AFRICA LEVELING

In a quiet corner of **Shizuoka Prefecture**, Japan, nestled between misty mountains and lush rice fields, the morning sun bathed the small county in a warm, vibrant glow. The sounds of wooden bokken clashing echoed through the compound of a traditional samurai family, signaling the disciplined training of an heir. A young boy named Haruto stood hidden just a few meters away, his striking white hair and innocent, cherubic face partially concealed as he pretended to sweep the grounds. His eyes, sharp and hungry, were locked on the training session nearby. Haruto was not supposed to be there—he was the ignored son, forbidden from learning the sword arts like his privileged brother. Yet, every day, he stole moments like these, absorbing every lesson he could. "What are you doing?" A harsh, grating voice suddenly cut through the air, sending a chill down Haruto's spine. He turned to see his father's furious face, dark eyes glaring. "Haruto, I asked you what you're doing sneaking back here! You're still not answering." Before Haruto could explain, his father grabbed him roughly by the neck and dragged him toward the training grounds. "Look what I found peeking!" his father bellowed, as if presenting a caught thief. "I HATE THIS WORLD," Haruto thought bitterly, the words simmering in his mind, destined to become his unspoken mantra. "Hey, son!" the man called to his elder boy, who had been practicing diligently. "Looks like I found you a punching bag—a sparring partner. How about a fight to show your father how much you've grown?" "Yes, Papa!" the elder son, spoiled and arrogant, yelled eagerly. "Take this wooden sword," the trainer said, handing a bokken to Haruto. "No!" Haruto's father barked, stopping the exchange. "He fights barehanded." The atmosphere thickened with tension. The two boys squared off, the spoiled brother smirking with confidence, certain of his victory. Haruto, however, was a storm of quiet rage. "Fight!" the father commanded. The elder brother charged forward, reckless and overconfident. But in a flash, Haruto vanished from sight, reappearing behind his brother with startling speed. His arm swung down like a blade, striking with all the force of his pent-up resentment. The impact was brutal—a sickening crack filled the air as the spoiled boy's arm broke, sending him sprawling to the ground, wailing in pain. Haruto allowed himself a faint, defiant smile, savoring his brother's cries. But his moment of triumph was short-lived. [BOOM, CLACK, PENG!] Haruto was blindsided by a punch, the force sending him tumbling to the dirt. "Know your place," his father sneered, towering over him as the trainer averted his eyes, indifferent to the injustice. A shadow fell over Haruto, and he looked up to see his mother rushing toward him. For a split second, hope flickered in his eyes, believing she had come for him. But she ran right past him, throwing herself at the elder boy. "My son, my son!" she cried, tears streaming as she cradled the favored child. "I HATE THIS WORLD," Haruto muttered under his breath, the bitter phrase escaping again as he lay there, abandoned. "I'll take him to the hospital," his father announced, lifting the crying boy. Haruto's mother finally approached him, her expression cold and devoid of warmth. She knelt beside him, her voice icy and unforgiving. "Don't ruin this for me, you cursed child. Do whatever your stepfather tells you to. Do you understand?" Haruto nodded weakly, his heart hardened further by the reality of his place in the world. Another day of misery dawned for Haruto in that oppressive household. Dressed in a plain robe, he made his way to his stepfather's room. He knocked three times, and the door creaked open. Haruto was pulled inside, the door shutting quickly behind him. Outside, discarded on the floor, lay his robe, a silent testament to his suffering. "I HATE THIS WORLD," he thought, the words echoing in his mind as the door closed on yet another painful memory. Days blurred into weeks, weeks into months, and months into years. By the time Haruto turned eighteen, he had endured enough, finally old enough and strong enough to escape his grim fate. Haruto fled to the crowded city, determined to sever all ties with his past and family. He vowed never to let the chains of his old life bind him again. One night, in the dimly lit pulse of a club, he crossed paths with a three-member K-pop boy group. Struck by Haruto's strikingly handsome and androgynous features, they invited him to join their group, desperate for a boost in their waning popularity. "Finally, fate has tilted to my side," Haruto whispered, feeling a rare flicker of hope. For the first time, he allowed himself to revel in his newfound freedom. With Haruto's addition, the group's fanbase skyrocketed. They were no longer just a struggling act—they were a sensation. Bookings and shows poured in, and they quickly became the hottest act on the scene. Haruto's charisma and unique allure made him the most adored member, and talk shows buzzed with questions like, "Where would this group be without Haruto?" After a successful show, the four members relaxed in a sleek black Lamborghini, ready to head back to their luxurious five-star hotel. Each of the three boys was draped with