Faint. Muffled. Distant.
"How is he doing?"
A voice I didn't recognize, but I knew who it was.
"His breathing is rough."
Something was wrong.
Everything was blurry. The air felt thick, like I was drowning in something I couldn’t see. My chest felt heavy, every breath a struggle, as if my own lungs had turned against me.
Why?
Why was this happening?
I tried to move. My fingers twitched. But I felt disconnected, like my body wasn’t mine anymore.
Stop it.
I can’t.
I want to die.
STOP IT.
"Call the ambulance!"
Another voice. Urgent. Desperate.
I felt something cold against my skin. A hand? No… something else.
I tried to open my eyes.
Slowly, painfully, my vision adjusted to the dim light.
A young boy. Or maybe a girl. I couldn’t tell. Their features blurred together like a smudged painting.
And next to them—
A beautiful boy.
Something about him felt familiar.
Ah… I remember this.
Or maybe I don’t.
Did I ever?
Why?
Why don’t I know?
Why can’t I remember?
There was something important.
Something I shouldn’t forget.
Something that would ruin everything if I let it slip away.
What was it?
I reached out. My hand trembled as I lifted it, bringing it close to my face.
I had to check.
Had I done something wrong?
Had I done something I couldn’t undo?
My fingers curled slightly. My nails dug into my palm.
Then—
Transparent.
My hand was transparent.
A thin, flickering outline of something that should exist but didn’t.
Ah.
It doesn’t matter.
Nothing matters.
Not the me from the past.
Not the me from the present.
Not the me from the future.
In the end, everything turns to dust.
The men—probably doctors—moved the boy onto a stretcher. Their voices were muffled, like I was hearing them from underwater.
He was taken to the ambulance.
His parents followed. Terrified. Rushing after him like he was already gone.
But one boy remained.
Left behind.
Alone.
His eyes were empty.
Lifeless. Listless.
Tears welled up, but he swallowed them down, forcing a fragile smile.
He kept repeating to himself:
"Don’t cry. It will make things more difficult for you."
He turned away.
Went inside.
The door clicked shut behind him.
The house was silent.
He was hungry.
He went to the kitchen.
Tried to cook something.
Burned his hand.
Cried.
But no tears came out.
His skin turned red, the pain sharp, real.
He ignored it.
Went to his room.
Sat down in the corner.
Hugged his knees.
The walls felt like they were closing in.
Minutes passed.
Hours.
He didn’t move.
Not until they came back.
And then—
“Natsu-chan! Wake up!”
A voice pierced the silence.
My body jolted. My eyes snapped open.
I saw silver hair. Purple eyes.
Mikurin.
She was on top of me, grinning mischievously, her hands pressing into my chest like she was about to shake me awake again.
I blinked, still disoriented. My mind was slow to catch up, like I had just been pulled out of water after sinking too deep.
A dream?
That was… just a dream?
I exhaled sharply, pressing a hand against my forehead. My skin was cold with sweat.
"You…" I muttered, my voice hoarse.
Mikurin tilted her head innocently.
I grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her off the bed.
There was a loud thud, followed by an exaggerated "Oof!"
"Never say that to me ever again."
She groaned dramatically, rubbing her back as she sat up. "Ugh, rude. And here I thought you’d be happy waking up to my voice."
I clicked my tongue. "Why the hell would I be happy about that?"
A mischievous glint flashed in her eyes.
"Oh. Do you mean you want me to call you that from now on? No need to be a Tsundere about it, Natsu-chan~"
I twitched.
A vein in my forehead pulsed.
"Shut up."
"Awww, you’re embarrassed!"
"I said shut up!"
I threw a pillow at her face. She dodged effortlessly, laughing as she rolled away.
I sighed, running a hand through my hair.
It was a dream.
Just a dream.
Then why did it feel so real?
I could still feel the weight of that scene pressing down on me. The suffocation. The fear. The… emptiness.
I shook my head. No point in thinking about it. Dreams are just that—dreams. Nothing more.
I climbed out of bed, stretching, still feeling stiff.
Mikurin was sitting on my desk now, swinging her legs idly. "You looked pretty spooked just now," she said, watching me. "Did you have a nightmare?"
