Chapter 1: Prologue
I was a thirty-four-year-old man with no job and nowhere to live. I was a nice guy, but
I was on the heavy side, didn't have good looks going for me, and was in the midst of
regretting my entire life.
I'd only been homeless for about three hours. Before that, I'd been the classic,
stereotypical, long-time shut-in who wasn't doing anything with his life. And then, all
of a sudden, my parents died. Being the shut-in that I was, I obviously didn't attend
the funeral, or the family gathering thereafter.
It was quite the scene when they kicked me out of the house afterward.
My brash behavior around the house hadn't won anyone over. I was the sort of guy who'd
bang on the walls and floors to get people's attention without leaving my room. On the
day of the funeral, I was halfway through jerking off, my body arched in the air, when
my brothers and sisters barged into my room in their mourning garb and delivered
their letter formally disowning me. When I ignored it, my younger brother smashed
my computer—which I valued more than myself—with a wooden bat. Meanwhile, my
older brother, the one with a black belt in karate, stormed over in a blind rage and beat
the crap out of me.
I just let it happen, sobbing uselessly all the while, hoping that would be the end of it.
But my siblings forced me out of the house with nothing but the clothes on my back. I
had no choice but to wander around town, nursing the throbbing pain in my side. It
felt like I had a broken rib.
The biting words they hurled at me as I left our house would ring in my ears for the
rest of my life. The things they said cut me to my very core. I was completely, totally
heartbroken.
What the hell had I even done wrong? All I did was skip out on our parents' funeral so
I could spank it to uncensored loli porn.
So, what in the world was I supposed to do now?
I knew the answer: look for a part- or full-time job, find myself a place to live, and buy
some food. The question was how? I had no idea how to even begin looking for a job.
Well, okay, I knew the basics. The first place I should check out was an employment
agency—except I seriously had been a complete shut-in for over ten years, so I had no
idea where any of those were. Also, I remembered hearing that those agencies only
handled the introductions to job opportunities. You'd then have to take your re sume
to the place with the job on offer and sit for an interview.
And here I was, wearing a sweatshirt caked in a mixture of sweat, grime, and my own
blood. I was in no state for an interview. No one was going to hire some weirdo who
showed up looking like I did. Oh, I'd make an impression, for sure, but I'd never land
the job.
Moreover, I didn't know where they even sold re sume paper. At a stationery shop? The
convenience store? There were convenience stores within walking distance, but I didn't
have any money.
But what if I could take care of all that? With some luck, I could borrow some money
from a loan company or something, buy myself some new clothes, and then purchase
some re sume paper and something to write with.
Then I remembered: You can't fill out a re sume if you don't have an address or anywhere
to live.
I was hosed. I finally realized that, despite having come this far, my life was completely
ruined.
It started to rain. "Ugh," I grumbled.
Summer was over, bringing with it the autumn chill. My worn-out, years-old sweatshirt
soaked up the cold rain, mercilessly robbing my body of precious heat.
"If only I could go back and do it all over again," I muttered, the words slipping unbidden
from my mouth.
I hadn't always been a garbage excuse for a human being. I was born to a well-off
family, the fourth of five children, with two older brothers, an older sister, and a
younger brother. Back in elementary school, everyone always praised me for being
smart for my age. I didn't have a knack for academics, but I was good at video games
and had an athletic bent. I got along with folks. I was the heart of my class.
In junior high, I joined the computer club, pored over magazines, and saved up my
allowance to build my very own PC. My family, who didn't know the first thing about
computers, barely gave it a second thought.
It wasn't until high school—well, the last year of junior high, I suppose—that my life
got all messed up.
I spent so much time fixated on my computer that I neglected my studies. In hindsight,
that was probably what led to everything else.
I didn't think I needed to study in order to have a future. I thought it was pointless. As
a result, I wound up going to what was widely considered the worst high school in the
prefecture, where the lowest of the delinquents went.
