Throughout history, high school has been the bane of all upcoming youths. Csses were brutal, social cliques were relentless, and the impending threat of college cast an ever-looming darkness over everyone's future.

  But if there was one thing most students dreaded more than anything, it was the one css where everyone—no matter their social standing—was forced to come together:

  Gym Css.

  Mako leaned against the folded bleachers, arms crossed, trying to stay invisible.

  Having Gym for the Second Period, despite all its many downsides, was a hidden blessing. It was one of the few csses where the Standard Course mixed with the Role Course after all. With such a massive crowd, no one cared if you kept to yourself.

  That didn't change the fact that it was gym css of course.Still, with everyone distracted, this might be the perfect chance to open his Role Menu and figure out the details of this Harem Protagonist role. If he could just find a secluded area amongst the crowd and sneak a quick look—

  A hand cpped down on Mako's shoulder, nearly unching him out of his skin.

  "MAK! My dude! How's it hanging?"

  Mako turned to see Buddy Wilis, his signature dumb grin pstered across his face.

  "Took me a hot second to find you! So, how's the Standard Course, Standy?"

  Mako shot him a ft look. "Got Ms. Fien for homeroom. What do you think?"

  "Oof." Buddy winced, nudging Mako with a pyful elbow. "Man, I know you've got bad luck with girls, but you really can't seem to stay away from them, can you?"

  Mako chuckled awkwardly, scratching the back of his head. "Haha… yeah. Lucky me."

  Buddy gave him a reassuring pat on the back. "Don't sweat it, man. That woman's got so much caffeine in her veins that I'm convinced Death doesn't want to take her soul out of fear of getting a secondhand coffee addiction."

  Mako snorted. "That's messed up."

  "Yeah, but you can totally see it, right?" Buddy waggled his eyebrows.

  "Unfortunately." Mako shook his head, a faint smile creeping onto his face. Moments like these reminded him why he appreciated Buddy. Most people had distanced themselves once his infamous bad luck became apparent during puberty, and the few who stuck around vanished st year when he was decred Roleless. But not Buddy.

  "So…" Mako asked, "How's the Role Course treating you, Rolly?"

  "Oh, it's sweet!" Buddy grinned, tossing his hands behind his head. "Half the time, we just train our Roles, and the other half is minimum schoolwork. Attendance is basically optional as long as you show up for the Role-reted stuff!"

  "Seriously?" Mako sighed wistfully. "Wish I could coast through like that."

  "Yeah, well... there's a catch—"

  Before Buddy could finish, a dodgeball flew out of nowhere and smacked Mako square in the face with a sharp thwack.

  "Ah, sorry about that!" a zy, half-hearted voice called out.

  Mako rubbed at his stinging cheek, gring, beneath his bangs, in the direction of the culprit: Boli. The bully spun another dodgeball casually on his finger, wearing a smug grin.

  "Let me guess," Mako muttered to Buddy, "he's in your css?"

  Buddy groaned, slumping his shoulders. "Unfortunately."

  "You would think an asshole like that would get expelled by now…"

  "His dad's a big-shot pyer for the San Fransoko Onyudos," Buddy reminded bitterly. "And with a role like Pitcher, the school's already pegged him as the next big star in the baseball world. So unless he piledrives the principal or something, they're not touching him."

  "Nepotism at its finest," Mako grumbled, nursing his cheek.

  "Welcome to high school, amigo," Buddy gave him a knowing smirk. "Where the curriculum is a waste of time and so are the questions."

  Before Mako could respond, a chipper voice rang out from behind. "Salutations, Gentleman!"

  Both boys turned to see Ashita, the same girl Mako had met earlier that morning, walking toward them with a bright smile on her face

  Buddy raised an eyebrow. "Mak… you didn't tell me you met a babe like that."

  For a split second, Mako noticed a twitch in Ashita's expression—barely noticeable, but enough to send a chill down his spine.

  "She's an acquaintance," he expined quickly. "I was running te, and we ran into each other earlier. That's all."

  Buddy's grin turned sly. "Bumped into her, huh? Not, like, accidentally copped a feel, right-"

  A sharp yelp cut him off as he suddenly grabbed his foot, wincing in pain.

  "I'd appreciate it if you refrained from being so uncouth," Ashita said smoothly, without batting an eye. "I wouldn't want my father to hear about any… unsavory rumors involving me. Everything between us is perfectly normal, isn't it?"

  "Totally normal" Mako agreed with a nervous chuckle, a bead of sweat trickling down his head.