"It was nothing," I muttered.
"Hmm."
She didn’t push further.
My phone buzzed.
I stared at the screen. Atsisaya.
A moment passed before I answered.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Natsumi, let's go on another date," she said, her voice light, like she was holding back a laugh.
I swallowed. "Date...?"
"Yes, a date. Do you not want to?"
"N-no! That's not what I— I mean— Hah. Do what you want," I muttered.
On the other end, I heard her chuckle. "I'll see you at the station at two, okay?"
"Fine," I said, hanging up.
The call ended before I could process what had just happened.
I stared at my phone for a long moment.
Tomorrow came faster than I expected. I got ready early. Too early. By the time I arrived at the theater, the sky was still that deep shade of blue before the sun fully rises.
There was no one else here. Not even the workers had arrived yet.
I sat on a bench outside the theater, staring ahead. I had no thoughts. Only the distant hum of something—something—grinding against my skull.
Atsisaya arrived at the proper time, greeting me with a bright smile. “You’re early!”
I looked at her and tried to match her energy, but my lips refused to move the way I wanted.
She grabbed my wrist and pulled me inside.
The movie began.
A single boy lived alone.
At first, it seemed normal. The scenes showed him making his breakfast, walking to school, returning home, eating, sleeping, repeating. But something felt wrong.
With every passing second, he heard voices.
Whispers that never stopped. At school, they were distant, like murmurs bleeding through the walls. At home, they were louder, clawing at his ears, seeping into his skin.
Then, strange men came in and started living there.
They didn’t knock. They didn’t ask for permission. They simply entered. Sat in his living room. Took his food. Slept in his bed.
He was scared but couldn’t speak.
Because if he did—if he protested—he would be left completely alone.
His classmates ignored him. Teachers passed by him as if he didn’t exist. He wasn’t bullied. He wasn’t acknowledged.
The only thing that ever acknowledged him were the whispers.
Then, a girl offered him a kind word.
At first, he was reluctant. It felt alien, like a language he had forgotten. But then… it was sweet. Addictive. He clung to it, craved it, obsessed over it.
She became everything to him.
But the strange men in his house had started drinking something. Some dark, viscous liquid. It smelled foul, like rust and something rotten.
He was curious, but he didn’t ask. He was afraid.
One day, his money ran out.
The men kicked him out.
He lived on the streets.
The girl—his only light—didn’t look at him anymore.
The whispers told him it was his fault.
Everything was unlucky. Everything left him.
But he kept living.
He begged to be killed, but no one accepted his wish.
People only looked at him with eyes of disgust.
One day, the police captured him.
The charge? Patricide.
The men in his home weren’t strangers. They were his father and uncle.
His mother had died from stress years ago. His father had worked himself to death trying to provide for him.
But one day, the boy, expression blank, had come home and killed his uncle.
His father didn’t report it.
Instead, he smiled, hugged his son, and told him everything would be alright.
The boy didn’t listen.
He ate his father’s flesh, then walked out the door.
The girl, the only person who had ever shown him kindness, came to visit his house.
She found only rotting bodies.
In the end, the boy, locked in a police cell, banged his head against the wall until he died.
The movie ended.
The credits rolled.
No one in the theater moved.
I blinked. I didn’t realize my hands were clenched so tightly that my nails had pierced my palm.
Atsisaya turned to me. “That was… intense.”
I said nothing.
We left the theater in silence.
The world outside felt distant, like it wasn’t real.
Atsisaya dragged me to a café. She ordered for both of us. I didn’t argue.
I stared at my coffee, swirling the dark liquid in the cup.
“Natsumi,” she said. “Isn’t it bitter?”
I thought about the movie. About the boy. About the whispers.
I smiled.
“No. It’s sweet.”
Atsisaya blinked. Then, without hesitation, she grabbed my cup and took a sip.
I flinched, my face heating up. “H-Hey! That’s mine!”
She tilted her head. “Oh? Are you flustered?”
“Of course not! W-Why would I be flustered?! It’s just—gross! Indirect kisses are gross!”
Atsisaya giggled. “Then I guess I’ll have to steal a direct one next time.”
I nearly choked on air.
