I have always dreamed of ruling the world—not with crude, visible power, but with something truly immeasurable. The kind of strength that bends reality itself when the moment is right. A perfect, elegant domination where no one ever suspects the hand pulling the strings.
Of course, that's merely the ideal. In practice... well, one must prepare the stage meticulously.
I opened my eyes to the familiar ceiling of mediocrity. Another day in the life of the ultimate mob character. Excellent—the camouflage holds firm.
Rising from the bed with deliberate slowness—true masters never rush—I performed the morning ritual: shower, uniform, the bare minimum to blend into society's background noise. Breakfast? Milk teetering on expiration and a banana. Symbolic, really—the fleeting nature of ordinary life, soon to be eclipsed by greater things.
Homework? Ignored. A true mob character doesn't sweat trivialities. If the teacher calls on me, I'll improvise something profound and cryptic. They'll assume depth where none exists.
Stepping outside, I paused at my parents door. They slumbered, oblivious. Good. Ignorance preserves the veil.
I gazed at the sky, inhaled deeply, and whispered to the empty air—
"I am God."
No—too early for the full proclamation. Save the divine reveal for the climax.
The walk to school began. And then — perfection. A tiny crack in the pavement, placed exactly where my foot would land. I executed a flawless face plant.
Poof.
Thud.
"Tch… magnificent." The world itself conspires to reinforce my mob facade. Not a scratch, naturally. Blood would draw attention — invisibility demands perfection in imperfection.
I rose, dusted myself off, and glared at the crack as though it were a worthy adversary. "You dare challenge me?" I muttered under my breath. No answer. As expected.
A few steps later — a pole. Direct hit. Another masterful stumble.
Ouch? Hardly. This is training in disguise. Every bruise hones the art of misdirection.
A bicycle delivery boy chuckled. Amateur. He thinks he's witnessing comedy—a fool. He is merely an extra in the grand theater of my ascent.
I fixed him with my most piercing mob-character stare. He pedaled faster. Wise choice.
At the crosswalk, red light. I reached for my phone — timing impeccable. The light changed green precisely as my fingers brushed the screen. The crowd surged, my phone flew into the street like a discarded prop.
Panic? Never. This is opportunity.
I scanned the road, calculating trajectories. Then — a tap on the shoulder.
I spun with lightning reflexes masked as startled clumsiness. A girl in the same uniform. Transfer student, undoubtedly. Her eyes widened at my speed. Excellent reaction. She'll make a fine side character.
"Sorry," I said, modulating my voice to peak average teen awkwardness. "Phone... road..."
She held it out. My phone. Untouched. Fate? No. Merely the script unfolding as intended.
I accepted it with feigned relief. "Thank you." Heart rate elevated slightly — irrelevant. Adrenaline is just fuel for the performance.
"Hikari Yun," she introduced herself shyly. "I transferred today. Class B."
Ren Shikigami, I replied in my mind. But aloud, "Ren. Same class… fate, perhaps?" I layered just enough dramatic pause to test her.
She blushed crimson. "I—I have a boyfriend!"
Perfect escalation. And then — divine timing. A pigeon, that noble agent of chaos, delivered its payload directly onto my head.
Thick. Warm. Perfectly timed.
Hikari stammered. "P-poop..."
I froze for theatrical effect... then erupted into laughter. Uncontrollable, genuine amusement at the absurdity. This is peak comedy. The universe rewards bold improvisation.
"Not romantic!" I clarified, shaking the offending material free with exaggerated nonchalance. "Just friends. Obviously."
I retreated to the bathroom at full mob speed — penguin waddle optimized for dignity preservation. Hose on. Scrub. One hour of meticulous cleansing. Survival achieved.
Emerging, I turned the corner and — collision. I caught her by the waist on instinct. Hikari. Again.
Her body pressed close for a heartbeat. Accidental fanservice scene. Classic.
I released her instantly, stepping back with practiced calm. "Apologies. Hazard of the situation.
She blushed deeper. "I... was waiting for you."
My inner monologue kicked into overdrive. Waiting? For me? The mob character? This is either brilliant foreshadowing or the start of a harem route I didn't script.
"I don't know where Class B is," she admitted.
Ah. Relief. Merely navigational support. Still… a useful pawn acquired.
We walked. I matched her pace flawlessly — the art of subtlety.
The air shifted. Sunlight grew heavier, unnatural. Clouds shimmered with impossible hues. The street warped.
I glanced at Hikari. She noticed nothing. Of course. Only I perceive the veil thinning.
The world tilted. Light engulfed me. The city dissolved.
When clarity returned... cobblestone. Market stalls. Tunics, armor, medieval bustle.
I stood in the perfect fantasy setting I'd always envisioned.
A grin spread across my face, unseen by the extras around me.
"Finally," I whispered to the empty air. "The stage is set."
Am I high? No. This is ascension.
I, Ren Shikigami — no. From this moment...
He who rules the world... to hunt all foes.
Let the performance begin.