He collapsed to the floor.
"Ah… ah… AHHHHHHHHHH—AGH!!"
It felt like his skin was tearing apart and stitching itself back together again. Like every atom in his body was being ripped apart and reconstructed—again and again.
The pain hit him like a tidal wave, crushing, suffocating, unbearable.
At first, it was just a burning sensation beneath his skin, like a fever igniting from within. Then came the sharp, tearing agony—like invisible claws dragging down his limbs, his chest, his back, slicing him open, exposing his insides to an unseen force. Every nerve screamed.
His body convulsed violently on the cold tile floor, fingers twitching uncontrollably as a horrifying pressure built within him, pressing, twisting, rearranging. His ribs felt like they were snapping apart, his spine stretching and contracting in unnatural ways. His jaw clenched so hard it ached, but it did nothing to stop the guttural, desperate screams that tore from his throat.
Sweat poured down his face, mingling with the saliva that dripped from his trembling lips. He could barely breathe—his lungs felt too tight, like they were being crushed by something enormous pressing down on him. The pounding in his head was unbearable, as if his skull was splitting open, piece by piece, revealing something beneath the bone that wasn't meant to exist.
He clawed at his arms, his chest, desperate to find the source, to make it stop. But there was nothing there—no blood, no wounds, no visible reason why his body was being dismantled and reconstructed all at once.
＊ ＊ ＊
"Dude, that's totally imbecile."
"I mean, what the hell did you expect me to say?!" Makoto snapped, running a hand through his already messy hair. "She asked me out, and—and—I panicked! So I just blurted out, 'Come to my house!' like a complete idiot!"
His friend, Hajime Akitaka, raised an eyebrow and exhaled slowly, as if trying to suppress a laugh. "Dude... your dad is going to make this the most awkward situation imaginable. Like, deeply embarrassing."
Makoto let out a groan, his shoulders slumping. "Hnnng..."
Let's pause here for a moment. Before we continue with this painful social disaster, perhaps introductions are in order.
Makoto Shirakawa. He's the textbook definition of what one might call a perfectly engineered idiot. Top grades, good looks, sociable, and somehow still manages to trip over his own feet in every romantic situation imaginable. And right now, our protagonist found himself in the middle of a beautifully crafted dilemma.
"See you tomorrow, Makoto!" Emi waved, her cheerful smile lighting up the school courtyard.
"Y-Yeah! Bye, Emi! Uh, although…" Makoto chuckled nervously. "With that history test coming up, I'm probably gonna die from how hard it is... Heh. Ahh…"
Idiot. Stop laughing like a moron, he scolded himself internally.
Emi turned back, tilting her head slightly. "Oh, is that so? Hmm... Hey! I've got some free time. If you want, I could help you study?"
"W-What? Seriously?" His voice cracked.
"Well, if you'd li—"
"Yes! Uh—I mean—uhm. H-How about 7 p.m. at my place? Is that okay?"
"S-Sure," she smiled again. "That works."
"And now," Makoto said, dragging his palms down his face, "in just a little while, I'm going to go through the most humiliating moment of my life."
"Hey, it's not that bad," Hajime said, trying to sound encouraging. "Relax. You'll be fine… You always are."
He said that last part so softly that Makoto didn't even hear it. But Hajime meant it. He always meant it.
Ring ring.
"Oh crap," Makoto's eyes widened as he checked his phone. "I totally forgot—I made plans with Tetsuo! Damn it, now I've got even less time! I gotta go—thanks, you're the best!"
"Oh… yeah. No problem. Later..." Hajime trailed off.
Makoto rushed off, backpack swinging, completely unaware of the quiet figure left behind.
Hajime Akitaka. If there was anything to say about him, it would be… not much. Decent grades—occasionally good in some subjects. Brownish-black hair that he let grow a little too long. Not too skinny, not too fat. He had friends, technically. He talked, laughed, hung out. But at the end of the day, he was just background noise. The guy you remember vaguely, maybe. The guy whose name slips your mind.
