claimed.
Time had moved too quickly.
He let out a long, quiet sigh, the kind that carried weight heavier than words. For most people, this world was all they'd ever known. For him, it was borrowed—strange, familiar, and dangerously real.
Because Asher wasn't from this world.
By the time he regained his memories, he was already five years old and living in the Nagazora City orphanage. He hadn't understood it at first, that uncanny feeling of déjà vu that followed him through the streets. But when he overheard the name of a certain corporation—M.E. Corp.—something clicked.
It couldn't be.
Was he... inside the world of Honkai Impact 3rd?
The confirmation came days later. He stumbled across the name of the company's founder in a news article, and it sealed the truth. A wave of excitement washed over him, followed swiftly by dread. This was his favorite game, yes—but he also knew exactly how grim and tragic its future could become.
Still, he didn't shy away from it.
"If I'm really here," he told himself, "then I can change it."
He wasn't defenseless, either. As luck—or fate—would have it, a stigmata had manifested naturally on his back. A gift, or perhaps a curse. Either way, he trained in secret, built his strength day by day, and took on part-time jobs to support his plans. He had twelve years of preparation, ever since that memory had returned.
Twelve years of quiet work, all leading up to a single goal:
Prevent the tragedy of Nagazora.
He'd tried to approach Mei. But the walls around her were tall—wealth, reputation, and a circle of elite classmates who dismissed Asher before he even opened his mouth. Every attempt was met with mockery or indifference.
Just another delusional orphan, they said.
So he changed tactics. If he couldn't shift the masses, he'd target the fulcrum of the disaster: Cocolia. If he could stop the detonation of the Honkai bomb at Chiba Academy, he could buy them all time—maybe even avert the apocalypse.
But there was a problem.
He couldn't remember exactly when the plot began. The memories blurred like foggy glass. But he knew the signal. The moment Kiana Kaslana arrived in Nagazora and enrolled at Chiba Academy—that's when the real story would begin.
And when it did, Asher would be ready.
He had to be.
After all, someone once said:
"Fight for all that's beautiful in the world."
"Sigh..."Asher exhaled softly, eyes fixed on the sky now brushed in shades of burnt orange. The sun dipped lower with every breath, painting the horizon with the quiet melancholy of another day gone.
"Young man, you really shouldn't sigh like that at your age."The voice, warm and lightly teasing, came from across the street. Asher turned his head.
Sitting just outside her small, ivy-wrapped home was the neighborhood grandma, a ball of yarn resting on her lap and a crochet hook dancing between her fingers.
"Ah, Grandma," he said with a tired smile, raising a hand in greeting. "It's nothing. Just school stuff, that's all."
She smiled faintly, her eyes still focused on her craft.
"Well then, I'll be heading off. Make sure you go inside before nightfall, alright?" Asher called over his shoulder as he began walking.
"You kids always say that," she chuckled. "But it's you who should be home before dark."
Asher gave a small nod, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. Her gentle nagging was familiar, almost comforting.
As he made his way down the dimming street, the air felt heavier—less with humidity and more with thought. Rounding the next corner, he collided into someone.
The thud wasn't too loud, but the girl he bumped into stumbled and fell.
"Ah—sorry! That was my fault," Asher said, immediately reaching out a hand to help.
His breath caught.
Long, dark purple hair. Eyes like indigo gemstones.
It was her.
Raiden Mei.
He stood there, stunned for a second too long. It was rare to see her without her usual entourage of elite classmates. Alone like this... it almost didn't feel real.
Shaking the thought away, Asher helped her to her feet.
"You okay?"
Mei brushed herself off, looking up at him with polite curiosity. "I'm fine. Thanks."
She paused, her gaze lingering on his face.
"Wait... you're Ash, right?"
Asher blinked. "You remember me?"
"Of course," Mei said with a small smile. "Weren't you the one who helped me during that incident in the lab? I never got the chance to properly thank you."
"It's fine," Asher replied, waving it off. "No need."
A moment passed.
"It's unusual to see you out on your own," Asher said casually, stepping aside to walk beside her.
"Well... if I tell you why, do you mind helping me?" she asked, a playful tilt in her voice as she clasped her hands behind her back.
