BZZZZT!

  BEEP!

  [ WARNING: Minor Hellgate detected in Downtown Sacramentokyo ][ Be Advised: Advocates Deployed. Stay Indoors. ]

  Mako exhaled through his nose as he read the alert on his phone. "Third one this year… and it’s been less than a month since the st one. Dimension H must be getting aggressive or something."

  With a sigh, he set his phone aside and eyed the stripped-down salmon bones in his hand. Great. Just another thing to deal with today.

  Slumped on a bench, Mako mulled over his test blunder. It had been a simple mistake—one he really should've stopped making by now—but with everything else going on, it had completely slipped his mind.

  He had History with Mr. Coleman again, the same teacher as st year, so out of habit, he’d gone to his old cssroom. Unfortunately, the css had been moved recently, meaning he’d walked all the way to the wrong side of the school.

  And now, with the bell already rung, he was stranded at the far end of the Standard Course building.

  The exact opposite direction of where he was supposed to be.

  Mako let out a dry chuckle. Given everything that had happened today, this was surprisingly pretty normal compared to the usual chaos he dealt with.

  "Maybe my luck really has changed after all." He muttered, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. When he first discovered that his misfortune was an actual passive skill working against him, he’d been pissed. But after seeing it work for him today, he was starting to reconsider.

  Sure, the results were mixed—the dodgeball game had been a disaster, and getting June as a study partner came with its own complications—but when he really thought about it, those moments weren’t all bad… just good tunes that ended on a sour note. And now, with his luck seemingly bancing out, he didn’t feel as miserable as he had this morning. In fact, a weight seemed to lift off his shoulders

  Letting out a sigh, Mako resigned himself to the long walk to css when his eyes nded on a nearby garbage can. Gncing down at the fish bones still in his hand, a smirk tugged at his lips.

  Might as well have a little fun with it. He thought, lining up his shot, as he flicked the bony remains into the air, watching it arc toward the bin.

  As he followed the fish’s path, another thought crossed his mind.

  Things weren’t perfect… but for the first time in a long while, it felt like they were starting to look up.

  History css—the pce where you learn about dead people and how utterly badass and/or downright stupid they could be. It was one of the few genuinely fun subjects in the Standard Course, especially with Mr. Coleman running the show. But, sadly, no matter how entertaining the teacher was, some tedious formalities were unavoidable in his line of work.

  Namely: Attendance.

  “Hazel Emira.”

  “Here.”

  “Maxine Felicity.”

  “...”

  “Looks like she’s not here again.”

  Mr. Coleman tapped the end of his pen against the clipboard, marking yet another absence for the girl. He was mildly concerned about her well-being, but, unfortunately, he was on the clock. Moving down the list, he called the next name—only to be met with yet another no-show.

  “Mako Reln Fisher.”

  “...”

  “Is Mako Fisher here today?”

  Silence enveloped the css as Mr. Coleman scratched his head.

  Weird, I could’ve sworn Kassie mentioned seeing him this morning… Did he get lost again?

  Shaking his head, he sighed and prepared to mark the boy absent when—

  BOOM!

  A deafening explosion erupted outside, rattling the windows and sending a shockwave through the room. Students braced themselves, half-expecting some hellspawn to crash through the walls and turn their school day into a low-budget monster flick.

  But, as for Mr. Coleman, he didn’t even flinch.

  Pinching the bridge of his nose, he let out a long, tired sigh.

  “Hazel, would you mind opening the window?”

  The redhead hesitated, eyeing her teacher skeptically—until realization dawned on her. Smirking to herself, she slid the window open and, with practiced ease, pulled out her phone.

  The rest of the css followed suit, cameras at the ready, waiting in eager silence.

  At first, all they heard was a distant, high-pitched scream—something that sounded suspiciously like a panicked squirrel.

  Then it got louder.

  And louder.

  And then—

  “AAAAAAAHHHHH—BLERGH!”

  Mako came hurtling through the open window, colliding with the floor in a spectacur dispy of chaos. He tumbled through the css in a series of unintentional somersaults before crashing, butt-first, into his desk.

  Dazed, he groaned as stars swirled around his head. Somewhere in the haze, he could vaguely register the sound of his cssmates cheering his entrance—albeit mockingly. A few of them even held up Perfect 10 scorecards from who-knows-where.

  Mako let out another groan, slumping into his seat as he weakly patted soot from his clothes and snuffed out the small fmes still clinging to his hair.

