I was walking home to my tiny, one-room apartment.
It had been the worst week of my life.
The video game I'd spent years making—my dream—was stolen by someone I once called my best friend: Takashi.
We were total opposites.
I was the fat kid with no confidence.
He was the handsome one who got everything handed to him.
But there was one thing Takashi could never beat me at: video games.
That was my world. My escape. My pride.
So I started developing a game of my own. I poured my soul into it, day after day. I didn't care about school, or parties, or girls—I just wanted to make something great.
Then one day, a famous company—Extreme RPG—announced a game development contest. If your game was good enough, they'd release it.
I was nervous. Terrified, even. But I decided to go for it.
That's when Takashi showed up and said,
"Hey, I live closer to the company HQ. I can submit it for you. We're best friends, right?"
And like an idiot… I said yes.
That was the biggest mistake of my life.
The game blew up.
People loved it. Streamers played it. Reviewers called it "a genre revolution."
But the name of the winner wasn't mine.
It was his.
Takashi submitted my game… under his name.
He stole everything.
Furious, I ran out of my apartment and straight to the Extreme RPG building. I got there just in time to see him walking out.
Cameras were flashing. Paparazzi were all over him. Fans were screaming his name.
And I screamed too. Not with joy—with rage.
"TAKASHI, YOU FUCKING THIEF!"
He looked at me. Smirked.
"Who are you calling a thief?"
"You were just some fat loser who did nothing. I made this game what it is."
No one believed me.
They believed him.
He had the spotlight.
He had the fame.
And I was just the crazy guy screaming on the street.
Before I could say anything else, security grabbed me. He walked past, leaned in, and whispered—
"You're a loser. Stay a loser. And keep making me look good."
"Goodbye."
Then he walked away, laughing.
I don't remember how I got home.
My heart was shattered. My mind was burning with anger and regret.
I cried myself to sleep.
A week passed.
My game—the one I created—was the talk of the gaming world. It was everywhere.
And Takashi was reaping all the rewards: money, fame, recognition. Everything that should've been mine.
I sat alone in my dark apartment, eating cheap ramen, staring at my computer.
On the screen was a livestream of Takashi, talking to the beautiful and famous streamer Aoi Sakura. A hardcore FPS gamer, known for her savage aim and gorgeous looks.
I stared in silence. Watching her laugh at his jokes. Compliment his "brilliant" design choices.
Something inside me cracked.
I closed the stream and whispered to myself:
"I have to move on. I just have to make another game. A better one."
Then I laughed.
A dry, empty laugh.
"Yeah… sure. Good luck with that, Haru."
That's when I heard the knock.
"Delivery!" said a voice on the other side of the door.
I blinked. "Huh? I didn't order anything."
I dragged myself to the door, opened it, and found a delivery man standing there with a weirdly long rectangular box—about my size.
He had me sign something, dropped the box off, and left before I could ask a single question.
The box wasn't heavy. I managed to drag it inside.
There was a letter taped to it.
Activate Aura.
I stared at it.
"…What?"
Then the box started shaking.
I jumped back in panic.
Then—
THUNK.
An arm burst out.
It wasn't human. It was metal—sleek, dark, and glowing.
"Wait… did I just activate a doomsday robot?! OH GOD WHAT HAVE I DONE?!"
Then… she stepped out.
A robotic girl.
Tall. Slim. Gleaming armor. Glowing blue eyes. Long silver-white hair that flowed like silk.
And her chest—wait no, focus, Haru, focus!
This might be the start of Armageddon!
She looked at me.
"Are you Haru Amasaki?"
I froze. "…Y-Yeah?"
Then she smiled and said something that short-circuited my entire brain.
"Wonderful. It's good to see you again, Master Haru."
My mind went blank.
Again?!