  Ashita turned back to him. "Anyway, Mako, are we still on for lunch?"

  "Yeah, I'm still good," Mako said, relieved to steer the conversation into safer waters.

  "Splendid! Don't forget—we've got two periods after Gym until then." Ashita cpped her hands in satisfaction.

  Buddy tilted his head with growing amusement. "Lunch with a girl, huh? Maybe your luck with dies is turning around!"

  Ashita's smile faltered for a moment, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "Would you like to join us Mr…?"

  "Buddy Wilis" Mako politely interjected.

  Ashita nodded, "Mr. Buddy?"

  Buddy held up his hands in mock surrender. "Nah, I've got pns. You two enjoy yourselves." He threw Mako an exaggerated wink before strolling off.

  Ashita's gaze lingered, her sharp gre following Buddy until he disappeared into the crowd. Noticing her lingering hostility, Mako quickly stepped in to diffuse the tension.

  "Hey, no need to take him so seriously," he said, waving his hands. "That's just Buddy being Buddy."

  Ashita raised a skeptical eyebrow. "You're seriously friends with someone like that?"

  Mako hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don't exactly have a long list of friends. But Buddy's a good guy. Trust me."

  "The same way I was supposed to trust you when you threw me under the bus earlier?"

  "Okay, fair point," Mako admitted, raising his hands in defeat. "But you won't have to deal with him at lunch. Promise."

  Ashita's frown softened into a giggle. "Alright, I'll take your word for it." She pyfully punched his arm, her grin turning mischievous. "But if you're lying, I'll hit you ten times as hard next time. Got it?"

  Mako gave a nervous chuckle, scratching his head. "I'll, uh… keep that in mind."

  The sharp whistle from Coach Faul signaled that the dodgeball game was about to start. Mako and Ashita exchanged determined nods, their newfound camaraderie pushing them toward their respective sides of the court. But as they moved into position, Ashita stole a gnce at Mako and frowned, her gaze narrowing on his face.

  "Hey," she said, pointing at him. "You had a bruise on your nose earlier, and now there's another one on your cheek. What happened?"

  Mako froze, his hand instinctively brushing over his cheek. "Oh, the nose thing? Totally unreted," he said in a hurriedly evasive tone. No way was he about to confess that the earlier bruise was from accidentally going into the wrong house to walk in on some girl mid-wardrobe change. "This one," he continued, tapping his cheek lightly, "just a stray shot from the other team. No big deal."

  Ashita tilted her head, her skeptical eyes boring into him. "Uh-huh," she said, clearly not buying it.

  Before she could press further, Coach Faul's piercing whistle cut through the air, followed by his booming voice. "Positions, now!"

  Ashita sighed, clearly reluctant to let it go. "Fine," she muttered, turning toward her side of the court. "But this conversation isn't over."

  Mako exhaled quietly, a small wave of relief washing over him as he jogged to his spot on the court.

  "Well, I managed to dodge that bullet... for now," he muttered under his breath, his gaze flicking across the gym. "Speaking of dodging..."

  Gym css was a mixed bag for most students, with its loosely structured curriculum allowing plenty of leeway as long as everyone got some form of exercise. Yet active participation in sports, like the ever-popur dodgeball, was strictly optional—a fact that Mako and Buddy took full advantage of.

  Rather than diving into the chaos on the court, the two hung back near the sidelines, watching as the real star pyers cshed in a flurry of balls and bravado. Their strategy was simple: stay out of the fray and watch for stray shots or overzealous opponents looking to take out some sckers.

  It wasn't gmorous, but it worked. Mostly.

  "I got to talk to Hugh earlier," Buddy said, a proud smirk tugging at his lips. "He even accepted my lunch proposal today."

  Mako raised an eyebrow, genuinely impressed by his friend's actions. "Finally got the guts to talk to him, huh? Didn't think you'd actually go through with it."

  "Have a little faith, bro!" Buddy tapped his arm with his fist. "It's our senior year. If I don't make moves now, I never will."

  "Well congrats, man," Mako chuckled, sidestepping just in time to avoid a stray ball before it could graze his shoulder.

  The chaos of the dodgeball game grew quiet for a moment—well, as quiet as a rowdy gym css could get. Seizing the opportunity, Mako decided this was the perfect moment to bring it up—after all, if anyone could expin it, Buddy probably could. He just needed to keep it subtle.

  "Hey, I've been meaning to ask about your role menu. How does it work exactly?" He leaned closer to Buddy, narrowly dodging another random ball that flew by his head.

