That morning, he drags himself out of bed after a few too many alarms, moving through his routine with the same slow autopilot he’s refined over the years: a half-hearted shower, mismatched socks he decides don’t matter, and a rushed piece of toast he eats on the way out the door. The air outside is crisp with early autumn, cool enough to make him tuck his hands in his pockets as he walks past rows of trees shedding their first orange leaves. The town feels quiet in the morning—shops still closed, distant traffic muted, the sky soft and grey—and he likes it that way. With his backpack slung lazily over one shoulder, he follows the familiar path toward school, taking his time, kicking at the occasional leaf pile, and letting his mind wander, unaware that this ordinary walk is leading him straight toward something that will change the rest of his year.