Project Necro is an official initiative by Re:Library.

Wang Haoran-kun was a second-year student at a local public high school (called a “senior middle school” in China).
He had an ordinary face, but the faint acne scars and the streak of white dye in his black hair gave him some individuality. His hobby was secretly borrowing his father’s motorcycle at night and taking it for a ride. He didn’t have a license, but at least he wore a helmet properly.
He also once got a used guitar from his uncle, started a band, and quit six months later, selling it off at a music store. He secretly brought a banned smartphone to school, and though he once tried smoking, his mother caught him early on, burst into tears, and he quit.

In short—he was a mild delinquent. The kind of guy you’d find just about anywhere. There’s one or two like him in every school in Japan, and in China too. Not exactly rare, but not the common joe either.

He often skipped classes, and his grades were correspondingly low, which worried Haoran-kun’s parents greatly.
Compared to Japan, China’s examination wars are on another level. They say the university you get into decides your life—and it’s true. Without a degree, you’re branded for life, ridiculed and looked down upon. That’s why parents pour their hearts and souls into getting their children into good universities. From elementary to high school, everyone is buried in study. After-school clubs don’t even exist. “If you’ve got time for clubs, study instead!”

Given that kind of environment, delinquents like Haora-kun who don’t study are treated far harsher than in Japan. He was isolated, disliked, and had no friends. The teachers had given up on him, and his parents had nothing to say except “go study.”
When Haoran-kun said he liked motorcycles, they told him, “Buy one yourself when you’re an adult.”
When he said he wanted to do music, they said, “Study instead of wasting time.”

Even if those words came from love and concern, to Haoran-kun they must have felt like suffocating chains binding him down. He was lonely.

A stifling, gray adolescence.
His parents couldn’t be relied on.
No friends to call his own.
No teachers to turn to.
The stress slowly built up, a murky impulse growing inside him, yearning for release.

I’ve heard this kind of story before. In Japan, when a middle school girl feels that way, she turns to Buddhism, right? I know the type.
But Haoran-kun didn’t do anything that bizarre. Instead, he found peace of mind in a little black kitten he rescued one rainy day.

The female cat he saved from a flooding river was named Tai-yi. When he found her, she was a skinny, scruffy mess—but now, well-fed and well-loved, she was a sleek, healthy adult cat.
Haoran doted on Tai-yi. When he rode his motorcycle at night, he tucked her into his jacket and took her along for the ride. Tai-yi, in turn, adored him deeply.

His social media accounts were about ninety percent filled with cat photos.
Most of them were ridiculous “psychic” edits: Tai-yi growing gigantic and eating the Earth, glowing with divine light, shooting beams from her eyes. There were even edits where Haoran-kun made her float with telekinesis.
He often posted his fantasies about what it would be like if he had psychic powers.

Typical adolescent delusions.
“What if I became a famous YouTuber?”
“What if the rich new transfer student fell for me?”
“What if I saved a beautiful girl and she confessed to me?”
“What if I awakened to psychic powers—or magic? What should I do?!”
Such and such.

All impossible fantasies—but since psychic powers had recently been proven real, they suddenly felt more believable. Just this spring, reports came out that “the number one dream job among elementary schoolers is now ‘psychic,’” and the so-called experts were wringing their hands about Japan’s future. They’re always worried about something, aren’t they?

Unfortunately, even the “Psychic Power Gift-Giving Uncle” couldn’t personally hand out powers to every dreaming boy and girl around the world.
So, it came down to a lottery. And this time, the lucky one chosen by Baba was Haoran-kun.
A little delinquent, good at heart, seemed like he’d get along with Tsukuyomi, and interested in psychic powers.

Yes, yes.
That’s how it went.
Alright! Take this, Haoran-kun!
Here’s the extraordinary, supernatural youth you’ve been waiting for—counterfeit edition!!!

That night, Wang Haoran was once again riding through the city streets. The motorcycle engine roared, wind brushing his shoulders. As the autumn equinox neared, the night air grew bitterly cold, creeping into his jacket like a mischievous spirit.
The warmth of Tai-yi, peeking her head out from his collar, was a comfort.

These night rides with his feline partner were the only thing keeping Haoran breathing through the stifling daily life.
He hated studying, liked video games, and had noisy parents. No special skills, no dreams, yet everyone said he had to go to college.

He hated being a faceless nobody, an ordinary person who could do nothing. It was painful to even think about it.
He tried dyeing his hair and dressing sharper to stand out, but it didn’t help.

He borrowed his father’s bike without permission, riding through town without license, and nobody spared a glance at him. Nobody stopped him.
Only in these fleeting moments of night, racing through the dark, free of all the suffocating noise and pressure, did Haoran feel like himself.

He rode to the edge of town and stopped at a gas station. If his father noticed the missing fuel when returning the bike, he’d be caught, so he always refueled carefully.

“Meow.”
“Hm, wanna get out?”

As he opened the fuel cap, his partner stirred.
When Haoran set her down on the ground, Tai-yi began pacing nervously, ears twitching constantly. She was a cat with especially sharp hearing, easily startled by strange noises. She must’ve picked up something odd again.