stunning, flirtatious girls clinging to their arms, laughing and enjoying the limelight. The car rumbled to life, and they sped into the vibrant city night. "Haruto, don't tell me you're gay," teased Aoi, the blue-haired member, flashing a mischievous grin. "You never have a girl with you." "Yeah, I never see you with a chick," added Kenji, the yellow-haired member, chuckling. Haruto shrugged off their questions, gazing out the window with a distant, mature look. He had no intention of explaining himself. Beside him sat Akio, the only one without brightly colored hair but notorious for his substance habits. Taking a drag from his cigarette, Akio glanced over and defended Haruto, "Let him be, guys." "Anyway," Aoi continued, changing the subject. "I've got this great idea for our next show. You know those shirts that turn see-through when they get wet? Yeah? Well, since Haruto's the most popular, how about we have him wear one? We'll put a bucket of water on stage and at the right moment, we'll douse him. The girls will go crazy over his six-pack. Don't worry, the water won't be cold. What do you think, Haruto?" Haruto's eyes remained fixed on the passing cityscape, lost in his thoughts. He began to mumble, "Have you guys ever stood in the rain for an hour? That feeling… it's like heaven. The rain hitting the roof when you're about to sleep, it calms me so much. Ever wanted to just fly, not with a plane, but on your own? This world is so boring, so dull. I HAT—" Before Haruto could finish, Kenji cut in, "I hate this world." "Wow, you knew what he was going to say?" one of the girls giggled, amused. "Yeah, it's like his catchphrase," Kenji replied, laughing. The car halted at a red light, bathing them in the kaleidoscope of the city's vibrant lights. The driver exhaled, his breath visible in the cold night air. "Damn, it's freezing tonight," he said, shivering slightly. As Haruto stared out the window, his eyes suddenly focused on something surreal: an angelic figure, thick and ethereal, with glowing purple rings hovering around her head, waist, and legs. Delicate, curtain-like fabric connected the halos, giving her an otherworldly appearance. She pointed directly at Haruto with an effortless, graceful motion, her lips barely moving as she whispered, "I choose you." In an instant, she vanished, leaving no trace. Haruto blinked, trying to rationalize what he had seen. "Must be all the passive smoke getting to me," he muttered, dismissing the vision. He reached for an oxygen mask and strapped it on, drawing curious glances from the others, who were no longer surprised by his eccentricities. The day of the much-anticipated show had arrived, and the venue was packed to the brim with fans chanting Haruto's name in a frenzied chorus. "Haruto! Haruto! Haruto!" The atmosphere was electric as the four group members appeared on stage, moving in perfect harmony with the beats, their dance moves captivating the audience. Their melodic voices flowed effortlessly, each verse more enchanting than the last. When Haruto's turn came, the crowd's excitement reached a fever pitch, their cheers echoing throughout the stadium. Haruto stepped forward, his voice smooth and haunting as he began his verse: "I can only afford fictional thoughts, Reality's gum has no taste, just caught, Trapped in the mundane, a world so frail, Dreams are my wings; let the winds set sail." As he finished his verse, the moment everyone had been waiting for arrived. The three other members moved to grab the bucket, counting together. "One, two, three!" They threw the water at Haruto. But something was terribly wrong. Screams erupted from the audience as Haruto's body convulsed violently, his skin bubbling and searing under the liquid's touch. The water wasn't water—it was acid. "Aaaaah! Aaaahhhhhhhhhhh!" Haruto's screams mingled with the horrified gasps of the crowd. "I HATE HATE I-I-I THIS, I HATE THIS WORLD, I-I HATE THIS WORLD, WORLD, W-WORLD—HELP, ANYONE, HELP—I HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE!" His last words were his familiar catchphrase, distorted by agony, as the acid burned through his skin, exposing bone beneath. Haruto collapsed to the ground, writhing in pain, while the three members, still holding the bucket, grinned maliciously. The glass bucket glinted under the stage lights as if mocking his suffering. Haruto's vision dimmed, his consciousness fading into a void. "My eyes… they're so heavy. How am I still thinking? Could I have… been reborn in another world?" Slowly, his eyes opened, his vision blurred and hazy. He imagined an escape—maybe he'd wake up as a prince, conquer dungeons, join a guild, and become the greatest adventurer ever known. But as his sight cleared, he was met with an unsettling scene: his parents stood before him, but their skin was dark and unfamiliar. Something was undeniably off. "A joyful day indeed!" his father exclaimed, his deep voice filled with pride. "Thanks to our gods, a new life has joined our Oburaka village!" Haruto's new father, a tall, robust man with an earthy presence, spoke again. "Let's name him Kipkemboi." "No, Kipchirchir is a better name," his new mother argued, her face glowing with joy. Haruto blinked, his mind struggling to comprehend. "Have… have I been reborn in Africa?