Chapter 1 – The Boy Who Chose to Be Forgotten
The classroom window reflected nothing. Not the pale winter sun, not the restless sway of trees outside, not even the boy staring into it.
Arata Kurozawa's reflection was always like that—blurred, faded, as though even glass refused to acknowledge him.
"Hey, did you finish the math homework?"
"Yeah, here. Copy fast before sensei comes."
Laughter and chatter filled the room, voices bouncing back and forth like a tide Arata was never part of. No one turned to his corner seat in the back row. No one asked if he was listening. He might as well have been air.
Arata kept his head down, pen scratching across paper. He had the answers. He always had the answers. But no one thought to ask him.
Not anymore.
The bell rang, sharp and final. Chairs scraped, bags slammed shut, and students spilled into the hall in buzzing groups. Arata lingered behind, as always, packing his things last. If he walked out with the others, he'd only be bumped aside, forgotten mid-step.
He had learned long ago that silence was easier. That blending in was safer.
But easier didn't mean painless.
---
The winter air stung against his cheeks as he walked home, hands shoved into his pockets. Neon signs flickered to life across the street. Children laughed, mothers scolded, friends argued, lovers whispered.
The world was full of voices—voices that never called his name.
Why was I even born if I was going to be ignored?
He stopped at the crosswalk, waiting for the light to change. The traffic signal blinked green.
And then—
HOOOOOOONK!
A blinding light. Tires screaming. A truck tore through the intersection.
Arata turned his head. His eyes widened.
Impact.
But no pain came. No ground, no sky, no city. Only—
Darkness.
---
It wasn't the darkness of night. It was suffocating, infinite, as though the universe itself had forgotten to paint him into existence.
A voice echoed. Deep, ancient. Neither male nor female.
> "Arata Kurozawa. Do you regret?"
His voice cracked in the emptiness. "…Regret?"
> "You lived unseen. Forgotten. Do you regret the life you led?"
Arata's laugh was hollow. "Regret? What's the point? Even my regrets would be ignored."
Silence. Then the voice pressed again, closer, wrapping around him like chains.
> "Do you wish to try again?"
"…Try again?" His lips twisted. "As what? Another shadow in the corner? Another invisible ghost walking among people who don't care?"
The void trembled. Symbols of crimson light circled beneath his feet. Chains bound his wrists and ankles, glowing hot, searing his skin.
> "No. This time, you will not be forgotten. This time, you will be remembered. As the Final Villain."
Arata's breath caught. His heartbeat echoed louder than the void.
"…The Final Villain?"
> "The last shadow this world will ever know. Its harbinger of ruin. Its living scar."
For a moment, Arata's throat tightened. Was this madness? A curse? Or salvation?
He thought of the classroom, the laughter that passed him by. The father who called him useless. The friend who betrayed him long ago.
And he smiled. A broken, trembling smile.
"…Fine. If being human means being forgotten… then let me be a monster. At least monsters are remembered."
The chains shattered like glass.
---
Light. Heat. Breath.
Arata opened his eyes.
He was kneeling on polished marble in a vast throne room. Black banners lined the walls. Soldiers in silver armor stood in formation, spears crossed, their faces shadowed by helmets.
At the far end of the hall sat a king on a throne of obsidian and gold. His crown glimmered under torchlight, but his eyes gleamed with something sharper than jewels—greed.
"The Demon Successor has arrived," the king announced.
The soldiers dropped to one knee in unison, heads bowed.
Arata blinked. His reflection stared back at him from the floor—not the pale, unnoticed boy from before. His hair shimmered darker, strands of shadow rippling like ink in water. His eyes glowed faintly crimson, and on the back of his hand, a sigil pulsed with heat—the mark of his summoning.
"What… is this?" His voice trembled.
The king's lips curled into a smile. "You are the one chosen by fate. The heir to the Demon Lord's will. With your power, you will serve this kingdom, until your destiny is fulfilled."
Serve.
The word burned. Again? A tool? Even here?
A knight stepped forward, sword drawn. "Your Majesty, this runt is the Demon Successor? Allow me to test him."
The king nodded lazily. "Do as you wish."
The knight raised his blade, sneering. "On your feet, boy. Show me your worth, or I'll cut you down now."
Something inside Arata snapped.
The torches flickered. The air dropped to ice. Shadows pooled at his feet, writhing like living serpents.
The knight's smirk faltered. His breath fogged in the air. "Wh–what is this?"
Arata rose slowly, eyes blazing crimson. His shadow stretched unnaturally across the floor, twisting into jagged claws that coiled upward like hungry beasts.
"…If the world wants a villain," Arata said quietly, his voice steadier than it had ever been in his first life.
The knight swung his sword. A shadow claw lashed out, shattering the blade like brittle glass. The pieces scattered across the marble, clattering at the king's feet.
Arata's lips curved into a cold, almost gentle smile.
"…I'll give them one."
Silence fell. Not a soldier moved. The throne room itself seemed to tremble. Even the king's eyes, greedy a moment ago, flickered with unease.
Arata Kurozawa stood in the center of the hall, shadows writhing at his command.
No longer the boy who was forgotten.
No longer invisible.
But the villain the world had demanded.
And for the first time in both his lives—
Arata was seen.