The morning sun crept through the narrow window of a small apartment, its rays landing on the messy desk of a Grade 11 student named Johnrey Spokey. Papers, notebooks, and an old gaming console covered the table like the remains of an unfinished battle.
Riiing! Riiing!
The alarm clock screamed.
Johnrey groaned, pulling his blanket tighter around his head.
"Five more minutes…" he mumbled, half-asleep.
The alarm didn't stop. In one motion, he grabbed the clock and hurled it toward the wall. Crash! Silence followed.
Five minutes later, his eyes flickered open. "Huh?" He turned his head toward the broken clock.
"…Oh crap! I'm late!!"
Panic surged through him. He threw off his blanket, stumbled out of bed, and fumbled with his uniform. One sock on, the other missing. He dashed around the room like a headless chicken until he spotted it—stuck to the ceiling fan.
"Why me…" he muttered, jumping to grab it.
Finally dressed, he sprinted down the narrow staircase, nearly losing his balance on the last step.
"Morning, Johnrey!" said Kathryn, the old landlady sitting on her rocking chair near the door. Her kind face had more wrinkles than his schoolbooks had words.
"M-Morning, Ms. Kathryn!" he said, bowing his head politely while trying to slip his shoes on.
"You're late again," she chuckled, holding up a brown paper bag. "Here, take this. Bread and butter. You'll need energy for running."
Johnrey grabbed it mid-run. "Thank you, Ms. Kathryn! You're a lifesaver!"
He sprinted down the street, waving his hand high.
The streetlights ahead turned red. Johnrey skidded to a stop, panting.
"C'mon… c'mon, turn green already!"
When the light finally turned, he bolted across the road, the wind whipping through his fiery red hair. His bag bounced on his shoulder, half-open, papers fluttering behind him.
He burst through the school gate just as the bell rang.
"Made it!" he gasped.
But his victory was short-lived.
As he turned a corner in the hallway, he collided with someone. Papers flew, and Johnrey stumbled back.
He looked up—straight into the cold eyes of Ryohei, the school committee president. His silver badge gleamed on his coat like a medal of authority.
"S-sorry, Ryohei!" Johnrey bowed, trembling.
Ryohei didn't speak. He merely glanced down at Johnrey—sharp and silent as a viper—before walking away. The click of his shoes echoed down the hall.
Johnrey exhaled. "That was close…"
At Classroom B-2, Johnrey slid the door open.
His advisor, Mr. Tanaka, glanced up from the desk.
"Late again, Johnrey."
He scratched his head. "I overslept, sir."
"That's always your excuse." Tanaka sighed. "Just sit down and listen."
"Yes, sir." Johnrey slumped into his seat near the back. His classmates snickered softly, whispering things like "same old Johnrey" and "walking disaster."
Johnrey just smiled weakly. He was used to it.
By the time the clock hit three, most students were heading home. But Johnrey stayed behind, tasked with cleaning duty—again.
He hummed quietly as he wiped the blackboard.
Maybe if I work hard, sensei won't scold me tomorrow...
He took a step back and—splash!—tripped over a bucket of water. Cold liquid soaked through his pants.
The room erupted in laughter from a few students who hadn't left yet.
"Haha! Classic Johnrey!"
"Maybe you should be a fish, not a student!"
Johnrey sat on the wet floor, chuckled softly, and said, "Guess I deserved that…"
He wrung out his shirt and continued cleaning, pretending not to care—but deep inside, a small ache lingered.
When the clock hit 5:00 PM, the sun had already begun to dip. Johnrey packed his bag and started his walk home. The streets were quiet except for the hum of passing cars and the rustle of autumn leaves.
His footsteps echoed along the curved road near the old train bridge when he heard a voice ahead.
"Get out of our way, old man!"
He froze. Around the corner, he saw two teenagers in uniform shoving an elderly man with a cane. The man wore a black cap and trembled as one of the bullies kicked his bag away.
"Please, I'm sorry for bumping into you. It was an accident," the old man said weakly.
One of the bullies spat at his feet. "Apologize with money, old man."
Johnrey felt his heart pound. He wanted to walk away. He always did. But his feet refused to move. His hands trembled as he whispered, "S-stop that…"
The bullies turned toward him, sneering.
"Oh, look. A hero wannabe."
"Run home, kid. Don't get involved."
But when one of them raised his fist toward the old man, Johnrey dashed forward on instinct.
"Leave him alone!" he shouted, shoving the bully aside.
The thug's eyes flared. "You little—!"
A punch slammed into Johnrey's stomach. Then another across his cheek. He crumpled to the ground, arms up, trying to block the blows. They kicked him over and over until he stopped moving.
"Let that be a lesson," one sneered before they walked away laughing.
Johnrey lay on the pavement, breathing heavily. Blood trickled from his lip.
He slowly pushed himself up. "O-ow… That hurt more than usual."
"Are you alright, son?" the old man asked, bending down.
Johnrey forced a smile. "I'm used to it. What about you, old man? Are you okay?"
The old man nodded, eyes filled with both gratitude and curiosity. "You protected me… even though you knew you couldn't win."
Johnrey laughed faintly. "Guess I don't think before I act."
The old man's gaze softened. "You have courage, even if you don't see it."
He reached into his coat and pulled out a small wooden box, etched with a faint symbol of fire. It pulsed softly, as if alive.
"Here," he said. "Take this."
Johnrey shook his head. "No, sir, I can't accept that. I just helped you, it's no big deal."
"I insist," the old man said with a mysterious smile. "It's a gift… and a responsibility."
"I—I really don't need anything," Johnrey stammered, bowing awkwardly. "Just glad you're okay."
The old man chuckled quietly, slipping the box into Johnrey's open school bag without him noticing. "At least help me to the bus station, then."
"Sure thing," Johnrey said, helping him walk slowly down the road.
When they reached the bus stop, the sky had turned orange with the setting sun.
Johnrey smiled. "Take care, old man."
"And you," the man replied. "The world's going to test you, boy. When it does—trust the fire within."
Johnrey tilted his head. "Huh?"
The man just smiled as the bus arrived. He climbed aboard and waved gently. Johnrey waved back until the bus disappeared around the corner.
A moment later, a sleek black limousine rolled up where the bus had been. Two men in suits stepped out and opened the door.
"Your ride is ready, Boss," one said respectfully.
The old man nodded, stepping into the car with the help of his cane. The driver looked at him through the mirror.
"Did you find someone worthy, sir?"
"Yes," the old man said, a faint smile playing on his lips. "But there's a problem…"
"Problem?"
"That boy is clumsy, timid, and completely unaware of his potential."
He paused, his gaze distant. "But I felt something inside him… a spark. Faint, but real."
The car drove away, disappearing into the night.
Meanwhile, Johnrey walked home, unaware that the box in his bag began to glow faintly through the fabric. The symbol of fire shimmered red, pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat.
He yawned, rubbing his bruised cheek.
"What a day… I should really stop picking fights I can't win."
When he reached his apartment, Kathryn greeted him again. "Oh dear, Johnrey! What happened to your face?"
He laughed nervously. "Just… tripped on the stairs again."
Kathryn shook her head, unconvinced but smiling anyway. "You're hopeless, boy. There's medicine on the counter."
"Thanks, Ms. Kathryn."
He stepped into his small room, threw his bag on the floor, and collapsed onto the bed.
As he closed his eyes, the faint red glow from the box illuminated the room for a brief moment—like a heartbeat of fire.
And deep within that box, a ring of crimson flame waited for its new master to awaken it.