Chapter 2
Shoji's eyes fluttered open to a world swimming in hazy disorientation. A dull throbbing pulsed behind his temples, and the air carried a faint, acrid smell. He blinked, trying to focus, and then his breath hitched in his throat.
Orange flames licked greedily at the edge of his blanket, the fabric charring and curling where the fire danced. Panic flared in his chest, primal and immediate. He scrambled back, flailing his arms to smother the blaze, expecting the searing kiss of heat.
But it never came.
His hands passed through the flames, the light casting flickering shadows on his skin, yet he felt nothing. No pain, no burning sensation, just a strange warmth radiating outwards. He stared at his hands, then at the fire consuming a corner of his blanket, utter disbelief washing over him.
Hesitantly, he reached out again, this time with more intention. He focused on the dancing flames, an odd curiosity overriding his fear. It was as if something within him resonated with the fire. He extended his hand, and to his astonishment, the flames seemed to recoil, shrinking back towards his touch. He felt a faint pull, a subtle drawing sensation, and the fire… vanished. One moment it was there, crackling and bright, the next it was gone, leaving behind only wisps of smoke and the smell of burnt fabric.
Shoji stared at the blackened patch on his blanket, his mind reeling. Last night… it hadn't been a dream. The blinding white room, the serene face of Luminary, the gentle touch on his forehead, the overwhelming surge of heat… it was all real.
"You shall be its controller." Luminary's words echoed in his memory.
He cautiously extended his hand again, a flicker of orange light sparking to life in his palm. It danced and swayed at his will, a miniature bonfire contained within his skin. He felt a strange sense of connection to it, an intuitive understanding of its power. He could make it grow, shrink, intensify, fade. It was exhilarating, terrifying, and utterly unbelievable.
His blanket, however, was definitely ruined.
A sigh escaped his lips. He had more pressing matters to consider than a burnt blanket. He had been given a power he couldn't comprehend by a being he barely knew, with a cryptic promise of a game. What kind of game? And where was he supposed to play it? The last thing he remembered was Luminary's words and then… nothing. He was back in his bed, in his room, but undeniably changed.
He swung his legs out of bed, the charred remains of his blanket a stark reminder of the impossible reality he now faced. He needed answers, and he had a sinking feeling that his ordinary life in Kanto was over.
A surge of restless energy coursed through Shoji. He needed to move, to understand what had happened, what he could do. He threw on a fresh set of clothes, his mind racing, and practically bolted down the stairs.
"Shoji! What's the rush?" His Aunt Hana called out from the kitchen, her voice laced with concern.
"Uh, late! Really late for something!" he stammered, already reaching for the front door. He didn't meet her eyes, the memory of the fiery blanket still vivid in his mind. He needed space, away from the familiar normalcy of their home.
"Shoji!" Hana called again, but he was already out the door, jogging down the street. He didn't stop until he found himself on the outskirts of town, the buildings giving way to a sprawling field of tall grass swaying gently in the breeze. It was secluded, far enough from prying eyes.
He stopped, panting slightly, and looked down at his hands. Controller of flames. The words echoed in his head. He focused, trying to replicate the small spark he had conjured in his room. It wasn't easy. He squeezed his eyes shut, picturing the fire, the heat, the vibrant orange glow. Nothing. He tried again, a frustrated grunt escaping his lips.
Then, a tiny flicker. A fragile spark of orange light danced in the palm of his hand, barely bigger than a firefly. A wave of elation washed over him. It wasn't a dream! He concentrated, feeding the spark with his will, and it grew, slowly but surely, into a small, wavering flame.
A grin stretched across his face. This was incredible! He remembered scenes from his favorite anime – heroes launching fireballs, creating walls of flame, soaring through the sky on jets of fire. He extended his other hand, trying to conjure another flame, and after a moment of intense focus, a second, smaller spark appeared.
For the next hour, the field became his training ground. He struggled, he concentrated, he failed countless times, but slowly, painstakingly, he began to gain a measure of control. He could now reliably create small balls of fire in his hands, though they often flickered and died prematurely. He even attempted to channel fire from his feet, envisioning the fiery propulsion that would send anime heroes soaring. He managed to produce small bursts of flame beneath his sneakers, enough to lift him an inch or two off the ground, but each attempt ended in a clumsy fall, sending him sprawling into the grass.
Despite the tumbles and the limited success, a sense of exhilaration bubbled within him. His life, just yesterday so ordinary, was now anything but. He had fire in his hands, a gift from a god, and the promise of a game. The boredom was gone, replaced by a burning curiosity and a thrill he had only ever experienced in fiction.
