The end of the month.
Only three days remained until spring break ended.
For those who had diligently finished their break assignments, these final days were a chance to relax.
For those who hadn't… well, they probably weren't going to start now.
It was a pause—like the kind you hear in a rock song.
A sudden, breathless stillness in the middle of crashing guitars and pounding drums.
But it wouldn't last long.
Soon, the rhythm would roar back in, faster and louder than before.
Yukima Azuma walked down the street, hands in his pockets, the wind tugging gently at his coat. He was out on a simple errand, but his mind wandered elsewhere.
The next match in the official Go tournament was just two days away—right after the new semester started.
It was a critical match.
If he won, he'd reach 6-dan.
His opponent this time? Yamato Kajin. A formidable 8-dan veteran.
A big name in the scene.
But Azuma wasn't nervous.
He had reviewed Yamato Kajin's past games, dissected his strategies.
Their skill levels weren't far apart.
If anything, the gap was more about experience than raw ability.
And even if he lost—so what?
The tournament was point-based. He could still reach 6-dan with two more victories.
One match didn't define a champion.
No, what really occupied his thoughts wasn't Go—it was the future.
The upcoming school year.
Toyosaki Private Academy.
A name from his past life… now his present.
The feeling was surreal, like living inside a light novel.
The calm before some great, unpredictable story arc.
And then there was his game.
Yes, Yukima Azuma had made a game.
After stepping back from Go for a time, he had turned to programming.
Taught himself everything from scratch.
He'd reached level 4—just enough to be considered a professional by industry standards.
Not elite, but competent enough to build something real.
The result was a quirky little mobile game called "Sheep of a Sheep."
Simple. Addictive. Viral-ready.
A match-3 puzzle game with cute sheep graphics, cheery sounds, and levels that started off brain-dead easy…
…then turned into rage-inducing nightmares that practically forced players to watch ads just to revive.
It was perfect for fast cash.
And it worked.
In just the first month, the game raked in 43 million yen—mostly from ad revenue in the Japanese market.
That's how Yukima Azuma had been financing his carefree lifestyle lately.
Of course, he wasn't naive.
He knew the game would burn out fast in a small market like Japan.
So, he'd already pushed it to international platforms—Apple, Google Play, and social media-driven stores across Asia, Europe, and the Americas.
The real test would be next week—when the global revenue numbers came in.
That number was what Azuma truly cared about.
That number would determine whether he had enough capital to begin his next phase.
Because Yukima Azuma didn't just want to make money.
He wanted power.
Status.
He wanted to crush the memory of those so-called "relatives" who came crawling out of nowhere the moment wealth entered the family name.
He wanted to rise above the rigid hierarchy of Japanese society—the one that mercilessly crushed those at the bottom, no matter how innocent they were.
He clenched his jaw, muttering under his breath.
"Just wait. When I succeed, I'll return everything you did to me—twice over."
As he passed by a quiet park, something made him pause.
He walked on… then stopped.
Then turned back.
The park was nearly empty.
Just one girl.
Sitting alone on a swing.
Long pink hair swayed slightly with the breeze. Her head was bowed, so her face wasn't visible.
But her outfit caught his eye.
A retro pink sports jacket. A pleated skirt.
And underneath the skirt—sweatpants.
What the hell kind of fashion sense is that?
He stared for a moment, puzzled.
She looked… vaguely familiar.
But he couldn't quite place her.
Still, Yukima Azuma wasn't the type to waste time second-guessing himself.
He walked toward her.
If she turned out to be someone he knew—great.
If not?
Well, he could always ask for her name.
Maybe her contact info.
You never know when a conversation might turn into something interesting.
Her name was Gotoh Hitori.
Fitting.
A girl who had always been alone.
Ever since elementary school, one awkward moment after another had slowly pushed her out of the spotlight.
She became the girl who sat in the corner.
The one no one talked to.
The one who didn't know how to talk back.
Friendless, she never learned how to connect.
And because she couldn't connect, she stayed friendless.
A vicious cycle.
Time passed.
She graduated middle school.
Entered high school.
Still no friends.
Still unnoticed.
Somewhere along the way, Hitori developed what could only be described as a communication disorder.
She became invisible.
But not without trying.
To reach out, Gotoh Hitori had taught herself guitar.
She practiced for years, pouring everything into her music.
Now, she was good. Really good.
Thirty thousand followers followed her guitar blog online.
But real life?
Still a ghost.
Not once had she performed live.
Not even at a school festival.
She had promised herself that during this spring break, she would change that.
She would find people.
Form a band.
Maybe… finally be seen.
But clearly, it hadn't worked out.
Here she was, alone in a park.
Wearing a skirt over sweatpants.
Sitting on a swing like time had frozen.
Until…
An extrovert noticed her.
Someone walked up.
Someone chose to speak.
And for once—
That pause in the rock song?
Maybe it wasn't just silence.
Maybe it was the moment before the chorus hits.