Except for his parents. They always remembered. They had to.
"There he goes again," Hajime muttered as he watched Makoto disappear into the crowd. "His life must be so interesting. Heh."
With a long sigh, Hajime pulled out his phone.
Zero new messages.
Just app notifications.
"...Right. Guess I'm walking home again."
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
The bustling city carried on without him, a wave of motion and noise that had nothing to do with his quiet thoughts.
"Come to think of it… Makoto's probably going to get all flustered when Emi shows up. He's gonna freak, ha."
"…Maybe I could've helped out. I mean, they're just going to study. That's nothing."
"What would it be like… if I were Makoto's brother? I'd be there for him in all those dumb situations, right? That's what brothers do. I think. I wouldn't really know. I'm an only child. But… yeah, probably."
"…"
"GAH! What the hell am I even thinking?! I sound like a creep!"
Tap. Tap. Tap.
"…I guess… I just wish someone would consider me their best friend. Even just once. Heh."
A bright light and the rumble of a truck engine broke his train of thought.
"Huh? What the—?!"
The truck was speeding toward him, and Hajime's body froze. The world slowed down.
I'm… I'm gonna die?
That was all he could think as the headlights bore down on him.
But somehow—without thinking, without knowing how—he leapt out of the way at the very last second, landing hard on the sidewalk. His chest heaved.
"Hah… Haah… Damn!"
He started laughing, breathless and shaken. Probably just nerves.
"Oh, that was—ugh, that was awful…"
"…Phew. I almost ended up in an isekai or something. Damn."
Still chuckling, Hajime picked himself up, brushing dust off his pants.
"Well. Time to go home."
After a long walk under the fading city lights, Hajime finally arrived home. He let out a deep yawn, kicked off his shoes by the door, and mumbled, "I'm home..."
...
...
...
...
"...There's no one here."
...
...
...
"There's no one here!! I can do whatever I want!"
As the socially reclusive weirdo he was, Hajime's favorite time of the day was when both his parents were out working and the house was completely his. He did the usual things: grabbed food, played video games, sang without fear of anyone hearing. Wait—does that count as normal? Meh. Who am I to judge?
"Oh, what the hell, man. Ever since I finished Muster Brand, I have no idea what to play…"
He scrolled through his game list.
"Nope… not interested… Already beat this one… Anyone online to talk to?"
…
"No one. Well—almost no one… Ugh. This sucks."
His stomach growled.
"I'm hungry… Guess I'll find something to eat."
Dragging his feet lazily down the stairs, he headed to the kitchen. Then, midway down:
"AH—Physics homework…"
He paused. Shrugged.
"...Whatever. I'll do it tomorrow. Can't be bothered right now. Besides, I don't know why, but I feel weird... Kinda… cold."
He wiped a sudden chill of sweat from his brow and opened the pantry to grab something.
"I feel dizzy…"
Vision starting to blur, he kept searching for something remotely appetizing.
"Dad hasn't gone shopping. Damn it, there's nothing good to eat…"
His breathing grew heavier. His head wobbled slightly as he reached for a box of cookies.
"Ugh…"
He turned to go back upstairs.
Then suddenly—
"Ah… ah… AHHHHHHHHHH—AGH!!"
He collapsed to the floor.
It felt like his skin was tearing apart and stitching itself back together again. Like every atom in his body was being ripped apart and reconstructed—again and again.
The pain hit him like a tidal wave, crushing, suffocating, unbearable.
At first, it was just a burning sensation beneath his skin, like a fever igniting from within. Then came the sharp, tearing agony—like invisible claws dragging down his limbs, his chest, his back, slicing him open, exposing his insides to an unseen force. Every nerve screamed.
His body convulsed violently on the cold tile floor, fingers twitching uncontrollably as a horrifying pressure built within him, pressing, twisting, rearranging. His ribs felt like they were snapping apart, his spine stretching and contracting in unnatural ways. His jaw clenched so hard it ached, but it did nothing to stop the guttural, desperate screams that tore from his throat.
