There was something strange about the wind that day.

  It didn’t howl or whisper—but moved with intent, curling in quiet spirals around the rooftop, as if it were listening. Below, the city buzzed on, unaware. But up here—on the ledge of a high-rise school building—time itself seemed to hesitate.

  And there, on the edge of sky and stone, sat a young man.

  His legs swung freely off the ledge, a worn comic book resting in his hands, its pages fluttering lazily in the breeze. He wore plain clothes and shorts—nothing remarkable—but something in his presence felt oddly out of place. Like he didn’t belong to the school, or even the city.

  He read with the ease of someone who had no intention of being disturbed.

  Then, with tousled hair dancing in the wind, he turned his head toward a lone high schooler standing a few meters away.

  Their eyes met.

  And the young man smiled.

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  “Hey, kid,” he said, his voice easy but oddly firm. “Ever wonder how legends start?”

  The student blinked, unsure whether it was a joke. “Uh… I guess with something big? A war or something?”

  The young man chuckled, tapping his comic’s spine against his knee. “Wrong.”

  His voice carried no malice, but it struck with surprising weight—like a pebble dropping into deep water.

  “Legends don’t start with fanfare,” he continued. “They start in silence. A glance. A breath. A moment no one else notices… except the one meant to answer it.”

  He leaned back slightly, gaze returning to the sky as if watching something long since gone. Cars crawled below. Students chattered far off. But up here—only the wind and the pause between heartbeats.

  “People like to armor stories,” he said. “Kings. Wars. Heroes. Makes the truth easier to stomach.”

  He closed the comic with a soft thud—final, like a seal snapping shut.

  “But truth?” he said. “Truth is small. It starts in places like this. On rooftops. With someone no one’s watching.”

  The student shifted his weight, suddenly aware of his own stillness. The air around them hummed—not loud, but charged.

  “You see this place?” the young man asked, gesturing at the school, the streets beyond. “Just vending machines. Tests. First crushes. No swords. No lightning tearing the sky.”

  Then he looked up.

  The clouds above had begun to gather—not randomly, but with purpose.

  And when he spoke again, it was barely above a whisper.

  “But even here… something begins.”

  The student frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean,” the young man said, locking eyes with him, “the call of destiny doesn’t need drums. Sometimes, it’s just a breeze that moves different. A silence that lingers. A question you can’t shake.”

  The student’s voice quieted.

  “But if you hear it… really hear it… don’t ignore it. Because that’s when the story truly begins—not with battles or heroes, but with the choice to step forward.”

  The wind stirred—cool, alive.

  Then the rooftop blurred. The student vanished. The city faded into mist.

  Only the voice remained.

  “Let me tell you how it all truly began…”