No one could live inside walls. Kouichi realized this when his fingertip gently touched the plaza in the model. Stone pavement at a 1:100 scale. Meticulously carved grooves for waterways. The inn building whose roof slope he'd recalculated countless times. Tiny food stalls lined up along the market street, each no bigger than a fingernail. All of it was perfect. And all of it was empty. "Making something like this..." Kouichi whispered to himself, then fell silent. He didn't finish the thought. There was no need to. He already knew the answer. --- The classroom after school still held the heat of the planning meeting. Construction paper pinned to the blackboard listed festival booth ideas in bullet points. "Haunted house." "Crepe stand." "Escape game." Classmates called out opinions, laughed, and traded quips. Their voices reached all the way to Kouichi's seat. Hinata Kouichi sat at the edge of the window-side desk, mechanical pencil in hand, unmoving. His black short hair fell slightly across his forehead—messy but clean-looking. A slender frame in a white shirt and black slacks. There was nothing particularly distinctive about him. If anything, he had a slight slouch and fine wrinkles that appeared on his forehead when he was thinking. His deep brown eyes gazed vaguely at the construction paper on the blackboard. His gaze wasn't actually focused there. A different blueprint was moving in Kouichi's head. (For a haunted house, the traffic flow design is key. If I place the entrance and exit diagonally opposite and make the interior wind back and forth, I can maximize dwell time. For a crepe stand, I'd need to separate the kitchen space from the waiting area...) Without realizing it, Kouichi had sketched a layout diagram in his notebook. The flow of people. How to use the space. Where to place what for maximum efficiency. Thinking about this was as natural as breathing. "Alright, we'll decide by majority vote—crepe stand it is!" The class representative's cheerful voice rang out. Kouichi's hand stopped. He looked at the design spread across his notebook. The diagram he'd shown to no one. The opinion no one had asked for. He quietly capped his mechanical pencil and closed the notebook. (It'll probably work out better without me saying anything anyway.) He knew that was an excuse. But Kouichi didn't know how to find the right moment to speak. How to insert his voice into the group. How to offer his thoughts as something "worth value." Walking down the hallway, Kouichi flipped through the edge of his notebook with his thumb. Mechanically. Over and over. --- Back in his room, the shelf caught his eye. Half of the six-shelf bookcase was occupied by models. A city at 1:100 scale spread across it. Kouichi set his bag on the floor and stood before the shelf. He looked at the models from left to right. A plaza with waterways running through it. A market street with a covered roof. A small inn building. A structure modeled after a school. All arranged with meticulous precision, connected by stone-paved roads. The materials were plaster, wood, and thin metal wire. He'd applied varnish multiple times to give the surface a glossy finish. Even the window frames were finished with care. It had taken three years to build this city. A city where no one could live. "Making something like this... no one can live here," Kouichi said aloud this time. The words felt lighter than expected. That frightened him a little. It was proof that resignation had come before the words. Kouichi turned his gaze to the window. The town spread out as dusk fell. The smell of dinner drifted from somewhere. A child's voice echoed in the distance. The real city. Real life. There was no room for Kouichi's designs to fit into that world. Not even a crack. He collapsed onto his bed, still in his uniform. Staring at the ceiling. (I'm so tired...) The moment he thought that, his consciousness was already fading. --- When awareness returned, the sky was orange. Dusk? No. The quality of the light was different. The air was different. Kouichi was standing. Not on his bedroom floor. Beneath his feet was soil. Red-brown earth mixed with sand and stone. Even through his shoe soles, he could feel its coarseness and hardness. He looked around. It was a wasteland. Barren ground stretched to the horizon. Scattered across it were the remains of collapsed stone walls. Stone outlines that had once been building foundations lay half-buried in the earth, with no grass growing. Charred beam remnants. A dried-up well's stone ring with only its top exposed above the soil. Wall cross-sections worn smooth by sand. All of it was old. The smell of ruins that had been left untouched for decades, for decades. The orange of dusk dyed it all. It wasn't beautiful, nor was it ugly. Just quiet. Terrifyingly quiet. "...What?" Kouichi stood frozen. No sound came out. More precisely, nothing came out—not even a voice. He couldn't decide whether to scream or run. His mind refused to process the situation. (Where is this? Why am I outside? I was just about to sleep in my room. Is this a dream? But the feel of the soil is too real for a dream.) He took a tentative step forward. Sand crunched. His shoe sole struck stone with a soft clink. The certainty came: this wasn't a dream. With it came a slight vertigo. Kouichi walked to a nearby stone wall remnant and placed his hand on it. It was cold. The stone's coldness transmitted directly to his palm. (It's real.) Strange as it was, that realization let him breathe. If it was real, he could process it as reality. If it was reality, he could think about it. Kouichi took a deep breath. He looked around again. A wasteland filled with ruins. No sign of people. Wind licked at the sand dust. The sky's color was shifting from orange