The room was quiet—too quiet. Rain ticked softly against the windowpane like tiny reminders that the world outside kept moving, no matter how shattered he felt inside.
Riku lay curled on his futon, face buried in his pillow. His hoodie, still damp, clung to him like the weight of every failure he couldn't shake.
Tears soaked the fabric as muffled sobs escaped him.
"Why..." he whispered, his voice trembling. "Why me...?"
He clenched his fists until his nails bit into his palms.
"I've trained every single day," he choked. "I've memorized every known Essence theory, copied every stance from every recorded battle... I've done everything I can—and still... nothing."
His mind flashed with images: Toru's cold stare. Daigo's punch. The laughter as he lay on the ground, powerless.
"Everyone gets stronger. Everyone awakens. And I—" his voice cracked, "I just get beat up. Bullied. Laughed at. Like I'm not even supposed to exist in this world."
He sat up slowly, wiping his eyes with the back of his sleeve.
"They're all gonna awaken to power. Be heroes. Protect the world. And me...? I'll be the guy scrubbing their boots, washing their uniforms, working some trash job while pretending I almost made it."
The thought of it crushed him—until something strange stirred in his chest. A flicker. A whisper.
"But no," he said, shaking his head. "No."
He stood up.
"I don't care if I have to clean streets to survive—I'm still gonna try. I don't care if I get left behind. I won't give up."
He stared at himself in the cracked mirror near his desk. His face was still swollen from the punches, a cut on his lip barely stopped bleeding.
"I may not be strong yet," he said softly, "but the only way I lose... is if I stop trying."
He turned toward his desk and grabbed his old Essence manual, the one he'd read so many times the cover was faded. He flipped it open and sat back down.
Maybe he had no Essence yet.
Maybe his power hadn't awakened.
But if that day ever came...
He was going to be ready.