Chapter 1: The Boy Who Was Forgotten by the World
The alarm clock buzzed faintly in the corner of the cramped, decaying room. Ren Saito didn't move. Blankets wrapped around his frail frame like a cocoon, shielding him from another day of humiliation. Sunlight crept through the torn curtain, casting a pale, almost cruel light on the stains that marked his walls.
He slowly sat up, the springs of the old mattress groaning beneath him. The room smelled like mildew and regret. His school uniform hung on the back of a chair — crumpled, faded, but clean. He'd washed it in cold water the night before.
In the kitchen, a cracked bowl held cold rice from two days ago. He ate it without emotion, eyes fixed on nothing. The TV murmured in the background, warning of increasing wind patterns across northern Japan.
Ren didn't care.
He whispered to himself, "I wonder what they'll say today... Maybe they'll bark this time. Dogs bark at things they think are beneath them."
At school, the scene played out like theater. A convoy of luxury cars pulled up, sleek black limousines opening their doors to reveal students dressed in tailored uniforms and arrogant smiles. Ren walked past them like a ghost, his worn shoes soaked from the puddles.
"Oh look," someone sneered, "the walking donation's here."
Coins clinked at his feet.
"Don't forget to wipe our cars later, beggar," another jeered. They laughed.
Ren didn't respond. He bent down, picked up the coin, and placed it silently in a nearby trash can.
When the final bell rang, he delivered pizzas to keep his stomach full. A customer stared at him in disgust, took the box, then threw it straight into the trash.
"I don't eat food touched by dirt."
That night, Ren curled into himself on the floor of his room. He didn't even make it to his bed. Tears soaked the wood beneath him. His body shook, not from cold, but from something deeper.
"Why do I exist...?"
The TV continued behind him.
"...A strong wind system is approaching from the western coastline. We advise all residents to stay indoors tomorrow."
The next day, Ren went to school anyway. The sky was strangely silent. Then, as if summoned by fate, a tornado carved across the horizon.
Right toward his home.
When he returned after school, all that remained of the slum he called home was shattered wood and memories. His world was gone.
And his classmates laughed.
That was the final thread.
Ren fought one of them. The school responded with a year's suspension. No second chances.
He packed nothing. He took his old bicycle and left.
Fifteen days. Fifteen days of pedaling without direction, surviving on rainwater and silence.
He arrived in the mountains of northern Japan, where the wind whispered instead of screamed. There, nestled in pine and fog, stood a forgotten wooden house. Abandoned. Quiet.
Ren made it his own.
It took him a month to clean it, to feel like he belonged somewhere. It was peace.
Until one morning, wandering in the forest behind his new home, he stepped on something.
Click.
A landmine.
Heart pounding, he whispered, "No... no... no..."
With trembling hands, he replaced his foot with a heavy stone. No explosion. No sound. Just breath.
Then he saw it — hidden beneath layers of moss and time: a green metal door, partially buried.
He opened it.
A tunnel.
Dark. Silent. Endless.
As he stepped in, the door slammed shut behind him.
Only one path now.
His phone light flickered. Skeletons lay at his feet, dressed in tattered WWII uniforms.
His voice cracked: "A bunker...?"
He walked deeper. In the control room, dust blanketed everything. A recorder sat on the desk.
He pressed play.
And from the speakers...
Only screaming.
[To Be Continued]