  Buddy gave him a suspicious look, raising an eyebrow. "Why are you suddenly interested in that? You're not still bitter about getting pced in the standard course, are you? We talked about this already, man—"

  "I know, I know," Mako interrupted, waving his hand dismissively. "This isn't about that. It's just… you know, hypothetically, if I turned out to be a te bloomer or something, I'd need to know how all this works. Just curious is all."

  Buddy's skeptical expression softened slightly, though his eyebrow remained raised, he ultimately relented. "Alright, hypothetically, what do you want to know?"

  "Well, for starters, how do you hide your Role Menu? That seems pretty cool." Mako tried to sound casual, yet his terrible poker face made his curiosity a little too apparent for the Rolly.

  Buddy eyed him for a moment, then shrugged, seemingly satisfied with the expnation. "Simple. Just focus on your role. Picture who you want to show it to and who you don't. Boom—done."

  "Is it really that easy?" Mako tilted his head skeptically.

  "Yeah, the Angels designed it so that even babies can do this before they even know how to talk." Buddy nodded confidently.

  "The wonders of modern heaven…" Mako muttered, tucking the information away in his. "Got it. But what about seeing your skills? How do you check those?"

  Buddy scratched his head, wondering how best to expin. "...That's a little trickier. You just… focus harder, I guess? Like, really zone into what you want to see in your Role. It's kind of instinctive once you get the hang of it. Does that help?"

  "I think so, thanks for the help," Mako replied, nodding with gratitude.

  "Anytime, dude—"

  Buddy's response was cut short by a loud thwack as a dodgeball smmed into his side, staggering him out of bounds.

  "Out!" the gym teacher barked as Buddy stumbled off the court, clutching his side in pain.

  Mako turned to the opposing side of the court, where none other than Boli stood, a smug grin pstered across his face as he zily tossed the dodgeball into the air. The slight flick of arrogance in the gesture was matched only by the sharp glint in Boli's eyes. Mako knew that look all too well: He was next.

  For a moment, Mako almost forgot how inevitable it all felt. This was the usual outcome in most dodgeball matches when Boli was on the other side of the field—a merciless sughter where weaklings like him became the prey. Mako assumed that this was the natural consequence of focusing on his own Role in a pseudo-butchery like this. In dodgeball, Survival wasn't a matter of cleverness or skill.

  No. It was about endurance.

  And his time was up.

  Time seemed to slow as Boli wound up his throw, and for a fleeting moment, fragments of old memories surged to the forefront of Mako's mind—back when Boli had been his friend. Why these thoughts surfaced now, he couldn't say, but they brought a bittersweet comfort as he braced for the inevitable impact of the rubber missile.

  As kids, they had been inseparable, the kind of bond forged through shared adventures and shenanigans only children could have. But somewhere along the way, things had soured. By middle school, their friendship had crumbled, and by high school, it had devolved into something far uglier.

  Mako never fully understood why Boli had turned against him, but it didn't matter anymore. He had become Boli's favorite target. That much was clear.

  Oddly, the constant abuse had given Mako a strange sense of calm. He could predict what was coming next, and in a way, that gave him control.

  Boli's Role as a Pitcher was still fresh from st year, but his natural athleticism made him a dangerous opponent. With his background as both a quarterback and a baseball pitcher, Boli had almost supernatural accuracy forged from grueling years of training. Mako could imagine a dozen scenarios of how this scene pys out. But, the result was the same in every one of them: the ball would hit its mark.

  His only choice was damage control. He couldn't risk getting hit in the head, the stomach, or—he shuddered—the family jewels. The safest option was his hips since there weren't many important organs to hurt there.

  Shifting his weight subtly, Mako prepared for the impact. Time seemed to crawl back to normal as the ball left Boli's hand, slicing through the air like a bullet.

  But just as the ball was about to connect, a strange blur darted into its path.

  With a resounding thud, the ball smmed into someone else—another student, who had thrown themselves into the line of fire.

  "..."

  "..."

  "Out!" Coach Faul called nonchantly, his whistle cutting through the stunned silence as both Mako and Boli stared, dumbfounded, at what had just unfolded.

  Even Buddy, still clutching his side on the ground, gawked in disbelief.

  Boli Missed.

  He Never Missed.

  Shaking his head in disbelief, Boli snatched an incoming ball mid-air, his reflexes were razor-sharp as ever. Without hesitation, he hurtled it directly at Mako, his aim was going for the head.