After we finished, we walked in opposite directions.
The moment she was gone, I groaned and buried my face in my hands.
“Crap! I forgot to ask about the kiss!!!”
Even if i told them the truth....no one would believe me...
The human heart is a fragile thing. No, that’s wrong. It’s worse than fragile. It’s something desperate. A writhing mass of contradictions, wanting to be loved but fearing closeness, craving happiness but chasing suffering. People lie, not just to each other, but to themselves. And maybe that’s the only way to live.
If you strip away the lies, what’s left?
I don't know....
I sang.
I became famous.
I cried.
I laughed.
I smiled.
I drowned.
I forgot.
The memories kept blurring with something else that I couldn’t think of.
Pain became unbreakable. My mind became unrivaled.
Something new but nothing new.
The dates continued.
The beach. The city. The fireworks. The amusement park. The festivals.
Each moment should have been burned into my heart, yet they all felt like sand slipping through my fingers.
The warmth of Atsisaya’s hand. The sound of the waves. The distant chatter of strangers. The blinking lights. The scent of grilled food. The cold touch of ice cream melting on my tongue.
Moments that should have been unforgettable.
Yet—
They scattered.
Merged.
Distorted.
Just like that, I couldn’t get hold of time.
Time passed by like a fleeting daydream.
I began to be afraid of time.
Would I lose any more time?
How much had I already lost?
The days folded in on themselves, blurring like old film reels played at the wrong speed.
Accidents became more frequent.
Small things at first.
A misplaced item. A forgotten conversation. A cut on my hand that I didn’t remember getting.
Then bigger things.
Losing track of entire hours. Waking up somewhere unfamiliar. Looking into a mirror and feeling like the reflection wasn’t mine.
It was fine.
It was fine.
I still had my voice.
As long as I had that, everything would be fine.
I sang.
I stood on stage.
The lights burned against my skin. The crowd roared.
Their voices were a wave, crashing, consuming, deafening.
They called my name.
Again.
And again.
And again.
A thousand voices. A thousand hands reaching toward me.
But when I looked down—
Their faces were empty.
I sang.
I sang until my throat was raw.
I sang until the world spun.
I sang because if I stopped, I would have to think.
And if I thought—
Something inside me would break.
But it didn’t matter.
None of it mattered.
Because time kept moving forward.
No matter how much I wanted to stop, it wouldn’t wait for me.
And then—
One day, after months of dating—
Atsisaya looked at me with tired eyes.
And said,
“We should break up.”
I didn’t say anything.
I couldn’t.
I just turned and walked away.
I walked and walked.
Through streets I didn’t recognize. Past faces that blurred together.
At some point, the city disappeared.
And when I finally stopped—
I was standing in front of an orphanage.
I didn’t remember coming here.
But there it was.
The paint on the building was chipped. The windows old. The fence rusted.
The children were playing outside.
Their laughter was bright, but—
Their smiles didn’t reach their eyes.
I could tell.
I didn’t want to see that.
I didn’t want to see them suffer.
I didn’t want to see a reflection of something inside me that I refused to acknowledge.
So I left.
I bought some lunch boxes.
And I returned.
The kids were wary at first.
But hunger won over fear.
One by one, they accepted the food.
And when they ate—
They smiled.
A real smile.
Something about it made my chest ache.
A bond was established.
And I didn’t want that.
I ran.
I ran before they could reach out to me.
I ran before they could need me.
I ran before I could need them.
I ran and ran and ran.
I didn’t know how much time passed.
But eventually—
I was standing on a bridge.
The sun was slowly rising.
The train moved below.
I stood there, watching the world shift from night to morning.
Mikurin was talking.
But her voice was distant.
Fading.
It was too tiring.
I was too tired.
Everything was too tiring.
What was I even doing anymore?
What was the point?
If time was just going to keep slipping through my fingers, if everything I loved was just going to disappear, then why—
No.
I shook my head.
Not yet.
Not yet.
I took a step back.
I took a breath.
I turned around.
And I walked away.
The world spun forward.
Days blurred into weeks.
Weeks blurred into months.
At some point, I stopped being Japanese.
At some point, I became Russian.
And then—
The Third World War started.
End of chapter.
