The Anomaly's P Chapter 3: Leo von Celestial [1]

Chapter 3: Leo von Celestial [1]

Life.

We all hear this word every day, right? But have you ever wondered what the aning of life actually is?

I have. Like a curious child, I always wanted to know.

I used to lay awake at night, staring at the ceiling, turning that question over and over in my head like a broken record. Does life have a purpose? A grand design? Is there so hidden reason we’re all here, scrambling in the dark, trying to figure it out before the clock runs out and your heart stops beating?

But I eventually realized that everyone has a different answer.

Everyone has their own logic, their own little lie they tell themselves to get through the day. Maybe it’s because everyone is busy living a life that only they can see.

However... I still found one main ideology that most people cling to. They say life has a aning. A deeper purpose. So grand, golden reason you’re supposed to figure out before the end.

Honestly? I think that’s bullshit.

So people are just born strong and intelligent. So are born lucky, cradled by fate. And then there are people like us. We are born just... there. Not special enough to matter, but not useless enough to disappear.

I used to be one of those idiots who believed I was special. Once, I was a kid full of dreams, overflowing with a hope so bright it blinded . I thought the world was a stage, just waiting for

to take the lead.

But the world doesn’t wait. It doesn’t applaud. It just grinds you down until the gears of reality crush the hope out of you. It forces you to realize the truth: you aren’t the protagonist. You’re just background noise.

As I grew up, the truth beca simple. I wasn’t born special. I was just another face in the crowd, a little bit smart but ultimately replaceable. A nobody that the world could swap out at any second without missing a beat.

I understood my limits early. So, what did I do? I did the only thing I was actually good at.

...I ran.

Pathetic, isn’t it? Yeah, it was.

I ran from my grades. I ran from my responsibilities. I ran from my own potential. But most of all, I ran from expectations. I ran from the suffocating fear of failing soone else.

"Expectation." That was the word I feared most. It’s a weight that gets heavier every ti you look soone in the eye. It’s a debt you never asked for, yet everyone expects you to pay. After all, it is human nature to lean on each other—to believe in each other, to expect sothing from one another.

But a hard fact is also true: nothing is free in this world. Even your parents, who have known you since the day you were born, who have fed you your whole life—they expect sothing in return. Result? Success? Money? Love? Or just proof that you didn’t fail?

Maybe they never demanded anything. But expectations don’t need to be spoken to exist. They exist to give hope...

I stopped expecting anything from the world, desperately hoping the world would stop expecting anything from

in return.

And if you’re wondering why? Why I ran?

I was just... tired.

I would try, I really would, but never more than my potential allowed.

When people realize they aren’t special, what do they do? So try harder, fueled by a desperate need to prove they exist. But I am not them. Why would I waste my ti on sothing that would never benefit ? Why struggle just to "show" people I was trying?

Effort that leads nowhere isn’t hope—it’s just a performance.

What is the point of showing? Showing my parents that their kid is "trying his best"? I didn’t want to give them false hope. To , doing nothing was better than building a tower on a foundation of baseless dreams.

So, I simply stopped caring or at least, I pretended I did.

However, my parents... they never stopped .

Not even once.

Maybe it was because they loved

too much. Or maybe they were waiting for the "real"

to wake up from this long, lazy slumber. I never saw anger in their eyes. Just that look.

That soft, crushing... disappointnt. Or was it pity?

That look broke

more than a scream ever could. Which parents want to see their child like that? No one. They want to see their kids grow, to see them stand tall and beco successful.

I couldn’t stand it. I didn’t deserve that kind of unconditional love, so I did what I knew best.

I left.

I walked away from my ho, hoping that if I disappeared, they would finally forget about . I wanted them to think the burden was gone. I wanted them to live their own lives without wasting their precious ti on soone as worthless as .

But how silly of . I underestimated a parent’s heart. They still texted. They even sent money, hoping their kid might need it, even if he wouldn’t talk to them. Every notification on my phone was a digital scream, a reminder of what a cowardly bastard I was.

And like the bastard I am, I never answered. I stayed hidden. I never saw their faces again from the day I walked out that door.

...And now, here I am.

Life is truly a bitch with a twisted sense of humor. I spent my whole life running from expectations, running from people so they wouldn’t lean on , only to die because I couldn’t ignore the look of hope in a stranger’s eyes. She expected

to save her.

And for the first ti in my life... I didn’t run.

The sound of my heart was fading now, becoming a distant, muffled thump. The cold, wet pavent of the alleyway was actually starting to feel warm—a strange, welcoming heat. I guess it isn’t bad, dying like this. At least I’m dying while doing sothing good.

I just hope my parents don’t cry too much for their troubleso son. My biggest regret is not eting them one last ti.

Not living up to their hopes.

...I am sorry for everything.

___

I waited for the darkness. I waited for the "nothing" that cos after the "everything."

But it didn’t co.

Wait. How can I still be thinking? Is there a waiting room for heaven? Or am I headed straight down to the pit?

Suddenly, I didn’t feel the ground anymore. I felt weightless, drifting in a sea of nothingness. Then, a sensation hit —a sharp grip on the back of my neck, like a cat being lifted by its scruff.

There was a violent pull. It felt like my soul was being squeezed through a keyhole, my very essence being stretched and distorted.

Then, I saw a light.

It wasn’t a soft, holy glow. It was a blinding, aggressive white that burned behind my eyelids, searing into my mind. The light swallowed the darkness, swallowed the alley, swallowed .

No tunnel. No angels. No demonic laughter. Just... mixing.

Colors bled into each other—the sickly yellow of the streetlamp, the tallic red of my blood, the deep navy of the night sky—all swirling together like paint in a bucket of water. Sounds lted: the girl’s scream, my own ragged breath, the chi of my mom’s text tone... all saring into one long, distorted frequency.

Is this dying? Or is this traveling?

I couldn’t tell if I was moving or standing still. Ti didn’t exist here. There was no up, no down. Just the drift.

Then, a voice spoke. It wasn’t in my ears; it felt like it was etched into the air itself. Genderless. Tiless. Empty.

"Ah..."

But before I could even finish the thought of "What?