On his way home, Shoot stopped at a convenience store to buy some snacks for the evening. He took the train home, his initial rage slowly giving way to apathy. By the time he arrived, he was completely listless.

Shoot was an only child, and his parents both worked (at the same company), so he was alone at home. His parents usually didn't get home until late, and tonight would likely be no different, he thought vaguely. They were only home once or twice a week, leaving Shoot to spend most of his days alone. He did most of the household chores. On weekdays, he ate convenience store or supermarket ready-meals, and on school holidays, he cooked for himself.

His parents didn't know he was being bullied. Even if they did, they wouldn't be much help, Shoot figured. They’d been away from home a lot since he was little, showing little interest in him, leaving him with practically no family memories.

“…”

He lay on his bed in his room. Even with his eyes closed, he couldn’t sleep. After a while, he found himself remembering yesterday and this morning.

The harder he tried to forget, the more vividly the memories resurfaced. That hateful false confession. He still recalled Itakura's contemptuous eyes, her insults, and mocking laughter.

He had thought she was a kind girl, popular at school, and caring enough to worry about him. But her true nature was similar to his classmates’—she readily trampled on other people’s feelings and delighted in bullying the weak.

“… (Grrr…!)”

Shoot gritted his teeth, consumed by anger and frustration. Nakazato and Itakura were probably laughing at him right now, mocking his foolishness for falling for the fake confession and making a fool of himself. They were probably using it as a joke, spreading the story and making other students laugh at him too.

Bored with lying in bed, Shoot decided to take a bath. Afterwards, he looked at his reflection. Before, he had neatly styled short black hair and bright, determined eyes. Now, his eyes were dull and lifeless. He rarely combed his hair anymore, leaving it messy. He knew he had split ends too.

“Damn it, damn it, damn it, damn it, damn it, damn it, DAMN IT! You bastards…!!”

Giving vent to his rage, Shoot repeatedly threw his clothes against the wall and slammed his fist on the dining table, desperately trying to release his pent-up anger.

“People in this world are truly nothing but scum… !

What is justice? It’s ridiculous…”

As a child, Shoot loved watching TV shows about heroic figures—protagonists and their allies helping the weak and those in need. He wanted to be like the heroes on TV. He believed that was what justice meant. Stopping the bullying had been his reason for intervening.

But that's how things had turned out. He was far removed from the ideals he once cherished. Helping others only led to suffering.

Eventually, Shoot came to believe that justice wasn't about helping the weak but about eliminating enemies—people he considered unnecessary to society. For Shoot, justice now meant eliminating his bullies, as well as the classmates and adults who ignored his suffering; he believed they were unnecessary and should be eliminated. If they were gone, he'd be safe, he had concluded.

“I want revenge on those guys… But I’m alone, I have no allies, and I’m completely powerless…”

While vowing revenge on Nakazato and his gang, Shoot despaired at his own helplessness.

“I need power… Power to overturn this terrible life, to make those who bully me suffer, power to make me invincible to anyone…!!”

Shoot repeated this wish aloud and in his heart, so strongly that he would ask any god who granted wishes for this without hesitation.

“…Saying it aloud or wishing for it won’t make it happen. It's foolish.”

Eventually, feeling absurd, Shoot started playing video games. He favored action games where you could slaughter countless enemies. This was an attempt to alleviate his frustration.

“Die, die. You all should die…”

He imagined the game's enemies as Nakazato and Itakura, killing them repeatedly in the game. Yet, it did little to ease Shoot's anger.

He was so engrossed that he lost track of time and night fell. It was only when he went to the toilet that he realized how late it was. Shoot ate a convenience store bento for dinner and was about to return to the game when he heard a strange noise.

“…What was that sound?”

The sound was unlike anything he had ever heard before; it wasn’t the wind, nor an electronic sound, nor anything else he recognized.

He paused his game, half to distract himself, half out of curiosity, and set about finding the source of the mysterious sound. Searching his two-story house took time, but he couldn't find anything that seemed to be the source of the sound.

“That's right… I haven't checked the basement yet.”

Shoot’s house had a basement—his father’s storage room—which was rarely used except by him. He decided to investigate.

And there he found it—the source of the mysterious sound. But it was something Shoot never expected.

“What… is this…!? A vortex?”

A mysterious black vortex was humming in the center of the room. Shoot was dumbfounded by the bizarre phenomenon.

“Could it be a black hole? No, if that were the case, I’d be gone, and this house would have been destroyed long ago…”

He made several guesses, none of which seemed right. For a while, he observed the black vortex. It remained unchanged; only the humming sound persisted.

“…”

Eventually, Shoot decided to cautiously put his hand into the black vortex. He found it went right through, indicating a continuation beyond.

“It doesn’t hurt… Is there a path inside?”

He stared again at the mysterious black vortex. Based on what had just happened, he speculated that the vortex led to “something.” He decided to see what lay beyond it.

He might never return, there might be no path, he might fall into an abyss the moment he stepped inside. These premonitions crossed his mind, but he still wanted to go.

(My life is already a mess. If this awful life is going to continue anyway, clinging to this inexplicable thing might not be so bad.)

A mix of recklessness and hope propelled him. He hoped this would change his life.

"I don't know what's there, so I need to prepare for anything."

Shoot began to prepare. He packed a fairly large backpack with several bottles of water, several days' worth of food, a lighter, a knife, a first-aid kit, and other emergency supplies.

He chose durable clothes and comfortable running shoes.

“Alright, let’s go—”

And Shoot resolutely stepped into the black vortex—