Humanity achieved the unification of power over the entire planet in the year 2000. From that year onward, the concept of national borders ceased to exist on Earth. The original “countries” were all renamed as “prefectures” or “counties,” with only the names of the various cities being preserved.

A word that had not been mentioned for a long time once again took the stage of history—Emperor.

Whether for better or worse, at least in this universe, Earthlings did not ultimately unite in the form of a federation, but rather through an empire.

In fact, from a long-term perspective, if, some years later, a group of monkeys, or a swarm of insects, or even a horde of robots were to invade from outside the Milky Way, the Earth Empire would certainly be more combative than an Earth Federation.

Of course, in this story, such a situation will not occur.

The story begins in December of the year 2100.

Sakura Prefecture was one of the smallest “prefectures” in the world. The Empire had originally planned to merge it into Dragon County, but considering its location at sea, its long history of earthquakes and tsunamis, and the fact that it had an active volcano that could sink it into the ocean at any time, and since Dragon County’s jurisdiction was already vast, the imperial authorities ultimately decided to designate Sakura as a separate “prefecture.”

That winter, on the streets of Hokkaido, a young boy was running frantically, gasping for breath. The cold morning air cut across his face like a knife.

He was neither tall nor short, neither fat nor thin, with an ordinary face. The lenses of his glasses on his nose were as thick as the bottoms of two beer bottles. He wore a black school uniform, carried a shabby backpack on both shoulders, and from his sideburns to his uniform button to the cuffs of his pants, everything was impeccable—a typical good student.

But this good student was late once again.

“Oh, Samuel Grant-kun, you’ve come running in all sweaty again today. Alright, hurry up and sit down.” The teacher who said this was surnamed Henry Clark, a balding middle-aged man, Samuel Grant’s homeroom teacher, who taught mathematics.

This was a very good school, ranking among the top high schools in Sakura Prefecture. But compared to the academies attended by nobles and royals, it was hardly worth mentioning.

Because he lived in a remote area, Samuel Grant had to catch a rarely scheduled bus every morning to get to school on time. If he missed it, he had to run for about forty minutes to reach school. So, although he tried hard, he would still be late a few times each month for various reasons after missing the bus.

Henry Clark was a snob, and Samuel Grant was exactly the kind of poor student he despised. He often used the slightest mistake by Samuel Grant as an excuse to embarrass him in public. Fortunately, today Henry Clark seemed to be in a good mood and did not further humiliate Samuel Grant for amusement, but continued with his lesson.

This allowed Samuel Grant to breathe a sigh of relief. He slipped quickly to his seat, quietly put down his backpack, and took out his textbook.

Because he was late, the first class ended just over ten minutes after Samuel Grant sat down.

Henry Clark didn’t say much more. As the bell rang, he walked out of the classroom, but at the door, he turned his face and gave Samuel Grant a hostile look. Samuel Grant clearly saw a cold sneer at the corner of Henry Clark’s mouth.

“Hey, wet mosquito coil, I need to talk to you. Come to the rooftop.” The class president, Walter Reed, was a tall, burly fat guy from a wealthy family—rumor had it his father was the director of a major hospital. That’s why the snobbish Henry Clark let the mediocre student Walter Reed be class president.

“Oh, alright…” Samuel Grant didn’t react to being called “wet mosquito coil,” since the other boys in class, and even the girls, usually called him that. “Mosquito coil” referred to his ridiculous glasses, and a wet mosquito coil was basically useless—so the nickname was essentially equivalent to “loser.”

Since this was a college-prep high school, there were few true delinquents, but bullies like Walter Reed could be found throughout the universe—from kindergarten to the workplace, these types were everywhere.

Samuel Grant was always bullied by Walter Reed, running errands, doing chores, even writing homework for him, while teachers like Henry Clark naturally turned a blind eye.

After arriving at the rooftop, Walter Reed didn’t say a word and inexplicably beat up Samuel Grant. He hit hard, without restraint, and throughout the whole process, Samuel Grant just curled up, covering his head, showing no sign of fighting back out of anger—he simply gritted his teeth and endured it.

Maybe he was used to it. When he first entered the school, he was deliberately picked on and beaten by upperclassmen, and later, even students in his own grade saw him as the easiest target. Now, as a second-year student, Samuel Grant was still regarded as a useless fool by the first-year students, never as a senior.

The bell rang for class, and Walter Reed stopped, turning to leave.

“Why?” Samuel Grant managed to squeeze out this question.

“Huh?” Walter Reed spat on the ground and replied nonchalantly, “If you want a reason, maybe it’s just boredom. Haven’t beaten anyone up in a while.”

The door to the rooftop was closed. Samuel Grant was still lying on the ground. Compared to the bruises on his body, perhaps his self-esteem was even more wounded.

Maybe this was the time to cry, but he couldn’t cry anymore.

For students like Samuel Grant, it seemed there were only two paths left: transferring schools or suicide.