A young boy—no older than fourteen or fifteen—ran desperately toward the police station. His red hair clung messily to his forehead, damp with sweat, and his black eyes burned with an unnatural intensity, almost matching the crimson shade of his hair.
He looked like he hadn't slept in days.
As he stumbled closer, one of the officers standing near the entrance noticed him and stepped forward, frowning.
"Hey—why are you running, kid?" the officer called out. "Are you lost?"
The boy slowed to a stop, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. For a moment, he said nothing. His eyes darted around, scanning the area as if searching for something… or someone.
"…No," he muttered at last.
He lowered his gaze to the ground, his expression tightening. A brief silence passed before he spoke again, his voice quieter—but steady.
"As demanded by the Third Special Directive… I'm here to surrender myself as a carrier of the Nightmare Spell."
The officer froze.
The concern on his face vanished instantly, replaced by sharp vigilance.
"…Are you sure about that, kid?" he asked, his tone now cautious. "How long has it been?"
The boy swallowed, still struggling to breathe properly.
"Approximately… eight days," he said. Then, after a slight pause, more uncertainly, "…I think."
That was enough.
The officer immediately turned and slammed his hand against a button on the nearby terminal.
"Attention! Code Black in the lobby! Repeating—Code Black!"
---
I don't think I was ever normal.
When I was born, the hospital lost electricity—just in the room I was in. No one could explain why.
And every year after that, on my birthday… the power would go out again. Always for exactly one hour.
At first, people laughed it off.
I didn't.
Things got worse when I turned ten.
That was when the bad luck started.
My father died during a business trip. No one told me how. Maybe they didn't know… or maybe they just didn't want to say it out loud.
After that, everything fell apart.
We weren't rich, but we were stable. A normal, middle-class family. That should have been enough.
But it wasn't.
Money disappeared faster than we could understand. Savings, gone. Opportunities, gone. Stability… gone.
My mother tried. She really did.
I still remember the way she forced a smile every morning before going out to look for work.
She never came back one day.
After that, my relatives took me in—for a while. A year, maybe.
Then, one by one… they stopped answering calls. Stopped opening doors.
Eventually, they just… stopped acknowledging that I existed.
And just like that, I was alone.
---
Now, I spend my days searching for scraps of food… and my nights trying not to fall asleep.
Because of the spell.
At first, I didn't understand what was happening to me. But it didn't take long to realize the truth.
Sleep meant death.
So I endured.
I sold the house—not that it mattered anymore. Used the money to survive a little longer. To fulfill a few small, meaningless wishes.
And now…
Here I am.
At the police station.
---
A few minutes later, I found myself in a cold room somewhere beneath the station.
I was sitting on a metal chair, my body restrained. My limbs felt heavy—either from exhaustion or whatever they had injected into me.
The door opened with a quiet click.
An officer stepped inside, his expression calm, almost gentle.
"What's your name, kid?" he asked.
"…Kurayami."
He nodded slightly.
"Do you want me to contact your family?"
I let out a quiet breath.
"No need to bother," I said. "I don't have any."
The officer paused for a moment, then nodded again.
"…Alright, Kurayami." He pulled a chair and sat across from me. "How long can you stay awake?"
I frowned slightly, thinking.
"…Around two to ten minutes."
That answer changed something in his eyes.
"Then we don't have time for the full procedure," he said quickly. "Kurayami—how much do you know about spells? About nightmares?"
"As much as anyone else," I replied weakly.
He leaned forward slightly, his voice more serious now.
"Tell me about the First Nightmare."
I hesitated for a moment, then answered:
"We're taken to an unknown place… forced to fight monsters… complete the nightmare…" I swallowed. "…And if we survive, we gain some kind of power."
"…That's it."
The officer studied me for a few seconds.
Then he spoke, slower this time.
"Listen carefully, kid."
His voice was calm—but there was something else beneath it. Something heavy.
"Once you fall asleep… don't give up on yourself. No matter what happens in there…"
He paused.
"…Please don't die, Kurayami."
For a moment, the room fell silent.
Kurai.
That was what people used to call me.
I almost forgot.
A faint, bitter thought crossed my mind.
'How am I supposed to survive something like that…?'
My vision blurred.
Darkness crept in from the edges.
And then—
Everything went black.
---
In the endless void, a voice echoed.
Cold. Distant. Feminine.
[Aspirant… welcome to the Nightmare Spell.]
[Prepare for your first trial…]
---