  Mako's instincts kicked in, and he threw his arms up to block the shot—

  THWACK!

  But once again, inexplicably, another student stumbled into the line of fire, absorbing the impact before the ball could even reach him.

  "..."

  "..."

  "Out!" Coach Faul shouted again, the sharp whistle snapping Mako out of his daze.

  Before Boli could grab another ball, Mako decided standing around was a dumb idea. So he quickly looked around and bolted towards a cluster of students. Using them as a makeshift barrier just as Boli snapped out of his confusion.

  "Get back here, coward!" Boli's voice rang out, but Mako didn't bother turning around. His bully's taunts weren't worth his attention—not when something far more baffling was occupying his mind.

  Boli missed.

  The thought alone was jarring but Mako couldn't deny it—Boli, with his Role as Pitcher, wasn't supposed to miss. The very nature of his Role bordered on supernatural, granting him pinpoint accuracy that defied logic.

  Roles in this world weren't just talents or skills—they were powers granted by the Ones Above to push humanity to a higher level of existence. And Pitcher, despite its mundane-sounding name, was no exception.

  Mako could vividly recall the absurd feats Boli had pulled off in the past. Like st year during another dodgeball game, when a seemingly wayward throw curved mid-air like a heat-seeking missile to smack Mako squarely in the back of the head. Or the time Boli, with his eyes shut, managed to hit a bird mid-flight with a skipping stone, perfectly timing it just as it was about to snatch a fish from a pond. That same inhuman aim was why he had a nearly fwless record on the varsity team, where his defensive pys had saved countless games for their school.

  Boli didn't miss.

  Ever.

  Until now.

  Mako rubbed his temples, trying desperately to piece together the puzzle. The only way for a Role's power to falter was when it collided with another Role. But that was impossible. How could that—

  Suddenly, the realization hit him like a Nuke.

  A bitter chuckle threatened to escape his lips as the pieces fell into pce.

  He knew the source of this absurdity.

  He knew it all too well.

  Boli didn't miss by accident.

  It was simply bad luck.

  Just like Mako's bad luck.

  And the culprit behind it all was none other than his own Role: Harem Protagonist.

  Of all the Roles he could have been saddled with, this one felt more like a cosmic joke than a blessing. Yet, looking back, it made perfect sense. The bizarre series of events—the missed throws, the inexplicable human shields—it all pointed to his Role quietly working behind the scenes.

  But why now?

  Mako wracked his brain, recalling what he knew about his Role. The Goat Monster— aka the annoying angel that had bestowed it upon him just this morning— had expined its primary function was to protect him from romantic entanglements with girls until he turned 18. A built-in safeguard for some convoluted cosmic reason at the expense of his dignity—and countless hospital bills.

  But now, he was 18. His Role had awakened today.

  And it seemed like things were finally starting to change

  Could that mean the "protection" had shifted? Was his luck finally leveling out, perhaps even tilting in his favor?

  The thought was as exciting as it was nerve-wracking, but he didn't have time to dwell on it. Boli was already grabbing another ball, and clearing out the makeshift meat wall he was hiding in. His eyes locked on Mako with deadly intent.

  No time to think. Mako had to keep moving. Whatever his Role's new parameters were, he'd figure it out ter—assuming he survived the game.

  Boli, not missing a beat, unleashed a relentless assault, hurling a barrage of curve shots, fastballs, and trick shots with deadly precision. Each throw carried the intention to end the game, yet, inexplicably, none found their mark. Time after time, the balls veered off course, striking unlucky bystanders instead of their intended target.

  Mako darted through the chaos, weaving between the shrinking crowd of students like a carp fighting the current. As the game dragged on and the field thinned, he noticed two critical things: Boli's frustration was nearing a boiling point, and Mako was running out of pces to hide.

  How much longer could he evade Boli's attacks?

  How many balls will it take until they reach their mark?

  And how much luck would he use up before it ran out?

  A loud thud snapped him out of his spiraling thoughts. Mako froze, his gaze dropping to the ground. A dodgeball had nded right at his feet, spinning zily before coming to a halt.

  For a moment, he hesitated.

  His Role— strange, chaotic, and thoroughly cursed as it was—had been shielding him all this time. Every missed throw, every lucky deflection, it was all his Role's doing. But what would happen if he turned the tables? What if he went on the offensive?

  A lump formed in his throat as he gulped down his nerves.

  He didn't need to think too hard about what he needed to do, but that didn't mean he didn't have to like it either.

