Rain fell gently over the roof of a small countryside church. The building was old, made of stone and wood, with vines growing along its walls. The bell above the door was rusty and broken. No one came here much anymore. Not since the world changed.
But long ago, this quiet place was filled with warmth.
And in front of it, seventeen years ago, a baby was left in a basket.
No name. No note. Just a small blanket and a bottle of cold milk.
When Father Kyou opened the door that morning, he nearly tripped over the basket.
He looked down, surprised. The baby stared up at him with wide, silent eyes.
"Oh dear," the priest whispered. "Where did you come from, little one?"
The baby didn't cry. He simply looked at the man with a calm, confused expression.
Father Kyou knelt beside him, then gently picked him up.
"You're not crying," he said softly. "That's a strong start."
He looked around. No one was nearby. Just the sound of birds and the gentle wind.
"Well," he said, "I suppose you're mine now."
He carried the child inside, wrapped him in a dry blanket, and lit a fire in the hearth.
The priest gave the baby a name.
Jin Haru.
---
Jin's earliest memories were warm.
Crackling fires. The smell of soup. The soft voice of Father Kyou reading books to him under candlelight.
There were no toys, no bright screens, no other children. But Jin didn't mind.
Father Kyou raised him like a real son. He taught him to read, to write, and to pray. He showed him how to care for the garden, fix broken things, and cook simple meals.
But more than anything, he taught Jin to be kind.
"Even if the world turns cruel," the priest said, "you must hold onto kindness. It's the only thing stronger than pain."
Jin nodded every time, though he didn't fully understand the words.
He just liked hearing the priest's voice. It made him feel safe.
---
As Jin grew, he began to notice something.
He was different from the children in town.
When the church bell rang on Sundays, people would sometimes visit. Families. Travelers. Other kids.
Jin watched from the window.
The boys were thin and strong. The girls laughed easily. They wore nice clothes and clean shoes.
Jin, on the other hand, was large for his age. His body was round and soft. His face was wide. His clothes were old and hand-sewn by Father Kyou.
When he stepped outside, some children whispered.
"Is that the church boy?"
"He's huge!"
"Why does he look like that?"
Jin didn't know how to answer those questions. So, he stayed quiet.
At night, he would sit by the mirror in his room, holding a candle.
He touched his face. His belly. His thick arms.
"Why am I like this…?"
But Father Kyou never made him feel ashamed.
"You're healthy, Jin," he would say. "You're strong. You're a good boy."
Jin would smile a little. Just a little.
Because when Father Kyou said those words, they sounded like truth.
---
Jin started school at age seven.
At first, he was excited.
He had never been in a real classroom. He brought a notebook, a pencil, and a lunchbox packed by the priest.
But things didn't go well.
The other students didn't like him.
They said he smelled like old wood. They said he was too quiet. They called him fat, stupid, and slow.
At lunchtime, they knocked his food to the floor. They laughed as he picked up the pieces.
"Pig's eating garbage!"
Sometimes, they hit him with rulers or kicked his chair when the teacher wasn't looking.
Jin told no one.
Not the teacher.
Not the priest.
He didn't want to be a burden.
So he smiled when he came home. He did his homework. He prayed at night.
But deep inside, something was breaking.
---
When Jin turned thirteen, he stopped smiling.
His body was even bigger now. His classmates were taller, faster, and crueler.
He became their favorite target.
They pushed him into lockers. Scribbled on his notebooks. Broke his glasses more than once.
Still, Jin stayed silent.
He had nowhere else to go. And no one to protect him, except Father Kyou.
The priest noticed the bruises.
But Jin always lied.
"I fell."
"I tripped."
"I'm just clumsy."
Father Kyou looked at him with worried eyes.
He knew something was wrong.
But Jin wouldn't say the truth.
Not yet.
By the time Jin turned seventeen, he had already stopped hoping for a better life.