But even then, I figured I'd be fine. I could do anything I set my mind to, after all. I
wasn't in the same league as the rest of these idiots. Or so I thought.
There was an incident from back then that I still remembered. I was in line to buy
lunch from the school store when someone cut in front of me. Being the morally
upstanding young man I was, I gave him a piece of my mind, getting all up in his face,
striking an awkward, humorless, and self-conscious pose.
But as my luck would have it, this guy wasn't just an upperclassman, but one of the
real nasty ones, vying to be the school's top dog. He and his buddies pounded my face
swollen and puffy, then hung me from the school gate, buck naked, practically crucified
for all to see.
They took a ton of pictures, which they circulated throughout the school like it was
some simple prank. My social standing among my classmates plummeted to rock
bottom overnight, leaving me with the nickname Pencil Dick.
I stopped going to school for over a month, holing up in my room instead. My father
and older brothers saw the state I was in and told me to keep my chin up and not to
give up and other patronizing things like that. I ignored it all.
It wasn't my fault. Who could bring themselves to go to school under circumstances
like mine? Nobody, that's who. So, no matter what anyone said, I remained steadfastly
holed up. All of the other kids in my class had seen those pictures and were laughing
at me. I was sure of it.
I didn't leave the house, but with my computer and my internet connection, I was still
able to kill plenty of time. I developed an interest in all sorts of things thanks to the
internet, and I did all sorts of things as well. I constructed plastic model kits, tried my
hand at painting figurines, and started my own blog. My mother would give me as
much money as I could cajole out of her, almost like she was supporting me in all this.
Despite that, I gave up on all of these hobbies within a year. Anytime I saw someone
who was better at something than me, I'd lose all motivation. To an outsider, it
probably looked like I was just playing around and having fun. In reality, I was locked
inside my shell with nothing else to do during my time alone.
No. In retrospect, that was just another excuse. I probably would have been better off
deciding I wanted to be a manga artist and posting a silly little web comic online, or
deciding I wanted to be a light novel author and serializing stories, or something like
that. There were plenty of people in circumstances like mine who did that sort of thing.
Those were the people I made fun of.
"This stuff is crap," I'd snort derisively upon viewing their creations, acting like it was
my place to be a critic when I hadn't done anything myself.
I wanted to go back to school—ideally to grade school, or maybe junior high. Hell, even
going back a year or two would be fine. If I had a little more time, I'd be able to do
something. I might have half-assed everything I'd ever done, but I could pick up where
I'd left off. If I really applied myself, I could be a pro at something, even if I didn't wind
up the best at it.
I sighed. Why hadn't I ever bothered to achieve anything before now?
I'd had time. Even if that time was all spent shut in my room in front of the computer,
there was plenty I could have done. Again, even if I wasn't the best, I would have
accomplished something by being halfway decent and applying myself.
Like manga or writing. Maybe video games or programming. Whichever the case, with
the proper effort, I could have gotten results, and from there, I could have made money
and—
No. It didn't matter now. I hadn't made the effort.
Even if I could go back to the past, I'd only trip up again, stopped in my tracks by some
similar obstacle. I hadn't made it through things that normal people managed to
breeze through without thinking, and that's why I was where I was now.
Suddenly, amidst the downpour, I heard people arguing. "Hm?" I muttered. Was
someone having a fight? That wasn't good. I didn't want to get involved with that sort
of thing. Even as I was thinking that, however, my feet kept carrying me in that
direction.
"Look, you're the one who—"
"No, you're the one who—"
What I saw when I rounded the corner were three high schoolers in the midst of what
was clearly a lovers' quarrel. There were two boys and a girl, dressed in the nowvanishingly rare tsume-eri jackets and a sailor suit, respectively. The scene was almost
like a battlefield, with one of the boys, an especially tall fellow, in a verbal spat with
the girl. The other boy had interposed himself between the two in an attempt to
placate them, but his pleas were completely ignored.