  Mr. Coleman barely gnced up from his clipboard.

  “So gd you could join us, Mr. Fisher.” He chuckled as he clicked his pen, preparing to mark the attendance sheet. “Would you care to expin how exactly you ended up like this?”

  Mako let out a long, defeated groan and looked at Mr. Coleman with a deadpan expression.

  “...I threw away some trash.” He responded.

  The css stared at him incredulously. To anyone else, it had to be the most ridiculous excuse for arriving te—especially with his dramatic entrance. But Mr. Coleman, who had long since given up questioning these things —and even found mild amusement in them— simply marked him as on time and moved on.

  “Manny Hues?”

  “Here.”

  “Stan Inman?”

  “Here.”

  Mako barely registered the roll call as he slumped back in his chair, rubbing his aching head.

  “I think I need to test out Dynamic Luck more…” he muttered to himself. The subskill was proving to be less banced than he thought.

  “Alright, thanks for waiting, everyone. So, who’s ready to dive into the wonderful world of politics?”

  “...”

  “Exactly the enthusiasm I expected.” Mr. Coleman smirked. “Let’s cut to the chase and go over how our world came to be. Sound good? No need to answer, it’s just a formality.”

  With a click, the lights dimmed, and the projector in the center of the room flickered to life. Bold bck letters fshed onto the screen, dispying:

  HOW EVERYTHING CAME TO BE

  “Thank you for coming to Krono Cole Theaters!” Mr. Coleman announced as he performed an exaggerated bow. “Please keep an eye on your valuables, report any suspicious behavior, and, as always, silence your phones during the feature presentation. Eating and drinking are permitted, but kindly clean up after yourselves. Now, sit back, rex, and enjoy the show…”

  The screen flickered for a moment before lighting up again, dispying grainy bck-and-white footage of a war long past. The rattling sound of gunfire and the wail of sirens filled the cssroom, accompanied by the unmistakable cadence of an old-timey narrator.

  "September 1, 1939—Allmon invades Polen, igniting a conflict that would pull Brytin and Lexagon into what would ter be known as the Limbo Disputes." The Narrator expined in an informative yet oddly chipper tone. "At the heart of this war stood two opposing factions: the XS-Powers, led by Allmon, and the LI-Powers, formed by Brytin and Lexagon."

  The scene shifted to grainy footage of warpnes soaring through the sky as bombs fell, unleashing devastation upon a city below.

  "In less than a year, tensions erupted across the Old World. Both sides scrambled to outmaneuver one another, pushing the boundaries of human technology in ways never seen before."

  The footage transitioned to a dimly lit chamber, where imposing figures in suits sat gathered around a long table, their faces grim and veiled in shadow.

  "Then, in 1940, the XS-Powers, desperate to seize an early advantage, assembled their greatest minds in both science and mysticism."

  The narrator paused for dramatic effect as the scene cut to several shadowy figures hunched over a board, poring over indistinct blueprints. Among the scattered documents, one sketch stood out:

  A depiction of an otherworldly, horned creature.

  "Their goal? To create an unstoppable army that would crush all opposition."

  The screen flickered, shifting to grainy footage of scientists gathered around a massive, circur device etched with arcane symbols and ced with intricate wiring. Though blurred by the film’s age, their expressions carried a haunting mix of awe and madness.

  "To accomplish this, they sought to summon warriors from another realm—beings of unimaginable strength who would serve the XS-Powers without question. And, against all odds, they succeeded, opening a rift to what is now known as Dimension H, better known as Hell, and unleashing the Demonic Horde."

  The footage cut to hazy, distorted images of the portal in full operation, its swirling mass of energy spewing forth shadowy, nightmarish figures. The age of the footage made the creatures difficult to fully discern, their monstrous forms blurred and distorted by the ancient pictures.

  "Yet, despite their success, the control devices and talismans meant to subjugate the creatures proved ineffective. And, what was intended to be an unstoppable army, turned on their would-be masters, free to run amok and unleash an unthinkable nightmare upon the world."

  The footage cut to various scenes of fire and destruction, a cacophony of screams yered over the grainy visuals. While the imagery was meant to be horrifying, some students chuckled at how outdated and corny the effects were—before quickly being shushed by the teacher.

  “In less than a month, the demonic horde swept through Rushya, Dyna, and Japun, with the tter suffering near-total annihition—”

  Before the narrator could continue, Mr. Coleman paused the tape, and the lights flickered back on. Cpping his hands together, he turned to the css with a wide, expectant grin.

  “And what do you suppose happened to the refugees, css?” He tilted his head, waiting for a response. A moment of silence followed before one student finally spoke up.

  “The USA-G government decided to step in and rescue as many people as they could from the demonic horde.”

  “Excellent answer, Stan.” Mr. Coleman nodded approvingly before clicking his remote, switching the screen to an image of battleships packed with civilians. “After news of Japun’s impending downfall reached the states, several commanders stationed at Wamomi Harbor requested permission to unch a rge-scale rescue operation. They were denied, of course, as their government feared that taking in Japunese refugees, former allies of the XS-Powers, would bring enemies onto Autogrand soil. But many altruistic men disagreed with that decision, seeing past the old allegiances and taking action anyway. For they knew that there was a far greater threat at hand.”

  He rubbed his mustache, pausing for effect.

  “So, against orders, the entire western fleet mobilized in an improvised evacuation effort. And, near Christmas, 1941, countless battleships carried as many Japunese citizens away from their burning homend as possible, saving over a hundred thousand lives from certain doom”

  “It was, by all accounts, a remarkable dispy of heroism and unity for mankind.” Mr. Coleman continued, he clicked the remote again, this time revealing a new slide—grainy photos of middle-aged men behind bars. "But technically, it was still treason, and for defying orders, these men were dishonorably discharged from the military and sentenced to prison.”

  A final click of the remote showed the commanders seated around a table, enjoying what appeared to be a surprisingly decent meal. “However, for their efforts, the government threw them a bone. So they were given a mere five year sentence for their crimes.”

  “And, as a small consotion prize…” Mr. Coleman smirked. “They got free pudding with every meal.”

  A few students chuckled at the absurdity, but Mr. Coleman simply twirled his handlebar mustache in amusement.

  “Anyway,” he continued, “after the Great Inferno War, many Japunese citizens were relocated from the Halo Isles and resettled in good ol’ Galinfornia.” He clicked the remote, projecting an image of the east coast of Autogrand, specifically a rge recognizable chunk of the coast. “Aka, our state.”

  Mr. Coleman let the thought settle for a moment before cpping his hands together. “Alright, pop quiz! How do you suppose this popution shift affected our government?” He grinned. “I’ll pick someone at random—get it right, and you win a free pudding. Ready!? Too Bad! Go!”

  He shut his eyes and waved his hand around theatrically before nding his finger on a familiar face.

  “Mr. Fisher! Do you know the answer?”

  “Wait, what?” Mako snapped to attention. He was completely off guard, as his mind was wandering again.

  For most of the lecture, he’d been focused on his Role again. While he had already gathered a good chunk of information on Red Strings of Fate st period, his other skills were still outliers. And thanks to the fish in his pocket interfering with any progress on Mating Pheromones, he was still missing key details.

  He mentally pinched his own brain.

  Despite his initial disdain toward it, he was becoming oddly fixated on his Role as a Harem Protagonist. At first, he just wanted to learn the skills and move on, but as the day progressed, it was becoming increasingly clear that he couldn’t just ignore it.

  His Dynamic Luck literally blew him in his face, after all.

  If that wasn’t a warning sign, he didn’t know what was.

  So he needed to understand every detail about it before something even crazier happened. The sooner, the better.

  So, while Mr. Coleman had been teaching, Mako had spent most of css plotting out ways to test his Role further, barely absorbing anything from the lesson.

  And now, in a twist of fate, he’d been randomly chosen to answer a question.

  Did he know I wasn’t paying attention? he wondered. Whatever the case, he needed to come up with an answer—fast—if only to avoid looking like an idiot.

  His mind raced as Mr. Coleman began counting down.

  He gnced around the room, silently pleading for someone to throw him a lifeline, but no such luck.

  Just as he was about to accept defeat, his gaze nded on an old poster on the wall—an image of two sentinels standing beneath the state fg. A spark of inspiration hit him, and he decided to take a gamble.

  At the st second, he shot upright. “It’s… because Galinfornia is the only state with a Senate seat exclusively for a foreign popution?”

  “...”

  “...”

  Mako sat frozen in his seat as Mr. Coleman simply stared at him.

  Was that the wrong answer?

  A bead of sweat trickled down his temple as the tension dragged on. But just as doubt began to settle in, Mr. Coleman snapped his fingers and pointed at him.

  “Bingo!”

  Small murmurs spread across the cssroom as Mr. Coleman continued.

