---
They say humans can get used to anything.
Loneliness. Defeat. Death.
Even a silence that stretches on for three whole years.
Three years since Rio last heard his mother's voice.
Three years since that body had moved even once.
---
Rio lived in Tokyo, Japan.
The city that never slept. But sometimes, it also never cared.
His apartment was small. One room. One bathroom.
A kitchen shoved into a corner, with an old electric stove and a fridge that hummed softly.
The walls were thin. The air, stale.
A fitting place for someone who was only half alive.
---
> A white light.
That was the only thing Rio remembered.
Like a flash from a god's camera.
Like a dream far too vivid.
And afterward, his mother never woke again.
---
The phenomenon didn't just happen in Japan.
People across the world—America, Brazil, Korea, France—experienced it too.
> Sleeping Blank Syndrome, the scientists called it.
Not contagious. Not deadly… at first.
But also unstoppable.
Incurable.
And unexplainable.
---
> "If they don't wake within five years… their body gives up on its own."
That wasn't something a hospital doctor told him.
It came from an international medical conference in Switzerland—
an article Rio read through a VPN.
But he understood one thing:
Time was running out.
---
Three years had passed.
Only two remained.
Rio counted them every day, with tiny scratches behind his wardrobe door.
Simple marks.
Like a prisoner waiting for his own execution.
---
Every week, he brought a can of vanilla-flavored coffee to the hospital.
Cold coffee—his mother's favorite.
The can was never opened.
But it was always replaced.
A small ritual.
Pointless, maybe.
But it was the only act of love he could still perform.
---
Around Rio's neck, a blue scarf remained tied.
Worn. Dusty. Never washed in warm water—for fear the color would fade.
It was a birthday gift. His 13th.
> "You're growing up so fast… Mama's the one who's getting cold now."
She had joked, placing a small box in his lap.
The knitting was rough. Uneven. A little hole in the corner.
But it was handmade. By her.
And it was…
…the only thing from his childhood he still held onto.
---
Years passed, and the scarf stayed wrapped around him.
Until, at 21—
the white light came.
And his mother never again pulled the knot snug around his neck.
---
Now, each time Rio tightened it himself,
it felt like embracing a wound.
And maybe…
that was the only part of him still alive.
---
He was now 24.
An ordinary office worker. Morning shift.
A cramped desk. Just enough salary to survive—not enough to live.
Late nights. Instant noodles. Dreamless sleep.
---
That night was no different.
Ordinary.
Quiet.
With no warning at all.
The digital clock on the wall showed 22:14.
Rio stood in the middle of the room, still in his work blazer.
The old AC buzzed.
And outside the window, Tokyo still shimmered with light.
Then… the light appeared.
---
Not from outside.
Not from a lamp.
But from the air itself—
Filling the room like a soundless fog.
White.
Still.
---
Rio didn't have time to run.
Didn't have time to ask, "Why now?"
His body felt weightless.
His soul, folded and thrown out of dimension.
> And then… darkness.
---
He didn't know how long he was unconscious.
Didn't know what had become of his body in the real world.
Didn't know if his mother was still counted among the living.
What he did know was that when he opened his eyes...
...he was no longer in Tokyo.
The sky was violet.
The ground was soft.
And his body—
> "...Ribbit."
A frog stared back at him from the reflection in the water.
Small body. Short legs. Dark green skin.
But around his neck—
The blue scarf was still tied.
A bit too big now.
But it was the only thing that still made him feel human.
---
And so the adventure began.
No warning.
No explanation.
No choice.
> [This world does not summon heroes.]
[It only steals souls… one by one.]
[And this time, it was Rio's turn.]
---
End of Prologue