The laughter echoed like knives.
Tony stood in the narrow alley behind the school gym—the bully spot, they called it. A cracked wall at his back, a crowd of grinning faces in front of him. They weren't hitting him today. That almost would've been better. Instead, they were doing what they always did—mocking him.
"Hey, wizard boy! Cast a spell and disappear already!" "Maybe his imaginary girlfriend from that manga will save him!" "Oi Tony, what's it like living in your fairyland while the rest of us live in reality?"
He didn't respond. He never did. He just stood there, head low, fists clenched tight enough that his nails bit into his palms. The cold wind stung his face, but it wasn't as sharp as the words.
They left eventually—laughing, joking, high-fiving each other like heroes walking away from a battle. Tony slid down the wall and sat on the damp ground, his backpack half-open and books spilled like wounded soldiers.
This was just another day.
He wasn't popular.
He wasn't athletic.
He wasn't smart enough to be praised, nor rebellious enough to be feared.
He was nothing.
Tony Sullivan—seventeen, invisible, and utterly unremarkable.
The only thing he lived for was fantasy. Magic. Stories. Escapes.
When he read, he became someone else—someone powerful. Someone brave. Someone who mattered.
He imagined casting spells with a flick of the wrist, flying through skies on dragons, or walking down the halls of a grand academy where his talents were admired, not mocked. He dreamed of love stories where someone looked at him and saw something worth loving. Not the awkward, quiet boy with messy hair and second-hand shoes.
But reality was cruel.
Books closed.
Dreams faded.
And he always woke up here—alone.
At home, it was no different.
His father barely looked at him anymore. When he did, it was with disappointment etched across his face like stone.
"You're seventeen, Tony. When are you going to grow up and act like a man?"
The warmth in their home had died years ago—along with the only person who ever truly understood him.
His mother.
She passed away when Tony was ten. A sudden illness. One day she was there, tucking him in with a smile, and the next, she was just… gone.
But she was everything to him.
She used to sit beside him at night, books in hand, her voice weaving tales of knights and sorcerers, enchanted forests and brave-hearted boys. She never laughed at his dreams. She nurtured them.
"One day, my little wizard," she'd whisper, brushing his hair back gently, "you'll find a world where you belong."
He clung to those words like a lifeline. Even years later.
After she died, everything changed. His father turned cold—grief calcified into frustration. The house that once smelled of baked cookies and old books now echoed with silence and regret.
Tony stopped talking about magic. But he never stopped wanting it.
That evening, the sky was gray and heavy with rain. Tony walked home in silence, the streets slick and empty, the weight of the day pressing against his shoulders.
His backpack felt heavier than ever.
His heart, even more so.
He crossed the road without really looking. His mind was somewhere else—anywhere else. In a magic duel. In a forest of elves. In a school where he wasn't mocked but chosen.
That's when the headlights hit him.
A flash.
A screech.
A roar of metal and bone and pain.
Time slowed.
He didn't even scream. He just thought:
So this is it, huh? This pathetic, worthless life… This is how it ends.
Maybe this is mercy.
And then—
A face.
Soft and familiar.
Warm eyes. Gentle smile. Brown hair tucked behind one ear as she reached toward him.
His mother.
"You'll find a world where you belong…"
A smile touched his lips, faint and fleeting—but real.
Then, everything went white.
Like snow falling in silence.
Like the end of one story…
And the beginning of something new.