6:30 AM. The emptiness in this apartment has become my faithful companion. The alarm from my phone is the only sound brave enough to break the silence. With a practiced motion, I turn it off, then sit on the edge of my bed, letting my consciousness gather itself.
The kitchen greets me with the same coldness. On the table, only one set of dishes awaits. Mom has already left, as usual. I open the fridge—a cold box storing the remnants of our hurried lives—and take out two eggs. Cooking is the only skill I've acquired not from a book, but from necessity. Simple fried rice with a sunny-side-up egg. A breakfast fit for a background character.
My eyes catch a small photo on the fridge door. Dad, with his wide, warm smile, a smile that for three years I've only been able to greet through a piece of photo paper. His passing didn't just leave a hole in Mom's heart; it also turned me into a master observer. I learned not to stand out, not to be a burden, and not to draw attention. I became an expert at blending into the background.
"I'm leaving," I whisper to the silent walls.
The world outside is a giant stage. I put on my earphones, not to listen to music, but to build a wall of sound between myself and the world. On my way, my analytical brain kicks in. I see them—the main characters of their own stories. A group of girls laughing, discussing last night's drama. They are the 'Popular Clique'. A couple holding hands, as if the world belongs only to them. They are the 'Romantic Couple'. And me? I'm a background character. Extra number three from the left, whose only job is to walk across the screen.
Class 2-B is a miniature version of that stage. An ecosystem with a clear hierarchy. I head straight for my throne: the corner seat by the window, third row from the back. The best fortress for an observer.
"Good morning, Mr. Hermit! Enjoying your solitude again?"
Tanaka Kenta. My best friend, and the only person with unofficial clearance to enter my sovereign territory. He is my opposite in every way—cheerful, social, and possessing a strange ability to know all the latest gossip. He is my ambassador to the normal world.
"Just conserving energy," I reply, lowering my music volume.
"Your energy is like an old phone battery, runs out way too fast," he jokes, then his eyes light up as he looks toward the door. "Well, look at that. The main character of our school drama has arrived."
I follow his gaze.
Aizawa Nanami doesn't just walk in; she makes an entrance. The air around her seems to vibrate. The chatter subsides slightly, several pairs of eyes glancing over in admiration. She is the sun, and her friends are the planets that happily orbit her. Sasaki Rina, her most loyal lieutenant, immediately greets her with a wide smile.
She returns her friends' greetings, laughing softly. The laugh is beautiful, but practiced. Every movement—the way she brushes back her brown hair, the way she smiles—feels like a performance rehearsed a thousand times. A performance of perfection.
Then, the performance stops.
Just for a moment. Her eyes, sweeping across the classroom, meet mine. For a split second, I swear I see it. Her mask cracks. Her smile shatters into a million pieces, and from behind the wreckage, something ancient and cold emerges. Hatred. Pure and unfiltered. Her free hand unconsciously grips the strap of her bag tighter.
Then, just as quickly, the mask is back in place. She turns away, becoming Aizawa Nanami the goddess once more, and continues her conversation as if there was no interruption.
A cold sensation crawls down my spine. I immediately look down, focusing on the wood grain of my desk.
"Seriously, dude," Kenta's voice is softer now, his tone shifting from joking to curious. "You really don't remember doing anything to her? That look could kill, you know."
"Maybe I stepped on her favorite ant in a past life," I mutter nonsensically, a standard reply I've come to rely on.
Kenta can only sigh. He wouldn't understand. I don't either. To me, Aizawa Nanami's hatred is an anomaly, a bug in the quiet system of my life. A mystery too exhausting to solve.
It's better to remain a background character. Background characters don't have important lines, they don't have conflicts, and most importantly, they don't become the target of the main character.
I look out the window at the blue sky, hoping today will pass just like the hundreds of days before it. Quiet, calm, and without incident.
A naive hope from a background character who had no idea that the curtain on the most important act of his life was about to be raised.