to purple. Night was coming. Then his hand glowed. Kouichi froze. A faint light seeped from the center of his palm. It wasn't hot. It didn't hurt. But there was definitely a sensation of something overflowing. From his wrist to his shoulder, from his shoulder to deep in his chest. It was like blood flowing, but it wasn't blood. Something finer—like particles—flowed through his body. Slowly, Kouichi reached his hand toward the debris nearby. The moment his fingers touched it, something connected. He could sense fine particles filling the debris. Invisible, but he felt their presence with his fingertips. The microscopic something that filled the gaps between stone crystals. Kouichi concentrated his awareness on his palm, drawing it toward him. The debris moved. Stone half-buried in sand slowly lifted. Nearby fragments were drawn together, broken edges aligned. Like reversed footage, the collapsed wall reconstructed itself. In less than five seconds, a stone wall about a meter high was complete. It wasn't a model wall. With trembling hands, Kouichi touched the finished wall. The rough surface of stone. Sand packed in the joints. Real stone with weight, standing obedient to gravity. (Did I... do this?) No one answered him. --- Something roared in the distance. A low, heavy sound that resonated in his belly. An animal's cry. Not human. Kouichi reflexively turned and looked at the horizon. Bonfires. Far, far beyond the horizon, he saw a line of orange light. Campfires arranged at regular intervals. Not naturally occurring flames. Someone had deliberately arranged them. For what purpose? By whom? The animal sound came again. Closer this time. (I need to hide.) Kouichi moved. He ran around collecting debris. Stone fragments, charred wood remnants, stone rings half-buried in sand. Each time his hand touched something, that sensation returned. The feeling of fine particles gathering. (I don't understand what's happening, but I have to use it now.) A blueprint formed in his mind. A shelter. Minimal size, minimal materials. A simple structure. Four walls and a roof. Just big enough for one person. Based on the material's strength, the calculation would be— One wall was complete. Kouichi checked the roof's slope and frowned. (The angle is too shallow. Water will pool if it rains. I need to increase it by at least five degrees.) The animal sound came again. Definitely closer. Kouichi took a deep breath and stopped. (For now... this is enough.) In reality, he would have adjusted the model roof's slope down to the centimeter. He'd redone the same angle three times before. Yet now, facing mortal danger for the first time, the word "enough" had come out. He found it strange about himself. But there was no time to laugh. The roof was complete. A crude roof made of debris, but the walls reinforced by Kouichi's power felt far harder to the touch than expected. He crawled into the shelter and sealed the entrance with stone. The animal sound faded into the distance. Kouichi exhaled. --- After catching his breath, his head began to ache. He pressed his temples. A dull pain throbbed. When he closed his eyes, the memories from moments ago seemed strangely hazy. Where he'd found the debris. The order he'd assembled the walls. What had been so clear was now foggy, like looking through mist. (That's strange. It just happened.) The memories themselves weren't gone. He knew the fact that "I built a wall." But he couldn't quite retrieve the specific process. It was like reaching into sand—the moment he tried to grasp it, it slipped away. (Does using this power always do this...?) The pain faded after about three minutes. But what remained in Kouichi stayed. This power wasn't omnipotent. He was using something. Consuming something in exchange. (I need to be careful.) That understanding was enough for now. --- Night came completely. Beyond the thin walls, wind howled. A low sound like it was licking sand. Inside the shelter it was dark and cramped—when sitting, his back and knees touched the walls. Still in his uniform, Kouichi hugged his knees. He placed his hand on the wall. It was cold. The real coldness of stone transmitted to his palm. Different from the plaster in the models. Heavier, rougher, far more tangible. Kouichi kept his hand there, still for a while. He remembered the model on his shelf at home. Protected in a glass case. The market no one had seen. The inn where no one had stayed. The plaza where no one had ever set foot. The perfectly crafted city, existing only to exist. The wall here was crude. The calculations were rough, the finish incomplete. The roof's slope still bothered him. But. It was definitely blocking the wind. This wall existed to protect Kouichi. That alone made it completely different from the model walls. Kouichi's eyes grew quietly wet. Not crying exactly, but something dissolving. Something that had been frozen for a long time was slowly beginning to thaw. He couldn't see the outside landscape. But through gaps in the wall, he could see the distant line of bonfires. Points of light arranged on the horizon. He still didn't know what they were. Who was there. Whether they were allies or threats. (Where... is this place?) A wasteland filled with ruins. Traces of what had once been a city. A power to build walls using something he might call magical essence. The presence of fine particles drifting through the air. He knew nothing about this world yet. But one thing was clear. Kouichi kept his hand on the wall and whispered softly. "Here... I might be able to build something." That was all he said. No voice answered. The night wind howled low and passed. The distant bonfires flickered. Kouichi closed his eyes, still hugging his knees. The afterimage of the bonfires still swayed in the darkness.