Yeah, I'd been in situations like that myself.
This sight brought back older memories. Back in junior high, I had one childhood
friend who was real cute. And when I say cute, I mean like fourth- or fifth-cutest in the
class. She wore her hair very short, since she was on the track team. Of every ten
people she passed by on the street, at least two or three would turn to look back at
her. Also, there was this one anime I was super into at the time, so I thought the track
team and short hair thing was cute. Even her less-attractive attributes were fine by
me.
She lived nearby, so we were in the same class for a lot of grade school and junior high.
All the way up to junior high, we often walked home together. We had plenty of
chances to talk, but wound up arguing a lot. I did some regrettable things. To this day,
I can get off three times in a row to the prompts "junior high," "childhood friend," and
"track team."
Come to think of it, I heard rumors she'd gotten married about seven years ago. And
by "rumors," I mean overhearing my siblings talking in the living room.
We certainly didn't have a bad relationship. We'd known each other since we were
little, so we were able to talk to each other pretty openly. I don't think she ever had a
thing for me, but if I'd studied harder and gotten into the same high school she did, or
if I'd joined the track team and gotten admission that way, it might have sent the right
signals. Then, if I'd told her how I felt, maybe we might have wound up dating.
Anyway, we'd get into fights on the way home, just like these three kids here. Or, if
things went well, we'd hook up and do naughty things in some abandoned classroom
after school.
(Shit, this sounds like the plot of some adult game I must've played.)
And then, I noticed something: There was a truck speeding right toward the group of
three students. The driver was slumped over, asleep at the wheel.
The kids hadn't noticed yet.
"Ah, h-hey, look… look out!" I shouted—or tried to, anyway. I'd barely spoken aloud in
over a decade, and my already-weak vocal cords had further tightened due to the pain
in my ribs and the chill of the rain. All I could muster was a pathetic, wavering squeak
that was lost in the din of the downpour.
I knew I had to help them; at the same time, I didn't know how. I knew that if I didn't
save them, five minutes later I'd wind up regretting it. Like, I was pretty sure seeing
three teenagers splattered into paste by a truck moving at terrific speeds was something
I'd regret.
Better to save them. I had to do something.
In all likelihood, I'd end up dead on the side of the road, but I figured that, if nothing
else, having a bit of solace wouldn't be so bad. I didn't want to spend my final moments
mired in regret.
I staggered as I started to run. Ten-plus years of barely moving made my legs slow to
respond. For the first time in my life, I wished I'd exercised more. My busted ribs sent
a startling jolt of pain through me, threatening to bring me to a halt. For the first time
in my life, I also wished I'd gotten more calcium.
Even so, I ran. I was capable of running.
The boy who'd been yelling noticed the truck approaching and drew the girl close to
him. The other boy had looked away and hadn't spotted the truck yet. I grabbed him
by the collar and yanked him behind me with all my might, then pushed him out of the
vehicle's path.
Good. Now that left the other two.
At that very instant, I saw the truck right before me. I'd simply tried to pull the first
boy to safety, but instead, I'd bodily switched places with him, putting me in harm's
way. But that was unavoidable, and had nothing to do with the fact that I weighed over
a hundred kilos; running at full speed, I'd simply stumbled a bit too far.
The instant before the truck made contact, a light blossomed behind me. Was I about
to see my life flash before my eyes, like people said? It only lasted a moment, so I
couldn't tell. It was all so fast.
Maybe that's what happens when your life is hollow and half-lived.
I was struck by a truck more than fifty times my weight and thrown against a concrete
wall. "Hurgh!" The air was forced from my lungs, which were still spasming for oxygen
in the wake of running flat out.
I couldn't speak, but I wasn't dead. My ample fat must have saved me.
Except the truck was still moving. It pinned me against the concrete, crushing me like
a tomato, and then I was dead.
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone