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The line between an ordinary day and a complete disaster had always been thin as ice for Makoto Naegi.
Ever since elementary school, his life had been defined by a series of agonizingly close calls. Even then, he was always the kid who scrambled through the classroom door exactly one second before the late bell rang, the student whose wrinkled homework was turned in just as the teacher opened the grading ledger, and the guy who consistently passed his exams by either one solitary point or two.
This wasn’t because he was lazy or anything; he couldn't face his parents if that were the case. And he wasn't some brooding light novel protagonist either, masking a god-like intelligence and hiding a dark past engineered by a secret laboratory in the mountains. No, his struggle has always been something far more rudimentary, yet entirely far more inescapable than any personality trait.
Simply put, Makoto possessed the worst luck on the planet.
That might be overdramatizing it, but those who know him can vouch for him on this. That is, it seems his fortune—or a complete lack of it—was as fickle and taunting as the mood of a child.
For example, if a stray cat were stuck in a tree, it would scratch him in anger the moment he caught it. If he politely helped a helpless old woman carry her heavy groceries onto a transit bus, he would discover too late that she lived on the exact opposite side of the province. Once, his wallet even vanished into a rushing river because he had clumsily tried to catch his friend’s falling hair ribbon.
For years, it bothered him immensely. Feeling like a helpless marionette, being controlled by circumstances entirely outside his control, dancing to a tune he couldn't hear. But everything changed after a random, brief conversation with a strange old man who had casually snatched Makoto's soda right out of his hand at a roadside convenience store.
The old man told him that life was inherently unfair, but true strength didn't come from fighting the universe—it came from him rolling with the punches, always getting back up, and not losing the resolve to keep trying again and again.
It was a little embarrassing to learn such a basic lesson so late in life, but after that talk, and being inspired by a close friend with whom he grew close after sharing an almost traumatic event that one time, Makoto has never felt freer.
Years of quiet guilt were torn away, and Makoto stopped stressing. His footsteps became lighter, and he gained a profound, unshakeable appreciation for the quiet beauty of an ordinary life. It was a learned optimism that carried him all the way from his humble hometown to the sprawling, hyper-powered grid of Starlight City.
Even so, I have a right to complain when it gets this bad, right?
Waking up on his couch, he already missed his first class because his phone wasn’t fully plugged in. His bike tires were deflated by a rusty nail, and the assignment that he thought was already submitted turns out to be the wrong one, as the professor shares a common last name.
He was already used to his bad luck being a nuisance or two, and this is an amount that he was already accustomed to many years ago. But when his cracked phone buzzed after the sun began to set and his knees were already weary, his eyes widened in realization, and he sprinted down the road.
As he ran through the humid evening air, his left hand instinctively went to his right, tightening the straps of the thin fabric glove he wore without fail. Navigating the dark, unfamiliar shortcuts of the city meant his awful luck practically guaranteed he would trip over a loose stone or slide into a rusty chain-link fence. At least his right hand was already prepared for impact.
How could I have forgotten that the debut is today?!
Today, of all days, he has an appointment with an old friend. The same friend who has inspired him to fight for his dream and chase it in the first place. They were particularly close, or as close as two friends could be, and this was his chance to reconnect after three years of being in different schools.
The place they were meeting was four kilometers away, and in the stifling, gridlocked heat of Starlight City’s rush hour, the sun spontaneously combusting tomorrow was statistically far more likely than finding a taxi that wasn't trapped in that man-made horror that is the 23rd Street intersection.
As he ran through the humid evening air, his left hand instinctively went to his right, tightening the straps of the thin fabric glove he wore without fail. The feeling in them never fades, but at times like this, he always wondered why can't his powers couldn't sometimes help him with daily life.
It couldn't help him score with the girls in his class.
It couldn’t fix the scraps and broken things in his room.
It couldn't help him with his barely existing grade.
It was only a power that resided in his fingertips. Something that was so negligible, it might as well not exist.
Ah, well, it does have some of its uses. However niche that is.
Makoto plunged deeper into the labyrinth of hidden alleyways and shaded street corners he had only recently begun to map out, his sneakers splashing through puddles. He was actually making good time until a piercing and violent scream tore through the narrow brick corridor, forcing his soles to screech to a sudden, immediate halt.
A halt that was preceded by a girl’s voice, tinged with fear and terror.
Turning his head toward a dark and dirty corner hidden between buildings, the source of the cry came into his focus, clear as any.
"Shut up! I told you to shut your mouth!” It was a thug, a very threatening one at that. From where Makoto stood, he could see the thug's heavy fist twisting painfully into the fabric of her school uniform collar, pulling his face closer to hers.
As he tightened his grip, the air around his fingers began to shimmer with intense heat. Wisps of acrid smoke curled from his palms as flickering, orange embers danced across his knuckles under the darkening sky.
“You think some wannabe heroes are coming down to save you? In this district? You owe us, you bitch! And you with your little friends aren't worth enough to pay off the interest!"
"Please—I don't have anything else!" the girl gasped, her eyes wide with panic as she struggled fruitlessly against his metallic weight. "W-we just needed some time! Please, if you just wait for next month, we’ll have it in the middle of the month, I swear."
“Ooooh… now you wanna order me around, huh? Thinking you’re some hotshot, huhh?!!”
“Please, t-thats not what I meant!” the girl cried. "Now either you shut up, or I'll make sure you never make any sound again, you hear me?"
Her desperate gaze flicked past her captor's shoulder, locking onto the only person who didn't duck his head and walk away—his. She didn't hesitate. Gathering every ounce of breath left in her lungs, she forced a piercing cry right at him.
"H-HELP!! HE—"
"Tch!" The brass-skinned thug slammed a heavy, metallic palm over her mouth, muffling her into a terrified sob. He whipped his head around, his eyes narrowing into a vicious glare as they locked onto Makoto. "Should’ve gagged her before I dragged her back here. The hell are you looking at, runt? You want a piece of this?"
Deviants.
Those who weaponized their innate desires not for the good of society, but to the absolute detriment of everyone around them.
The phenomenon began decades ago, after an asteroid that should have obliterated the planet was miraculously shattered by a mysterious golden entity known as the "Adepth."
In its wake, a strange cosmic mutation bloomed within the human race, granting individuals the ability to manifest physical powers based entirely on their deepest dreams or most depraved desires. Because these abilities took root in the imagination, those who wielded them were deemed Fantasizers, and the powers themselves were called a Fantasy.
A cold matchstick girl who dreamed of warmth could suddenly control localized fire. A king who obsessed over absolute wealth could wake up one morning to find himself in solid gold. While the scientific cause remained completely unknown, the psychological trigger was always the same: an internal desire so blindingly intense that reality itself was forced to manifest it.
And the nearest Orthodox building is far from here, too.
Following a bloody, unpoliced era of absolute chaos that lasted for several decades, an untold number of deviants used their unchecked power to tear society apart. That is, until the Orthodox arrived to restore order.
They were not a unified faction, but more a title that was given to those who chose to use their gifts exclusively for the protection of others. Brave and heroic, they fight the good fight and hold themselves to a higher standard only because they possess more powers than others.
With great power came great responsibility, one might say.
But as Makoto looked at the armed deviant cornering a crying girl in a dark alley, the capable and strong Orthodoxes were nowhere to be found, leaving him with an impasse. Should he ignore this girl's plight and keep his promise, finally showing up on time for the first time in his life? Or should he help this stranger, and possibly get himself hurt in the process?
“Is that even a choice?”
“Huh, what was that, you little punk?"
“A-ahahaha, nothing, sir! Just talking to myself!” Makoto quickly said, raising his hand frantically to the threatening man to show he meant no harm. His shoes leave a trail in the grime as he slowly takes a step forward.
“I don't know who the fuck you think you are.” The Deviant says, punching his open palm in blazing fire. “But if you have any useful brain cells in that skull of yours, you'd better get the hell out of my way!”
“Look, sir.” Answered Makoto with the most palatable smile that he could offer. "I know you have business here, and it’s completely none of my business, of course! But maybe we can just... talk about this? Like civilized citizens? It’s been a long day for all of us, especially yours, I’m sure, but we shouldn’t want to do anything that we might regret later! Now, how about you just let her go, and I pretend I never saw you, and we all just call it a day, alright?"
In a miraculous moment, both the girl and the Deviant are stunned with the same confused and perplexed expression. That was then molded by dismay and anger in the next second, respectively.
"Are you lecturing me, you little runt?" the thug growled, the embers on his knuckles flaring a dangerous, angry red. "You think you can just wander in here and talk me down?”
His powers illuminate the dim street. His skin flushed red. With a grimace on his face, the Deviant shouts, “Die!"
A furious roar. The thug lunged forward, thrusting a fist engulfed in flame straight toward Makoto's face. Burning him to the end of hell.
Or it would be, if not for the gloved hand that caught it.
“Huh? Whu-”
Bewilderment, confusion, all there in the miscreant's face. It would have made a funny image if it were photographed by a random camera, before it was replaced with Makoto's other fist colliding into his teeth.
“Hulck-!”
The Deviant fell to the ground. The fire dims a little, but it still burns with the same rage that its wielder obviously held.
Looking at Makoto's fist, it looks like it was burning with a fiery heat, burning his gloved hand alive. But with his calm yet annoyed expression and the way he flicked his right hand away, extinguishing the fire. Something is clearly protecting the boy from being immolated in broad daylight.
Something that is tied to supernatural reason, beyond scientific inquiry.
Something like…
“Wh-what was that? Y-ou’re a Fantasizer too?”
“Since when did I say I wasn't?”
The Fantasy to improve the things around you. [GETTING BETTER].
It is the power that allows Makoto to improve the purpose of anything he touches directly with his hands. In this case, it improves the purpose of Makoto's gloves to perfectly absorb impact and protect him from environmental hazards to their absolute perfection.
It was a power that he saw not much use for outside of helping his grandparents back on the farm. It couldn't help him score with the girls in his class, it couldn’t fix the scraps and broken things in his room, and it couldn't help him with his barely existing grade.
But it absolutely can help him help other people when they are in trouble.
If only the improvement could last outside of my touch…
The range of his powers is only tied to his hands. So the moment his hands lose any contact, the improvement is lost, and the object becomes what it was before he touches it. He also can't use it on living beings and those with a conscience, as those don't have a set of purpose like any other old thing.
Sensing the changing tides, but not accepting it, the Deviant comes back to his feet begun to burn even brighter. Anger colored his expression as he charged himself at Makoto, swinging a wild haymaker with no thought inside.
Ducking out of the way of the very clear and loud telegraph attack, Makoto moved to the right of Deviant by parrying it as the fire from the attack singed his hair, gray smoke coming out.
Instinctively, his body moves to the next motion. Makoto put his whole weight into the thug's stomach, leaving him blanching, grasping for air, as his face and head looked toward the ground.
Sensing an opening, Makoto followed up with an attack the most natural in his and the delinquent's position. An uppercut. Which produced a wild and loud THUD! As he fell and, from the looks of it, was knocked out cold.
“Hah..Hah.. W-Why does it always end this way?”
Makoto knew why, of course. Thugs and other delinquents have always had a high amount of pride in themselves, the Deviants variants especially, as they can only get their powers by being obsessed with something. But no amount of news coverage and psychological documentaries he watches will dissuade him from hoping these kinds of people will listen to reason and choose the non-violent way of resolving issues.
After all, if he could change, so can they!
But failure is more common than success, so for the umpteenth time, Makoto wielded his fist. Violence isn't his final card for nothing after all.
But never mind all of that…
“Hey! Are you okay? Can you walk?” Asked him, his powers dimmed and were gone, leaving the discounted fashion piece to return to what it was, a normal glove.
The girl nodded rapidly, tears mixing with the rain on her face as she finally reached out and grasped his hand. "Y-Yes... I think so. Thank you."
"Come on, let's get you out of here," Makoto said, offering the most reassuring smile he has.
But as Makoto and the girl turned toward the mouth of the alleyway, about to escape into the safety of the main street, a heavy, vibrating hum tore through the narrow corridor. The sound rattled the teeth in Makoto’s skull.
Out from the deep shadows of a recessed doorway, a second figure stepped directly into their path, blocking the exit. His palms were warped by a jagged, localized distortion, humming like a malfunctioning turbine that warped the falling raindrops around his fingers.
And he wasn't alone. Three more thugs, no, Deviants stepped out right behind him, cutting off any hope of retreat.
"I knew he was a hothead, but not to this extent," the vibrating thug sneered, raising his humming palms as his crew closed the distance. "Getting your ass kicked by a nobody, somebody get me an alarm, looks like we got a fraud on our hands."
“Who are you guys?”
“We? We’re the guys that're gonna kick your ass, that's who. You wannabe Orthodixian you.” The leader, or the one whom Makoto assumed as the leader, says. The water near him levitates and morphs into the shape of spears.
The spear lunges at Makoto, but he deflected it by touching his jacket with his left hand and facing his back to it. The jacket's baseline purpose—to protect the wielder from outside elements and threats—was instantly elevated to its pinnacle. It absorbed and dispersed the impact of the high-pressure water, though a heavy concussive force still rattled his ribcage.
“Whew! What are your Fantasy, dude, stone wall skin or something? With a power like that, you could have helped us against this Dark Knight guy up about in Moonhaven or something. Well, not like it matters.”
One spear, two spears. More of the hits kept coming, and Makoto's infused jacket kept taking the damage as time crawled. But no matter how strong a power is, it is useless if the person wielding it is out of gas.
Crap, this is not good.
Fighting has never been Makoto's strong suit. He is used to it, more so because of his luck, but it has never been something that he has poured himself into. What he did to the fire-wielding Deviant was something that he strung together on the spur of the moment, not a coordinated piece of martial arts that he had practiced for so long.
He looks at his surroundings and finds nothing that could help him in his current predicament. The reason Makoto only has one glove on his hand, was to use the other as a touching point on random objects that are nearby to give him an edge. If both of his hand is covered, he can't use anything except to shield himself with his gloves. Something that he learned after the first time he faced a Deviant.
If it's only one, I can handle it, but there are four guys here. Four! And the girl is making it hard for me to move and dodge around. Ah crap, what do I do…
All in all, Makoto was in a pretty bad situation. He is surrounded, left vulnerable in a forgotten spot, and can't move much beyond moving his hand. By any metric, he shouldn't even try; the only road left was leading to failure, and all his moves could spell disaster.
‘But that isn’t who you are, right, Naegi?’
“Yeah, you’re right. It isn’t who I am.”
The leader grinned, raising his hands as a dozen water spears materialized in the humid air, pointing directly at Makoto’s chest. The other three Deviants stepped forward, their Fantasy hummed and crackled, preparing to tear the exhausted boy apart. Makoto stood his ground, placing himself firmly in front of the trembling schoolgirl. He clenched his jaw, forcing his trembling left hand to reach down toward the wet asphalt, ready to push [GETTING BETTER] into the very ground beneath them for one final, desperate defense.
BOOM!
The sharp, concussive blast of a flashbang grenade detonated at the mouth of the alley, instantly blinding the thugs and shattering their concentration. The levitating water spears dissolved, crashing harmlessly back into the puddles.
Before the Deviants could recover from the blinding white light, the harsh, blaring sirens of police cruisers flooded the narrow street, their blue and red lights cutting through the darkness and reflecting off the wet pavement. Heavy, synchronized footsteps of armed tactical officers rushed the alleyway, rifles raised.
"Starlight City Police! Nobody move! Drop your powers immediately!" a booming voice ordered.
The thugs froze, their cocky expressions instantly turning to panic as they were surrounded.
Through the parting crowd of officers, a young woman stepped forward into the dim, flashing emergency lights. She wore elegant lavender gloves, and her silver-lavender hair caught the crimson glare of the sirens. Her calm, analytical purple eyes scanned the chaotic scene, instantly taking in the unconscious fire thug, the residual gravity distortions, the single glove on Makoto's right hand, and the absolute exhaustion rolling off his shoulders.
Kyoko Kirigiri looked down at him, her expression unreadable but her presence entirely commanding.
“An alleyway fight in the middle of the day, is it? It seems your list of excuses is getting stale, Naegi-kun.” Said Kyokou with her arms crossed. “But I’m sure you’re going to surprise us next time. But in the meanwhile, men, arrest them!”
///
The armed officers quickly corralled the bewildered Deviants into the back of the transport vans, their powers neutralized by specialized containment cuffs. The shivering schoolgirl was wrapped in a thermal blanket and escorted toward a medical cruiser, offering one last grateful, tear-eyed glance toward Makoto before the doors closed.
Makoto leaned heavily against the damp brick wall, his muscles throbbing with exhaustion as his Fantasy completely faded from his jacket. Unstrapping his right glove, he lets his hand breathe in the humid evening air, catching a nice breeze.
"The fire deviant suffered severe abdominal trauma and a mild concussion from a blunt force uppercut," Kyoko stated calmly, tapping a stylus against a digital tablet as she stepped closer. Her lilac eyes flicked over Makoto's singed hair and the single glove in his hand. "The second group showed signs of localized gravity and water manipulation. You managed to hold them off using only a standard blazer as a kinetic dispersal shield. Am I accurate, Naegi-kun?"
"A-Ah, yeah. Pretty much," Makoto muttered, rubbing the back of his neck with his bare left hand, wincing as his bruised knuckles throbbed. "Though it was mostly just rolling with the punches. I really didn't want to fight them, but they wouldn't listen to reason."
Kyouko Kirigi, an accidental friend in the force that he made, whom he met after he and she repeatedly met in increasingly dangerous crime scenes after another. She is known to be guarded, blunt, and a bit of a workaholic. But her skills in the field and as a detective have cemented her as a rising star in the policing world. She is also the one who recommended what kind of gloves he should have.
He paused, looking past the flashing red and blue lights toward the main street, then back to the enigmatic detective.
"But Kirigiri-san... how did you even know I was here? This alleyway isn't exactly on any major patrol route, and my phone died hours ago."
Kyoko closed her tablet with a soft click, her expression remaining entirely neutral. "I didn't find you on my own. I was requested to locate you by a very anxious mutual acquaintance who used your last known GPS coordinates before your device died."
"A mutual acquaintance?" Makoto blinked, confused.
"Exactly," a familiar, melodic voice suddenly interjected.
From behind the sleek, black frame of Kyoko’s parked police cruiser, a young girl stepped out into the dim light of the alley. She was dressed in her spectacular, sparkling stage outfit, her long blue hair tied up elegantly for her big performance.
Sayaka Maizono, rising superstar, would be a pop icon, and his childhood best friend was here in her true form. Crossing her arms, her usual bright, inspiring smile was completely replaced by an intense, worried pout.
"Sayaka?!" Makoto’s eyes widened, his jaw dropping in sheer shock. "W-What are you doing here?! Your debut performance starts in less than thirty minutes!"
"I am here because my best friend completely vanished right before the biggest night of my life!" Sayaka countered, stepping forward and pointing an accusing finger at him. "Do you have any idea how much I panicked, Makoto? I kept calling and calling, and when your signal just dropped near the 23rd Street intersection, I thought the worst! I had to beg Kirigiri-san to pull local camera feeds just to track you down!"
"You possess an entirely reckless disregard for your own safety, Naegi-kun," Kyoko added seamlessly, her calm voice carrying a sharp, disciplinary edge alongside Sayaka's anger. "Wandering blindly through crime-infested shortcuts without checking your battery life, let alone your schedule, is an exercise in absolute foolishness."
"She's right!" Sayaka chimed in, stepping right into Makoto's personal space, her eyes flashing with a mix of anger and deep relief. "If the police force had arrived even two minutes later, your usual antics would have left you seriously hurt! You can't just throw yourself into danger every time you hear a loud noise or a pretty girl, Makoto!"
"I-I'm sorry!" Makoto squeaked, deciding to ignore the pretty girl comment for the more immediate matter. Looking both ways, Makoto shrinks back as both girls loomed over him. He bowed his head in genuine apology, waving his hands frantically. "My bike tire popped, and then I heard a scream, and... I just couldn't walk away. I really wanted to make it on time to support you, Sayaka!"
Sayaka stared at his messy, soot-stained hair, his scuffed shoes, and the thin fabric glove clutched in his bare hand. Slowly, the stern tension in her shoulders melted away. She let out a long, defeated sigh, a warm, fond smile breaking through her irritated facade.
"Honestly... I knew that's what happened," Sayaka murmured, shaking her head. "Because you're always like this, always trying to help the bird. You're too kind for your own good, Makoto."
Kyoko turned away, gesturing toward the mouth of the alleyway where the orange and gold hues of the setting sun were bleeding across the Starlight City skyline, painting the towering glass skyscrapers in warm, radiant light. The gridlocked rush hour traffic on 23rd Street was finally beginning to move.
"Come along," Kyoko said, her voice softening as her footsteps echoed against the damp asphalt. "My vehicle is running. If we utilize the emergency lanes with the sirens on, we might just ensure you aren't late to see her take the stage."
“Wait, are we even allowed to do that? Isn’t that an abuse of power?”
“Not it isn't if the rookie cop of the year says so! Let's go!" Sayaka cheered, her sour mood completely vanishing as she grabbed Makoto by his bare left arm, eagerly pulling him along. "You're going to sit right in the front row, got it?"
"I wouldnt want to be anywhere else!" Makoto smiled, his feet felt lighter as walks with his closest of friends.
Side by side, the exhausted boy with nothing but his antenae hair, the pop idol, and the brilliant detective walked out of the dark, scarred alleyway, stepping directly into the brilliant, golden glow of the sunset.