A dull job. A dull life. Surrounded by people he had no interest in.
Every day blurred into the next, and the only thing anyone ever really looked forward to... was that nothing changed. Because change? That usually meant things got worse.
Even if life had polished him down, it was the same sandpaper that kept creating fresh wounds.
Once, he found escape in anime, in games, in fantasy worlds far better than his own—but even that lost its flavor, unable to fill the growing void gnawing at him from the inside.
"Why..."
A sigh, empty and tired, slipped from his lips.
Then came the screeching of brakes.
The world lit up in a blinding white as the shrill cry of a horn grew louder and louder—
Bang.
Zeta opened his eyes.
His eyes gleamed as he tossed the blanket aside and leaped out of bed.
Hands on his hips, chin raised high, he bellowed:
"Today too, I'm magnificently perverted!"
"You're so noisy, onii-chan!"
A voice barked from the next room—his little sister, already annoyed by her brother's daily nonsense.
But a true pervert doesn't take complaints lying down.
With lightning speed, Zeta flung open her door and burst into her room without warning. His finger pointed dramatically at his half-asleep sister, still in light blue pajamas.
"Foolish imouto, how dare you question the glory of your oniichan!"
He struck a pose, face gleaming with confidence and delusion. His sister, Hibiki, groaned.
Her expression twisted—not out of embarrassment but pure rage.
With a brother like him, she'd never need an alarm clock.
"You freak! Get out!"
She grabbed the nearest thing on her desk—her alarm clock—and launched it with terrifying precision. As the president of her school's ballet club, her flexibility and coordination were no joke. One quick step, a pivot, and a perfect high kick into a powerful overhead throw.
Alarm clock, velocity: 100 kilometers per hour.
Wham.
Zeta caught it with ease, lowered it gently to the floor, then strolled out of the room like a victorious warlord, even taking the time to close the door behind him.
Back in his room, he slipped into his dark brown high school uniform. It wasn't flashy enough to show off his natural charm, but it would do. He struck a pose in the mirror.
"The second stage of perverted evolution: high school student... begins now!"
…
Zeta descended from the second floor like a man reborn.
Once upon a time, he'd lived quietly. Miserably. Like some bug squashed under the pressure of expectations and mediocrity. Never resisting, never fighting.
But that version of him was dead.
"Good morning! Greetings from your favorite perverted high schooler!"
He called out to his parents at the breakfast table. His father was hidden behind a newspaper. His mother calmly sipped her coffee.
"Good morning, Zeta," his mother said, not even batting an eye.
"Hm," his father grunted in acknowledgment.
After years of their son's weird declarations, nothing fazed them anymore.
Zeta sat down and grabbed a piece of toast drenched in sweet ketchup. Moments later, Hibiki entered the kitchen. She paused the instant she saw him.
Her eyes narrowed.
She sat down reluctantly at the opposite end of the table, sliding her chair just a bit farther from her brother.
Zeta, still munching toast, turned and gave her a grin and a big thumbs-up.
Hibiki shivered. Her eyes darted to her parents, silently begging for help.
They didn't even flinch.
Desperate to redirect the chaos, Hibiki struck first.
"When is my pervert brother finally getting a girlfriend?"
Their dad didn't look up. "Hard to find someone decent in high school," he mumbled.
Mom nodded. "Zeta, dear, if you keep acting like a pervert, you'll scare all the girls away."
Faced with this family assault, Zeta calmly finished his coffee, stood up, and wiped his mouth with dramatic flair.
"Two months. Just give me two months, and I'll show you the unstoppable rise of the Harem King!"
With that bold declaration, he marched toward his parents.
"A goodbye kiss from your overly affectionate high school son!"
Despite their sighs and eye-rolls, he kissed them both on the cheek.
Then, he turned to Hibiki, who recoiled in horror.
"No! Don't you da—!"
Too late.
Zeta landed a kiss on her cheek, grabbed his schoolbag, and stormed toward the door.
"Good afternoon! A pervert's early farewell! Bye!"
"Have a safe trip~" his mother called out cheerfully.
Out on the street, Zeta greeted the old man next door watering his garden.
"Good morning, Grandpa! Can I get your granddaughter's LINE?"
"She's seven, you degenerate! Get outta here!"
Zeta only laughed and waved, picking up his pace.
He greeted everyone on his route to school with a cheeky smile and a pervert's charm. Some people ignored the "pervert" part completely and waved back. Some rolled their eyes. Some even threw it back at him with matching enthusiasm.
But then...
He saw her.
A girl, standing just inside the school gate, framed by the rising sun. Her hair pink, her school bag dangling with band pins and guitar picks.
His grin faded.
"So it's her..."
…
Despite having fragments of his past life—anime, games, stories—Zeta never used them to cheat.
He didn't want to build his new life out of stolen bricks. He didn't want to become one of those soulless, greedy parasites he used to despise—the kind who copied others and called it talent.
Even if that meant struggle.
Even if he had to stay average.
But this... this moment... felt different.
The girl was real. She wasn't pixels. She wasn't a character model.
If he remembered correctly, her name was Goto Hitori.
Stage name: Bocchi.
A nervous wreck with extreme social anxiety, but a genius with a guitar. One of the stars of an anime he had once watched obsessively.
And now, she stood just meters away.
Real. Breathing. Alive.
Zeta looked at her for a little too long.
When her eyes twitched in his direction, he panicked and turned away—then froze.
She definitely noticed.
Should he feel bad? Maybe. But instead...
"As a pervert, stalking is probably in the job description."
He started to follow.
Hitori's steps got faster.
So did his.
A drop of sweat slid down her cheek as dread bloomed in her chest.
Why is he following me?!
Is this a coincidence? No—he's matching my pace!
Does he recognize the band merch I'm wearing? Is he... trying to talk to me?!
Hitori turned around, stiffly, like a broken robot.
Her eyes met his.
She froze.
No way...!!
[To be continued...]