The moment Amamiya Takumi stepped on the white line of the crosswalk, the world disappeared. The sound vanished first. The engine noise of cars, the distant crossing bell, music leaking from someone's earbuds—all of it lost at once, as if stuffed with cotton. Next, the light inverted. The black asphalt turned white, the white sky flipped black, and then—nothing remained. Even the direction of gravity became unknowable. That was the entirety of Amamiya Takumi's transfer to another world. 　　＊ Rewind to that morning. Takumi sat in the back of the classroom, three seats from the window, with an assignment sheet spread across his lap—two days past the submission deadline. Four minutes until homeroom started. He could do it if he tried. But only if he waited until the last second. That was the precise outline of Amamiya Takumi as a person. He was one hundred seventy centimeters tall. Thin-framed, yet oddly muscular. His clothes were always simple—today, a navy hoodie and gray pants. Hi