Dogs are known for their hearing, but cats’ ears are even sharper. They can detect sounds humans can’t and pinpoint their source precisely. That’s how they can track even the faintest squeak or step of a mouse hiding in the shadows.
At home, Tai-yi’s ears were especially useful for detecting Haoran’s father sneaking up to check whether his son was actually studying or secretly gaming. A reliable partner indeed.

“Meow.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Mrrrow.”
“What is it, Tai-yi?”

Half distracted by the fuel meter, Haoran muttered back—and then Tai-yi suddenly hissed sharply. The same kind of hiss she made when she ran into that nasty neighbor dog.
Haoran let go of the fuel nozzle and turned around. In the darkness, something shifted—something Tai-yi was glaring at, fur bristled, tail high, fangs bared.

“Wh–what the…?”

It was something Haoran had never seen before—something alien, indescribable.
It was about the size of a school desk. Like a black garbage bag slithering across the ground with a will of its own. Its color and movement evoked the same instinctive disgust as a cockroach, making Haoran’s skin crawl.

“H-hey, are you… okay?”

For a second he thought there might be someone inside a black bag, struggling to get out—but no. It moved too fluidly, too unnaturally. No human could move like that.
Was it even alive? Hard to say. But it felt like it had intent.

The black thing inched closer. It turned to Haoran, and Tai-yi’s warning cries grew more desperate.
Confusion turned to fear—and the moment it did, the black thing stretched up and lunged at him.

“HOOOO—!?”
“GYAAAOO!”

Haoran dove aside just in time. The black thing slammed into the fuel pump, crumpling it with a single blow. Gasoline sprayed out in a jet.
Tai-yi leapt back with a scream, crying out to him again and again—the message was clear: Run!

This wasn’t normal. It doesn’t make any sense. But something terrible was happening; that much was clear.
Haoran quickly removed the bike’s stand to push it, but the creature quickly reminded him he should have protected himself instead, as its body morphed like a whip and lashed out at him.
The blow sent the bike flying ten meters before it exploded in flames. The tip of the lash caught Haoran, and pain like he’d never felt before burst across his vision, sparks scattering as he slammed into the concrete.

He didn’t understand. Couldn’t understand—how could he?!
Pain screamed through his body, but terror drowned it out.
He tried to get up. He had to run. When danger strikes, you run—that’s the instinct of every living being. It’s how you survive.

But his legs wouldn’t move—as if the nerves were gone.

“What the hell! What now?!”
“Hisss! Mrrrow—grrr!”
“Damn it! Tai-yi, run!”

His legs had given out. He couldn’t stand. Gasoline spread across the ground like a serpent, reaching the burning motorcycle. The fire caught, and a wall of flame rose up between them.
Haoran and the pitch-black monster faced each other—lit in red like actors on a stage.

“St-stop it… don’t come closer!”

He shouted, trembling in fear, but the monster didn’t stop.
It slithered closer, its glistening surface shining eerily in the firelight.
Would it crush him? Eat him? Either way, the end would be ugly.
He couldn’t stop shaking. Tears welled up. The monster loomed closer.
Yet even then, Haoran didn’t close his eyes. He watched, terrified, as the creature raised its tendrils, and then——

——A shockwave from the side blasted through the monster, tearing it apart.

The wave vanished in an instant, followed by an earth-shaking boom that rattled his ears.
A piercing ringing filled his head. He couldn’t hear anything. His vision flickered.
Through the haze, he saw a silver-haired little girl run toward the shattered creature. She raised a silver gun, fired again, and another shockwave blew the monster’s remains apart.

The little girl, gun in hand, said something sharply—but Haoran, deafened, couldn’t make it out. When he blinked, she clicked her tongue (he couldn’t hear it, but the motion was clear), and drove a syringe into his thigh.

“Wha—!? Hey, what the hell!?”
“I only made ya able to stand! Feel the strength flowin’ through ya? That World Shadow’s growin’. We’d be outmatched here—run!”

Her sweet little voice barked the command fiercely.
She grabbed his hand and pulled him along. He stumbled forward.

“Wait—Tai-yi!”
“The cat’s here! Now run!”

He glanced and saw Tai-yi—white-eyed and unconscious—stuffed into the girl’s belt pouch.
Moments ago, he’d been deaf, numb, and half-dead—but now heat from the injection burned through his veins, flooding him with explosive energy, every cell thrumming with life.

He looked back. The gas station was engulfed in fire and smoke, the black creature lost from sight.
Ahead of him, the silver-haired girl’s hair fluttered like moonlight as she sprinted, impossibly fast.

None of it made sense.
But still—

———Something incredible was happening.

And Haoran could feel it—not fear or panic, but a wild, trembling excitement.

Well, well, a gas station explosion, huh? Impressive. Let’s roughly estimate the cost of this little two-minute action scene, from the attack to the escape.

Gas station, total loss — 4,000,000 yen
Canopy damage — 10,000,000 yen
Pipework damage — 3,000,000 yen
Fireproof concrete damage — 3,000,000 yen
Used motorcycle, total loss — 500,000 yen
Compensation for business closure during repairs — 2,000,000 yen

Total: 22,500,000 yen.