February 18, 2025
The sun didn't rise over Saitama. It leaked in.
It bled through smog and neon haze and whatever chemical perfume drifted out of the industrial mana plants at the edge of the city.
Morning felt less like a beginning and more like a system reboot no one had approved.
For Alex Scott, it was Tuesday.
Tuesday meant heavy-duty trash collection.
In Saitama, "trash" occasionally had mandibles.
Alex lay on his thin mattress and stared at the ceiling. A water stain above him had been spreading for months. Today it looked like a cat. A disappointed cat.
Don't get up, his brain suggested kindly. If you stay under the blanket, the world can't confirm you exist. If you don't exist, no one can ask what you're doing with your life.
He rolled onto his side.
His phone buzzed against the floor like an angry insect.
The screen lit up in fractured light—Model-7 Mana-Link, three generations old, one crack away from retirement. Battery: 3%.
"Right," he muttered.
Being an F-Rank mage meant his mana pool could generously be described as "decorative." Charging electronics required direct mana induction. Which meant sitting cross-legged on the floor, thumb pressed to the pad, concentrating very hard while trying not to think about how everyone else his age could power a refrigerator without breaking a sweat.
He closed his eyes.
One… two… three…
The faint hum began in his palm. It crawled up his wrist and lodged behind his eyes. By minute four he felt the familiar migraine forming.
Battery: 41%.
He peeled his thumb away and lay back down, staring at the ceiling-cat.
Nineteen years old. Permanent resident of Japan. F-Rank. Orphan.
His parents had moved them from England when he was fifteen—"new opportunities," his dad had said.
The Event happened six months later.
A localized mana storm over the Shuto Expressway. The car folded like paper.
Alex didn't like thinking about it. The memory felt sharp at the edges.
He sat up before the silence could get heavy.
The Global Mage Management Corps jumpsuit hung off him like it had been tailored for someone braver.
Grey fabric. Corporate logo. Practical boots.
To the public, the GMMC were protectors. Heroes. Keepers of arcane stability.
To Alex, they were the reason rent deducted automatically from his paycheck.
He studied himself in the bathroom mirror. Pale skin. Dark circles. Brown hair that refused to cooperate with gravity.
He looked like a Victorian poet who had accidentally joined the military.
Okay. Plan.
Walk to the station.
Do not make eye contact.
If someone asks for directions, pretend you're thinking very hard in English.
Simple.
The train was packed with Salary-Mages.
Crisp suits. Polished shoes. B-Rank insignias pinned neatly to their lapels.
They discussed mana futures and spell optimization algorithms like they were debating baseball scores.
Alex stood wedged near the door, hood up.
He felt like a typo.
The Saitama Branch office tower rose out of the street like a concrete accusation.
He checked in at the kiosk.
NAME: SCOTT, ALEXRANK: FASSIGNMENT: NEST SUPPRESSION / CLEAN-UP SUPPORTLOCATION: OMIYA KEMPO FIELDPARTNER: KAEN, RENJIRO (RANK: D)
His stomach tightened.
A partner.
A D-Rank partner.
Renjiro Kaen leaned against the company SUV like he was posing for a recruitment ad.
Spiked red hair. Tactical gloves. The kind of smirk that suggested mirrors were important to him.
"You the F-Rank?" he asked without looking away from his reflection.
"A-Ah—yes. Scott. Alex Scott."
Renjiro finally glanced over. His eyes skimmed Alex once, assessing.
"You got usable mana? Or are you strictly luggage?"
"A little," Alex said, voice thinning.
Renjiro laughed. "Relax. Omiya field. Grade D ant nest. Easy promotion points."
Ants.
Alex swallowed.
The field had once been an athletic park. Now the grass was waist-high and scorched in irregular patches. Earthen mounds rose near the old baseball diamonds, jagged and wrong.
They heard it before they saw them.
Clicking.
A vibration underfoot.
Then the first Soldier Ant crawled into view.
It was the size of a small motorcycle. Black shell gleaming. Mandibles clacking in steady, mechanical rhythm.
Renjiro went very still.
"Oh," he said quietly. "No."
Two more burst from the soil.
Alex's mana meter began to beep on his wrist.
Heart rate: 142.
"Mr. Kaen?" he asked.
Renjiro's jaw tightened. "Why ants," he muttered. "Why always the legs."
The lead ant lunged.
"Fire!" Alex shouted.
Renjiro raised his hand. A spark flickered.
The ants rushed.
Renjiro made a sound Alex would later describe—if forced—as "not heroic."
And then he ran.
Not a tactical retreat. Not repositioning.
He sprinted.
Alex stood alone in the grass.
The ants paused, antennae twitching.
This is fine, he thought faintly. This is a normal way to die. In a baseball field. Because someone was scared of legs.
The lead ant charged.
Alex's vision tunneled.
Too loud. Too fast. Too many variables.
I don't want—
Something inside him snapped.
The world went very quiet.
Cold washed outward from his skin. The frantic pulse on his mana meter flattened into a deep, steady tone.
His head lifted.
His eyes opened.
The ant's mandibles stopped inches from his face.
Alex stepped forward.
He punched.
There was no flash. No dramatic recoil.
The ant came apart mid-air. Not broken—undone.
The other two attacked from either side.
His body moved without hesitation. A single pivot. A flicker of condensed force across the air.
Their heads separated cleanly from their bodies.
Silence returned to the field.
He turned toward the nest mounds.
He could feel it beneath the earth. The Queen. Larger. Hungrier.
His hand lifted.
"Celestial Anchor: Star-Fall."
The voice that left his throat did not belong to a nineteen-year-old boy.
Light formed above the field—geometric, precise, impossibly vast.
It descended.
There was no explosion.
Only absence.
When the light faded, the nest was gone. The earth smoothed into glass.
Then the cold left.
Alex collapsed.
Ten minutes later, Renjiro crept back toward the field.
He stopped at the crater's edge.
"…what."
Alex stirred in the grass.
"Mr. Kaen?" he croaked. "Did… did you handle it?"
Renjiro stared at the glass-lined void. At the scrawny F-Rank pushing himself upright.
He remembered running.
He remembered the light.
Career over, a voice whispered in his mind.
Or—
"Yeah," Renjiro said, forcing a grin. "Had to gather them up first. High-tier technique. You fainted. Wouldn't expect you to understand."
Alex's face lit up with genuine awe.
"That was incredible," he breathed. "I'm so sorry I passed out. I'm such a burden—"
"Yeah, yeah," Renjiro interrupted, already turning away. "Secret technique. Very draining. Coffee first."
Alex bowed so hard he nearly tipped over.
As they drove away, he looked back at the crater. A strange warmth lingered in his chest. Calm. Quiet.
He decided it was relief.
On his wrist, the mana meter flickered for half a second before recalibrating.
For that brief moment, a single letter burned on the display.
[S]