Tokyo was loud, alive, and always moving—but for Ren Yamada, the city had always felt quiet.
He wasn't shy. He just preferred the silence. Crowded classrooms, noisy clubs, awkward small talk—they drained him. That's why, on the first day of high school, he chose the window seat in the back row. Not to be cool or mysterious. Just to be left alone.
But then someone dropped their bag into the seat beside him with a loud thump, pulled the chair back, and flopped down like they owned the space.
"Man, this classroom's huge," the guy said. "You mind if I sit here? Feels like the air's better back here."
Ren looked over.
Messy black hair, a relaxed smile, and eyes that didn't seem to care what anyone thought.
"I don't mind," Ren replied simply.
The guy extended a hand. "Kenji Sato."
Ren shook it. "Ren Yamada."
That was it.
No dramatic spark. No forced conversation. Just an easy handshake and shared space in the quiet corner of the classroom.
By the end of that week, they were walking home together.
By the end of the month, they were inseparable.
Kenji was the kind of person who made everything feel lighter. He had energy but not in the annoying way—more like he knew how to carry the mood, how to fill silences without pushing people. He never forced Ren to talk, but somehow always got him to anyway.
They ate lunch behind the gym, far from the crowded cafeteria.
They skipped boring assemblies to sit on the rooftop and share cheap konbini snacks.
And most of all—they gamed.
One day, during a lazy after-school hangout at Kenji's place, he brought it up.
"You heard of The Game?" Kenji asked, opening a soda and tossing a controller aside.
"The VR one?" Ren replied. "Kōto: city of chaos?"
"Yeah. Dude, it's insane. You're not just playing it—you're in it. You can feel everything. The weapons, the world, even the damn rain. It's like being reborn in neon."
Ren raised an eyebrow. "Sounds expensive."
Kenji grinned. "Already saved up for two headsets. Got one used, still works. You're coming with me."
Ren smirked. "You serious?"
"Dead serious. You're not escaping this friendship, Yamada."
That weekend, Ren strapped on the headset for the first time.
And the game, changed everything.
It was a massive neon metropolis—skyscrapers wrapped in holograms, flying cars zooming overhead, alleyways lit by flickering cyber-ads, and looming threats hidden in the shadows. Konran Industries ruled the city, a mega-corporation with an army of enforcers, mind-control tech, and a plan to dominate both digital and mental space.
Players were the resistance.
And Ren and Kenji? They were the heart of it.
They called their duo Dual Reboot.
Ren played a close-range combat build—fast, reckless, twin rifles. Kenji ran support and strategy—hacks, drones, sniper cover. Their teamwork was unbeatable. Aiko and Botan, two high-level NPC allies, joined their squad and became like real teammates. They even joked about how Aiko seemed to "ship them" with the way she always complimented their synergy.
Night after night, they logged in after school. And day by day, their bond grew tighter—not just as players, but as brothers.
"Promise me we'll finish this game," Kenji said one night as they stood atop a digital tower overlooking Kōto's skyline.
Ren looked over. "You're not quitting on me, are you?"
Kenji smiled. "Never."
And Ren believed him.
Back in real life, everything wasn't as bright. Kenji lived with his mother—his father had passed away years ago. Ren's parents were still technically together, but his father had moved to another city for work. His mother was always gone. Home felt empty.
But with Kenji, it didn't matter.
Together, they'd built a world of neon, battles, and memories.
A world where nothing could touch them.
Or so Ren thought.