Sweat poured down his face, mingling with the saliva that dripped from his trembling lips. He could barely breathe—his lungs felt too tight, like they were being crushed by something enormous pressing down on him. The pounding in his head was unbearable, as if his skull was splitting open, piece by piece, revealing something beneath the bone that wasn't meant to exist.
He clawed at his arms, his chest, desperate to find the source, to make it stop. But there was nothing there—no blood, no wounds, no visible reason why his body was being dismantled and reconstructed all at once.
"I—I CAN'T BREATHE! HELP! PLEASE! SOMEONE—"
The pressure intensified, and his vision fractured into specks of light and color. His ears rang with an unnatural hum, drowning out every thought, every sound.
And then, in one final, excruciating moment—
Everything broke apart.
Silence.
Darkness.
A feeling of falling.
Wait... Falling?
He was falling.
Falling.
Falling—
SPLASH!
Cold water slammed against his skin, shocking his nerves awake.
"W-Water…?" he gasped.
Somehow, he made it to the surface. But that wasn't the real problem.
"HUH?! Wait—H-HELP! I CAN'T SWIM!"
"PLEASE! SOMEBODY—HELP ME!"
His limbs flailed wildly, water splashing around him in a chaotic mess. Survival instinct took control, but it wasn't enough—his arms felt too weak, his legs refused to obey. Every frantic movement sent him deeper into the waves rather than keeping him afloat.
But nobody came.
The distant horizon stretched endlessly, empty, uncaring. The waves rolled over him, swallowing his cries, his desperation, his fear.
"I'm going to drown… What's happening to me? Why is this happening?!"
His thoughts spiraled, dark and frantic, tearing through his mind faster than the waves could carry him.
"I never did anything meaningful with my life… I'm gonna die without leaving anything behind. I'm useless… Why was I even alive?"
"I don't want to die… Mom… I don't want to die…"
Then—he sank.
His body betrayed him, giving in entirely to exhaustion, to gravity, to the relentless pull of the ocean depths.
Yet he was still conscious.
Still crying.
But the ocean hid his tears, cradling him in eerie silence as he drifted downward, deeper and deeper…
Until—
A hand.
Cold fingers grasped his wrist, firm but effortless, yanking him upward with alarming strength.
He gasped for air, his lungs igniting in a burning protest, choking violently. Water rushed out of his mouth, stinging his throat as he coughed furiously, trying to breathe, trying to understand.
"Wha… I'm alive…? What…?"
Disoriented, dizzy, he caught a glimpse of his rescuer's back.
White hair. Messy. Untamed, like threads of untouched snow shifting in the moonlight. Like something straight out of an anime.
"I'm… alive? I'm really alive?"
The figure barely acknowledged his dazed muttering, instead adjusting his grip, hauling Hajime through the water as if he weighed nothing.
Then, finally, the stranger turned his head slightly, revealing part of his profile.
"If you're alive, can you please stop repeating it? Ugh. Look, I was finally about to go through with it, and you had to show up and ruin my moment. So you better be grateful, got it?!"
His voice was cool, sharp, laced with irritation but lacking any real malice.
"W-What…? Y-Yes, sir…"
Hajime's voice was weak, both physically and mentally drained. His thoughts blurred together—what did he mean by finally about to go through with it? What moment had he interrupted?
By the time they reached the shore, he collapsed onto the wet ground, the grains of sand clinging to his drenched skin. He coughed violently, emptying the last remnants of the ocean from his lungs, his breath ragged, his fingers digging into the earth as if searching for stability in a world that had suddenly shifted beneath him.
"Agh… agh… cough… Where… Where am I…?"
"You okay?" asked the voice again.
"Huh…?"
Slowly, Hajime turned his head.
His savior stood before him—about his age, perhaps, though something about him felt… different.
White, unruly hair that swayed slightly in the wind.
But what froze him in place… were those eyes.
Crimson red.
Unblinking.
Curious.
Terrifying.
Something wasn't right.
A chill ran down Hajime's spine.