"That depends," Asher said, raising a brow.
"I'm shopping for a gift—for my father," she said, eyes scanning the storefronts ahead. "But I have no idea what to get him. You're a guy, right? What do men like as gifts?"
Asher chuckled lightly. "A gift for your dad, huh?"
She nodded, hopeful.
He paused in thought. "Well... honestly, I think any gift you give him will matter. It's less about the object and more about the meaning behind it. You could buy him something simple, or even just spend time with him. That alone could mean the world."
Mei lowered her gaze. "He's always busy with work…"
"That's all the more reason to choose something meaningful," Asher said. "Something that'll remind him of you, even when he's caught up in everything else. Something lasting."
Mei looked thoughtful for a moment before nodding slowly. "I see... So, something that leaves an impression."
"Exactly. Whatever you choose, if it's from you, it'll be meaningful to him."
"Thank you, Ash!" she said, and with a bright smile, she turned and walked a little faster ahead, her long hair swaying behind her.
Asher watched her go, then sighed once more—this time, softer.
He wasn't just watching characters from a game anymore.
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Asher unlocked the door to his modest apartment, the familiar creak of the hinges greeting him like a quiet sigh. The space was small, functional just enough to live. He set his bag down on the cabinet near the door, exhaling as he stretched his arms overhead.
No more shifts for today.
Without bothering to turn on the main lights, he headed straight to the bathroom. Flicking on the vanity, he placed both hands firmly on the sink and stared at his reflection. The mirror offered nothing but tired eyes and a face too young for the weight it carried.
He closed his eyes.
Can I really do this?
The future pressed against his chest like a boulder. Every memory, every cutscene he once watched as a player—now a potential reality that could explode at any moment.
Knowing the future... it's heavier than I thought.
He turned on the faucet, letting cold water run over his hands before splashing it on his face. The chill helped. Grounded him again.
Refreshed, Asher left the bathroom and glanced at the clock hanging above his desk.
8:00 PM.
Still early.
He walked over to his desk, opened his laptop, and waited for the screen to blink to life. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, already familiar with the rhythm. This was routine by now—posting carefully crafted warnings and rumors online. Subtle enough not to draw the wrong attention, but alarming enough that maybe... just maybe, a few people would listen.
It was a long shot.
He didn't know if any of his efforts had worked so far. But he kept trying. Because if he failed to stop what was coming, he wanted at least a few souls to make it out alive.
As he typed, a small notification pinged in the corner of his screen.
[FräuleinSchnee: ash do you have time?]
Asher paused, then smile faintly. His fingers tapped a quick reply.
[Ash: is it another story you just made up?]
[FräuleinSchnee: it's not made up! it's all true!]
A soft chuckle escaped him.
He'd met her online about three years ago—FräuleinSchnee. Since then, she'd filled his inbox with wild stories, half-baked theories, and strange thoughts about battles and distant skies. Some of it was nonsense. Some of it sounded too real to dismiss. He never asked who she really was. Maybe she was a Valkyrie.
Either way, their conversations had become something of a comfort.
[Ash: So, what is it this time, Miss Schnee?]
He stood and walked into the kitchen, the hum of the laptop fading as he started brewing himself a cup of coffee. Another ping echoed from the desk.
[FräuleinSchnee: you know... i don't know why. no matter how hard i work, i feel like i can't catch up to that person...]
Asher's brow furrowed. He returned to his seat and typed:
[Ash: Sounds like you see them as your goal?]
[FräuleinSchnee: um, you could say that...]
[Ash: I see. But Schnee... even if you want to be like that person, you have to remember—they're themselves, and you're you. They have their own strengths. And so do you. Honestly, the way you are now? That's enough for me. I'm just glad we can keep talking.]
The typing indicator blinked.
Then, finally:
[FräuleinSchnee: idiot]
And just like that, her status flipped to offline.
Asher blinked at the screen.
Did I say something wrong?
He leaned back in his chair and shook his head, smiling faintly. The coffee had finished brewing, its warmth filling the air. He took a sip, the bitterness grounding.
Then he returned to what he was doing before—typing rumors, planting seeds of doubt, of fear. Quiet lifelines in digital form.
Because the clock was ticking.
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