Chapter One: That Day, I Slipped Behind Everyone Else

Based on a true story.
"I'm not lazy. I swear… I'm just… slower."
That's what I used to tell myself every night before bed. Like a mantra. Like a lie I hoped would turn true if I repeated it enough.
My textbooks lay open beside me, barely touched. The numbers on the math page danced like shadows. I blinked, squinted — they never stood still.
"Why can't I do this?"
"Why am I like this?"
Even now, I don't have an answer.
My name is Ray White.
I'm thirteen. A first-year at Chuugakkou — Japanese middle school.
I have white hair, decent looks, and zero talents.
Not smart. Not athletic.
Not anyone special.
But I wasn't always like this.
No, back then… I was still whole.
Let's rewind to when I was ten.
Shougakkou go-nensei — 5th grade.
The year that changed everything.
The year the world shut down.
The pandemic hit like a typhoon. Schools closed. Laughter vanished from playgrounds. And suddenly, classrooms were screens, and teachers were tiny boxes frozen in lag.
Everyone struggled.
But for someone already slow like me…
It was like drowning in silence.
"Ray-kun, are you there?"
The teacher's voice echoed from the laptop.
I stared at the screen, my mouth dry.
"Yes…" I typed.
She didn't see it.
I pressed mute. My mic didn't work.
My net crashed again.
The lesson moved on.
And I was left behind — again.
I tried. I really did.
I stayed up copying notes I didn't understand.
Watched tutorial videos.
Asked classmates… until they stopped replying.
My parents were busy. Tired. Frustrated.
They thought I wasn't serious.
They called me lazy.
But how do you explain to someone that your brain just… shuts down?
When school resumed physically a year later, I was already broken.
Everyone had moved forward.
I was still stuck at the start line.
In Chuugakkou, it became worse.
My classmates had changed.
Taller, sharper, colder.
I was quiet. I didn't talk much.
And when I did, it was always too soft. Too late.
They called me "ghost boy."
The teachers noticed — but not in the way I needed.
The math teacher barked when I got answers wrong.
The English teacher sighed every time I opened my book.
Once, I saw her roll her eyes when I asked for help.
And then came the day I couldn't take it.
"Ray," the math teacher snapped. "Stand up."
I rose slowly. My hands trembled.
"This is basic. Even a fifth grader can do it. Why are you here?"
Laughter spread across the room.
I clenched my fists. Held back tears.
But they still fell anyway.
That's when I realized — I wasn't just behind.
I was a joke.
Still… I went back the next day. And the next.
Why?
Because I still hoped someone would see me.
Really see me.
That maybe… I mattered.
That hope is the only reason I haven't disappeared completely.
Not yet.
But every day, it fades just a little more.
And I wonder…
How many more tomorrows until I vanish?
To be continued…