Every morning, he left the church quietly. He walked the long dirt road to town, his school bag over one shoulder. His shirt didn't fit right. His pants were too tight. He tried not to meet anyone's eyes.
He sat in the back of the classroom, never speaking.
No one wanted to sit beside him.
He listened to the teacher. He wrote notes carefully. He tried so hard to be invisible.
But it didn't matter.
Every day, someone found a reason to hit him.
"Why are you breathing so loud, freak?"
"Move, fatass."
"Oops, I spilled water on your bag. What a shame."
They laughed, and he stayed silent. If he fought back, it would only get worse.
After school, he ran to the church as fast as he could. It wasn't far, but even the short run left him panting.
Father Kyou would be waiting.
Sometimes with soup. Sometimes with stories. Always with a smile.
Jin tried to smile back.
He never told the priest about the bruises under his shirt.
Or the spit in his locker.
Or the names they called him.
Because this church was the only place that felt like home.
And Father Kyou was the only person who had ever looked at him with kindness.
---
That winter, the world began to change.
It started with strange news on TV.
Reports of shadows in the sky. Earthquakes that didn't come from fault lines. People disappearing in forests and never coming back.
Then came the first dungeon gate.
In Tokyo, a hole appeared in the air like a black swirl. Monsters poured out and destroyed half the district.
But then, something else happened.
People awakened.
A man summoned lightning from his hands.
A girl used her voice to stop a monster's heart.
Humans began gaining powers, like characters from a game or a movie.
The world called them Awakened.
Some were chosen randomly. Others awakened during battle or great fear. No one understood how it worked.
The government made special forces. Companies paid big money for talented Awakened.
Suddenly, power was everything.
And Jin had none.
He watched the news in the church kitchen every night.
He didn't understand it all. Just that the world outside was getting bigger and scarier.
---
Then, one day in spring, a dungeon gate opened near Jin's town.
It happened in the forest just beyond the hills.
The ground shook. The sky turned purple. And a scream echoed through the valley.
Jin was at school when it started.
The teachers shouted. The alarms rang. Everyone ran.
Jin tried to follow, but his legs were slow. He tripped on the stairs. No one helped him up.
When he reached the road, he saw black smoke rising above the trees.
And worse—he saw monsters.
Like shadows with bones. Crawling on long arms. Screaming without mouths.
The military came. Then the Awakened.
They fought. Fire, ice, and lightning clashed in the sky.
Jin could only watch.
---
He ran home.
The path to the church was filled with smoke. Ash fell from the sky like snow.
He burst through the doors, calling out.
"Father Kyou?!"
No answer.
He checked the kitchen. The bedrooms. The prayer hall.
Empty.
Then he heard it—a scream.
From the garden out back.
Jin ran.
And he saw it.
A small girl, maybe ten years old, crying behind a stone wall.
One of the monsters was crawling toward her, blood dripping from its mouth.
But in front of her stood Father Kyou.
"No!" Jin shouted, too far away.
The priest looked over his shoulder. He smiled, just for a second.
Then he stepped between the monster and the child.
A fireball flew through the air.
It wasn't from the monster.
It came from an Awakened nearby—aiming for the creature.
But the monster dodged.
And the fireball struck Father Kyou instead.
Jin saw it all.
The blast. The flames. The fall.
He screamed until his throat broke.
By the time he reached the priest's side, it was too late.
---
"Jin…" the priest whispered, barely breathing.
"No, no, please," Jin sobbed. "Don't talk. Don't—just stay awake, okay?! I'll call someone—I'll—"
Father Kyou raised a shaking hand.
"Don't cry… you'll be okay…"
Jin gripped his hand tight.
"I'm not okay," he said. "You're the only one who ever loved me. Please don't leave…"
The priest looked into his eyes.
"I'm proud of you… my son…"
Then his eyes closed.
And his body went still.
Jin screamed.
But no one came.
No heroes. No gods.
Just smoke and silence.