  “While a significant portion of Japunese citizens resettled here, they were still cssified as foreign immigrants and didn’t immediately qualify for Autogrand citizenship. While most were eventually naturalized through training programs and government support, there remained a faction from the original Japunese government that pushed for political representation.”

  He gestured toward the screen, which now dispyed an image of a historical government assembly.

  “Our government wasn’t exactly eager to let a foreign administration establish itself on Autogrand soil, leading to years of political tension and ideological cshes. But eventually, a compromise was reached—Galinfornia’s Senate would have two representatives: one for the native popution and one for the Japunese community. It was an unprecedented move, but it reflected the unique cultural fusion of the state at the time.”

  Mr. Coleman leaned against his desk, giving the css a moment to absorb the information.

  “This w has long been considered outdated, especially now that the two poputions have blended so seamlessly. But for now, the Council has no pns to change it.”

  He chuckled. “And, of course, with all this cultural fusion, someone eventually joked about calling the pce Japanifornia. The name was crude, catchy, and yet—somehow—it stuck. Not just because it rolled off the tongue, but because it became a symbol. A reminder of resilience, adaptation, and the people who rebuilt their lives here.”

  A brief silence followed as Mr. Coleman’s words settled over the room. Then, right on cue, the sharp chime of the bell shattered the moment, signaling the end of css.

  “Well, that’s all the time we have for today! Thanks for coming to my HED Talk, and have a great rest of your day!” Mr. Coleman called out, strolling toward his desk.

  As students gathered their things and made their way out, he pulled open a drawer and gnced up.

  “Oh, and Mako—before you leave, don’t forget this.”

  As the st of his cssmates filed out the door, Mako lingered behind, staring down at the pudding cup in his hand.

  Winning the Pop quiz had earned him the treat, but his mind wasn’t on dessert. Especially now that it was lunch time, and lunch had a more pressing matter at hand:

  Specifically, his get-together with Ashita..

  His grip on the pudding cup tightened as a creeping sense of unease settled over him, the weight of the situation hitting him full-bst like a truck.

  This was actually happening.

  Even saying it in his own head still felt surreal, and, if he was being honest, it was making him nervous.

  It wasn’t like this was a date or anything, but Ashita was one of the first people in school willing to talk to him—especially after most of his old friends had ditched him st year. There was the small caveat that she didn’t know all about the drama from his earlier school years, but he hoped that if she were to learn about it, that she wouldn’t see him as lesser.

  This was a fresh start, and he didn’t want to screw that up.

  Spping his cheeks lightly, he muttered to himself, “Quit being so awkward… It’s just a normal get together among friends… Not A Date! Don’t make it weird. No more brain farts—especially after what happened with June. Just stay calm, rex, and—”

  “Hey, Freak.”

  Mako let out a squeaky yelp, arms filing as he nearly sent his pudding cup flying. He fumbled with it like a clown botching a juggling act, barely managing to catch it after a few tense seconds. Taking a deep breath, he let out a long sigh before turning toward the voice that had startled him.

  The moment he saw the culprit, his expression soured.

  A few feet away stood a punk-styled redhead, cd in enough bck apparel and makeup to resemble an edgy barby doll. She was smaller in stature compared to him, but the way she stood—arms crossed, smirk firmly in pce—made it clear she thought she was above him.

  His shoulders slumped as he bit the bottom of his lip, scowling beneath his bangs.

  “Hello, Haze,” he groaned. “May I ask why you’re bothering me this time? Here to give me shit as always?”

  Hazel Emira—aka Haze—flipped her fiery ginger hair with an arrogant scoff. “As if I have time to waste on a bottom feeder like you. I’m just here to collect what’s mine.”

  Mako tilted his head skeptically. “What, my homework? Thought you were over that.”

  “Don’t back sass me, pervert.” Hazel leaned forward, her gre sharp enough to cut gss. “As if I’d want your shitty grades. No, I’m here for what Mr. Coleman gave you.”

  She jabbed a finger at the pudding cup in his hand.

  Mako gnced down at the treat, then back at her.

  “Oh, is this what this is about?” He sighed, remembering that this girl had a vicious sweet tooth. For a moment, he simply stared at her, then shrugged and wordlessly tossed the dessert her way.

  Hazel, caught off guard by his compliance, scrambled to catch it, nearly fumbling before clutching it tightly to her chest.

  Trying to regain her composure, she huffed. “Well, at least you know when to bark, dog.”