Despite the tumbles and the limited success, a sense of exhilaration bubbled within him. His life, just yesterday so ordinary, was now anything but. He had fire in his hands, a gift from a god, and the promise of a game. The boredom was gone, replaced by a burning curiosity and a thrill he had only ever experienced in fiction.
Lost in his attempts to conjure a sustained flame, Shoji didn't hear the approach. Suddenly, a sharp, brutal pain exploded at the back of his head. He cried out, stumbling forward and clutching the injured spot. It felt like he'd been hit by a brick. This wasn't just a playful pebble; a significant force had been behind that impact.
He spun around, his hand still pressed to his throbbing skull, his eyes narrowed in confusion and anger. Standing a few yards away was a boy around his age. He had a stark buzz cut and a confident, almost arrogant smirk playing on his lips. There was an intensity in his dark eyes that made Shoji instinctively wary.
"Well, well," the buzz-cut boy said, his voice carrying a strange, unsettlingly calm tone. "Look what we have here. I thought I was the only one." He gestured vaguely with his hand. "Seems like the old 'God of Games' decided to hand out party favors."
Shoji stared at him, his mind still reeling from the unexpected attack and the cryptic words. "Who are you? And why did you hit me?"
The boy chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. "The name's Kuragari Ankoku. And as for why I hit you… well, I wanted to see if you were the real deal. Figured anyone messing around in a field like this with glowing hands had to be." He took a step closer, his gaze piercing. "I gained my powers last night. Thought I was special. But it looks like I've got competition."
A strange energy seemed to crackle around Kuragari, though Shoji couldn't quite define it. There was a palpable sense of power emanating from him.
"So," Kuragari continued, his smirk widening into something sharper. "You got your little flames. I got mine." He clenched his fists, and a faint, shadowy aura flickered around them. "Wanna fight a bit? Just to see who got the better gift."
Shoji's heart pounded. He was still just getting the hang of his powers, and this guy… he seemed confident, dangerous. But there was a defiant spark within him. He wouldn't back down. Not now.
"A fight?" Shoji repeated, a nervous energy thrumming through him. He instinctively raised his hands, a small flame flickering to life in his palm. "Yeah. Let's fight."
The air crackled with unspoken challenge as Shoji and Kuragari locked eyes. Kuragari made the first move, his actions swift and practical. His hand darted to the ground, scooping up a handful of dry sand, while his other hand snatched a sturdy-looking stick lying nearby.
Before Kuragari could make use of his improvised weapons, Shoji reacted instinctively. A small fireball erupted in his palm, and he flung it towards Kuragari, aiming not directly at him, but in his general direction, a warning shot.
Kuragari sidestepped the fiery projectile with surprising agility. The heat washed over him, a tangible reminder of Shoji's newfound power. Using the distraction, Kuragari lunged forward, closing the distance between them rapidly.
Shoji, anticipating a close-quarters attack, raised his fists, ready to throw a punch. But Kuragari had a different tactic in mind. With a flick of his wrist, he hurled the handful of sand directly into Shoji's face.
Blinded and momentarily disoriented, Shoji stumbled back, his eyes stinging and gritty. The unexpected attack threw him off balance, and he fell to the ground, his hands flying up to shield his face.
Taking advantage of Shoji's vulnerability, Kuragari pressed his attack. But even through the stinging in his eyes, Shoji's instincts took over. He unleashed a sudden burst of flames from his prone position, a wild, uncontrolled wave of heat erupting outwards.
Kuragari reacted quickly, raising the stick to block the brunt of the fiery blast. The wood hissed and blackened upon contact, and despite his efforts, the edges of the flames licked at his arms and chest, leaving angry red burns. He grunted in pain but pressed on, using his momentum to bring his elbow down hard onto Shoji's face.
A sharp pain shot through Shoji's nose, and he gasped, his vision swimming. Kuragari, breathing heavily, pushed himself off Shoji, stepping back with a triumphant smirk.
"I won," Kuragari declared, his voice laced with a hint of satisfaction and lingering pain. He glanced down at the singed stick and the burns on his arms. "Not bad for a first try, newbie. But you've got a long way to go."
With that, Kuragari turned and walked away, disappearing into the tall grass, leaving Shoji lying on the ground, his face throbbing, his eyes still gritty with sand, and the bitter taste of defeat in his mouth....