  Gripping the ball, Mako stood up, his legs trembling beneath him. He wasn't sure what was driving him to do this—maybe it was desperation, maybe it was stupidity, it could even be the adrenaline rush of the game—but he turned to face the bully all the same.

  The gym fell eerily silent as everyone stopped to look at Mako walking up to the edge of the court to face Boli.

  Seeing Mako walk towards him, Boli's expression shifted from confusion to begrudging amusement at the sudden change of demeanor in his favorite victim.

  "Really?" He let out an irritated sneer. "You seriously want a standoff? Against Me? Did you finally lose your mind or something?"

  Huffing like a Bull, Boli picked up a ball of his own, as he stared down the bony fish that was Mako. "Alright, let's py," he said, winding up his shoulders. "You will be so much easier to hit now that you're not hiding like a little wuss."

  Mako didn't say anything—honestly, he wasn't sure what to say. Instead, he rolled his shoulders, keeping his focus on the tense silence that stretched between them. The gym seemed to hold its breath, the distant echoes of the game fading into nothing as the two locked eyes. For that brief moment, the air thickened, charged with an unspoken intensity as both of them prepared their swings. It was like a high-noon standoff in an old Western: two gunslingers ready to draw, only this time the weapons were rubber dodgeballs, yet they treated it like a deathmatch all the same.

  Boli was the first to unch his ball. His arm blurred as the motion of his own throw was so fast that the sound gged behind—breaking the sound barrier with a deafening crack.

  To anyone watching, the outcome was obvious: if that ball hit Mako, it would've broken him.

  If it nded, of course.

  Mako didn't even get the chance to counter. For halfway through his swing, his own ankle betrayed him, twisting at an awkward angle that sent a sharp surge of pain up his leg. With a startled yelp, he toppled face-first onto the gym floor, the dodgeball slipping harmlessly from his grasp.

  The crowd let out a collective groan, disappointment radiating through the room after Mako's moment of sudden bravado. Yet, for all his ungraceful clumsiness, that graceless fall had just saved his life.

  As, just as before, Boli had missed. The hellish dodgeball tore through the air like a cannonball, ricocheting off the gym's walls, the ceiling, and even a few unlucky students as it tried to find it's missing target. Pandemonium dominated the gym as the ball bounced around in an increasingly chaotic frenzy, a blur of rubber carnage that left everyone, Mako and Boli included, gaping in disbelief.

  Finally, with one st unpredictable bounce, the ball found its final target, a pce Mako almost felt bad for it to nd on.

  And then, with a sickening thwack that echoed through the gym, every male student winced in unison as they registered the ball's unfortunate crash zone.

  Boli crumpled like a deck of cards, clutching his groin as his face twisted into a mask of indescribable agony. The sound that escaped his lips was unnatural—something no man should ever produce or hear—as he colpsed face-down onto the gym floor.

  "...Out!" Coach Faul's whistle cut through the stunned silence, his voice as calm and detached as ever. Completely unfazed by the chaos, he waved dismissively as a few students scurried onto the court to drag Boli's limp form away.

  Mako, still lying on the floor, couldn't help but keep his mouth open in shock.

  He did it.

  He beat Boli.

  It wasn't the outcome he had envisioned, but Mako decided a win was still a win—regardless of the circumstances. A flicker of pity surfaced for Boli, but it was quickly drowned out by the intoxicating sense of triumph he hadn't felt in ages.

  Winning did feel good, no matter how it happened.

  Still sprawled on the floor, Mako raised a trembling fist in victory. His face twisted into a pained grin, ignoring the dull throb radiating from his ankle. He just wanted a moment to savor it.

  THWACK!

  Then, out of nowhere, a dodgeball came hurtling toward him and smmed right into his face like an anvil. The world spun violently around him as he glimpsed a few stars—and then everything went bck.

  From the sidelines, Ashita lowered her arm, eyes wide as she cpped a hand over her mouth.

  "...Whoops," she whispered, cringing. "Maybe I threw that too hard? Uh… you okay?"

  A heavy silence fell over the gym as everyone turned their attention to Mako's limp, crumpled body. After a beat, Ashita tilted her head, her brows furrowing.

  "Um… is his neck supposed to bend like that?"

  Coach Faul let out a long, exasperated sigh before blowing his whistle once more, as unbothered as ever.

  "Medical time-out!" he called, waving a hand for assistance.

  Without hesitation, a couple of students trudged over, unceremoniously dragging Mako's corpse to the infirmary.