  “Whatever.” Mako scratched his head and turned to leave. “I’ve got better things to do.”

  But before he could take more than a few steps—

  “Hey! Don’t you walk away while I’m talking to you!”

  Mako barely had time to turn before Hazel stormed toward him, her eyes fshing with irritation.

  Oh, great… He could already tell where this was going.

  Deciding it was best to remove himself from the situation entirely, he picked up the pace—only for his foot to catch on a crack in the pavement.

  He stumbled, lost bance, and crashed to the ground, nding ft on his back. Rubbing his shoulders, he had little time to process what had happened before Hazel loomed over him.

  Mako stiffened. Despite being shorter than him, from this angle, she towered over him like a vengeful wraith. Raising his hands slightly in a silent peace offering, he tried to plead his case.

  “Can we not do this today, Haze? You wanted the pudding, I gave you the pudding. No need for—”

  “This is all your fault…” Hazel hissed, the venom in her voice almost sent a chill down his spine.

  “I should be in the Role Course, hanging out with my friends, not stuck here with the rejects.” Her fingers curled tightly around the pudding cup, nearly crushing it. “But you just had to butt in, didn’t you? Because of you, I lost everything.”

  Mako scoffed under his breath. “That’s your own damn fau—”

  Pain exploded in his gut as Hazel’s foot drove into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him.

  “I don’t give a fuck if it was my fault or not,” she muttered loudly. “I may not have the same status I used to, but if there’s one good thing I have left, it’s you. My good old, loyal, dog.”

  She leaned down until they were nearly eye to eye, her smirk sharp and taunting. “Thanks for the snack, loser. I hope you enjoy the rest of your year… with me.”

  With one final huff, she lifted her foot, allowing him to move.

  Mako sat up, rubbing his sore stomach as Hazel turned away, strutting off with a satisfied swagger. He could hear her mocking ughter fading into the distance as she absentmindedly tossed the pudding cup between her hands.

  Dusting himself off, he let out another heavy sigh—but before he could even process the encounter, a whisper echoed in his mind.

  CONNECTION WEAKENED

  His breath hitched as a thick, bck tendril emerged from his chest, stretching toward Hazel’s receding figure. It pulsed wildly, jittering erratically before he closed his eyes and forced himself to focus.

  When he opened them again, the thread was gone.

  “Well… at least I know I can turn them off whenever I want.” He sighed, shaking off the lingering tension as he rubbed his stomach. It wasn’t much, but he’d take any silver lining he could get.

  He hadn’t pnned on experimenting with his subskills, but the moment he saw the string, an idea had formed. While it seemed obvious in hindsight that he could hide the Red Strings of Fate at will, seeing it happen in action was reassuring.

  Mako let out another sigh, staring in the general direction Hazel had gone.

  Hazel Emira—better known as Haze—was just one of the many tormentors he had picked up over the years. Not because of some dramatic accident where he humiliated her, thanks to his Dynamic Luck, rather, she had simply jumped on the bandwagon, bullying him because it seemed cool at the time. So she had no real reason to hate his guts.

  As for why she hates him now, well, that’s because she bmed him for nding in the Standard Course.

  It wasn’t out of revenge or anything—more like, she and her friends had been up to something dangerous, and Mako had stepped in to prevent anyone from getting hurt.

  Long story short: they got caught. Her so-called friends turned on her, and she ended up taking the fall.

  Since no one had been seriously hurt (aside from him), she avoided expulsion but lost her chance at the Role Course. And for that, she despised him.

  Mako couldn’t deny that, technically, he was responsible for what happened to her. A part of him even felt a little bad since her Role was pretty good, albeit dangerous. But whatever guilt he had was overshadowed by his general disdain for her.

  If anything, he had wanted her expelled. But at the same time, he knew better than to wish ill on others… even if they did deserve it.

  Pinching the bridge of his nose, he sighed again. Before the new school year started, he’d hoped she would mellow out—even a little—and leave him alone now that he was outed as Roleless (even though he wasn’t).

  Sadly, it seemed like he wasn’t that lucky.

  “Oh well… might as well get some lunch. Hopefully, I can find Ashita soon,” he muttered as he headed toward the cafeteria.

  Yet, unbeknownst to him, a shadow lurked nearby, hidden just out of sight.

  A pair of eyes followed him with silent intensity, fingers gripping the wall so tightly that small cracks splintered through the concrete.

  The figure only had one word to say as the young man disappeared into the distance

  “... Mako.”

  Charlie_Bones