Yuomo, a man in his late thirties, lived with his mother and stepfather in a modest home filled with memories accumulated over the years. After spending a year and a half searching for employment without success, he had learned to find solace in the small things: the warmth of his dog Kila when she rested at his feet, and the mischievous affection of Chop, his cat, who always seemed to be observing him from some corner of the room.
Yuomo was a computer and technology engineer, but that career, which he once imagined as his great opportunity, had turned into a relentless source of frustration. He accepted any job available, although he never lasted more than two years in any of them. Technical glitches, grueling hours, and constant burnout had led him to realize that this was not the life he desired. But what other choice did he have? He felt impotent watching his parents carry the household expenses while he kept trying to find something related to his training. For someone of his age and his meager experience, corporate doors slammed shut one after another. They preferred to hire fresh graduates or university students, whom they could pay mockery-level salaries and exploit to the limit. Yuomo knew that system was wrong, but he could do nothing about it.
He even tried looking for work in the public sector, but he soon remembered the harsh reality: you could only get in if you had a recommendation or were a relative of someone influential. With no viable options, he sank into a deep sadness, aggravated by family problems. His older sister, who had asked him for money long ago, still hadn't paid the debt, and now it was his parents who had to assume that burden. Yuomo felt furious and powerless. He tried to look for work in any other field, but his mother insisted: "You must keep searching in your field. That is why we sacrificed so much so you could finish your degree." So, resigned, he returned to his room, turned on his computer, and continued sending out resumes, enrolling in free online courses, and trying to keep the embers of hope alive.
One day, while browsing social media, Yuomo stumbled upon images of cartoons and superheroes, two of his greatest passions since he was a child. He remembered those times when he dreamed of being an artist, creating worlds full of magic and adventure. He took a pencil and a piece of paper he had nearby and began to draw. His hands shook slightly, but he drew with feverish enthusiasm, letting himself be carried away by his imagination. He wasn't copying any particular image; he simply captured what emerged from his mind. However, his creativity seemed to have a life of its own. Every time he found a new reference or got distracted by something, the original image in his head would vanish, and the final result was usually chaotic, far from what he had imagined. Even so, he enjoyed the process, as if each stroke were a small rebellion against the redundancy of his life.
Yuomo began to share his drawings on social media. Some people appreciated his work; others, however, showed little interest. Among those who supported him most were his parents, who always found words of encouragement even when the results were not perfect. One day, they suggested he enroll in some drawing classes they had found on the internet. His aunt, who had always been like a second mother to him, also offered to help financially. Encouraged by his family, Yuomo decided to take private lessons with a professor who knew the craft well.
At first, the classes were a challenge. Although he had natural talent, Yuomo realized he still lacked mastery of many fundamental techniques. However, little by little he improved, although he knew there was still a long way to go. There were days when he felt he was useless, that everything was in vain, but he always found ways to face those moments: he went for runs, practiced swimming in the free classes offered at his old university, or simply rode his bicycle to clear his mind. But, over time, even that small escape valve disappeared when he had to sell his bicycle to cover some family expenses.
Months passed, and the situation did not improve. The doors of employment remained closed to him, and the idea of starting his own business seemed impossible without capital. Once he considered dedicating himself to making cakes and pastries, but he quickly discarded the idea upon realizing he had neither the resources nor the necessary experience. Meanwhile, his body began to show signs of exhaustion. Yuomo had gained weight, and his knees began to ache constantly. It wasn't something related to his age—he hadn't even reached forty yet—but the result of years of physical wear and accumulated stress. Perhaps it was a silent illness, he thought, although he never had the courage to go to the doctor to find out.
In his darkest moments, Yuomo used to lose himself in somber thoughts. "Perhaps it would be better if I were no longer here," he repeated to himself. He imagined how, without him, the debts would disappear and his parents could live in peace, free from the burden that his presence represented. But those thoughts never lasted too long. He always found some reason to keep going, even if it was minimal.
One night, while walking under a starry sky, Yuomo decided to go out to buy special pencils and sketchbooks to continue with his drawings. The corner store didn't have what he was looking for, nor did the next. Finally, he opted to head to a store located in a poorly lit and practically deserted neighborhood. He crossed the street carefully, waiting patiently for the traffic light to change. When he arrived, he noticed that the shop's sign was flickering weakly, as if it were about to go out. He went in, checked the products thoroughly, and bought what he needed.
As he left, he felt a strange sensation that someone was watching him. He turned his head from side to side, but saw no one in the empty streets. He decided to ignore it and continued on his way. Suddenly, the air turned heavy and humid. It began to rain. It wasn't the classic damp mist of the city, but thick, heavy droplets that hammered against the asphalt with force. Yuomo looked up at the sky, confused.
—Summer rain… —he murmured to himself—. This is impossible. It never rains like this in this part of the world during this season.
That inexplicable phenomenon filled him with a mixture of curiosity and bewilderment; the drops were not only out of place, but as they fell to the ground they seemed to glow faintly under the streetlights, releasing a metallic and electric scent. It was as if the laws of the city had been broken to welcome what was about to present itself.
Yuomo did not give much importance to the rain and decided to quicken his pace, aware that he was not carrying an umbrella. He soon reached what seemed to be a bus stop next to a dark alley. Fortunately, the structure had a roof, which provided him with some refuge. While he was checking his belongings to make sure they hadn't gotten wet, he suddenly felt a menacing presence behind him. Before he could react, a strong, cold hand covered his mouth, while another gripped his arms firmly, immobilizing him completely.
Yuomo's heart began to beat wildly. He struggled with all his might, trying desperately to free himself. He was carrying nothing of value; his cell phone was the only thing even moderately expensive he had. In a moment of the attacker's carelessness, he managed to wrench himself free and, gasping, exclaimed: "I have nothing! If you want, take my phone!" But the man did not respond. He was completely covered by a blood-red mask, decorated with drawings of sinister birds whose eyes seemed to follow him from the shadows.
Determined to escape, Yuomo took a step forward, but before he could advance further, the subject appeared in front of him as if he had emerged from nowhere. With a distorted, zig-zagging voice that resonated like a macabre echo, he said:
"You are going to die, Yuomo."
Upon hearing his name, Yuomo felt a cold shiver run down his spine. How did he know who he was? He had no time to think more. He felt a sharp and unbearable pain as something cold and jagged pierced his abdomen, again and again. His trembling hands sought to reach the attacker, trying to tear off the mask, but his strength faded quickly. The hot blood gushed from his wounds, soaking his clothes and dripping to the ground. His eyes began to close, clouded by pain and weakness. In his mind, one question resonated repeatedly, like an endless echo: Why?
The last thing he saw was the subject leaning over him, licking the blood-stained blade with chilling calm. The mask still hid his face, preventing Yuomo from knowing who his killer was. Then, everything went black. He fell to the ground, his body collapsing in a crimson pool that spread beneath the rain.
In the midst of the gloom that enveloped him, Yuomo continued thinking, confused and tormented. Why is this happening to me? I have no enemies, I have never harmed anyone. What will become of Kila and Chop? His mind wandered between flashes of his daily life, of his parents, of his pets, until finally he accepted his destiny. If he died, his parents would be free of debts and would no longer have to worry about him. That idea filled him with a strange peace; a final act of love toward those he loved most. Yielding to the darkness, he allowed it to envelop him completely, merging with the silence.
But in that void, the peace turned into something more. It was not the end. A spark, tiny at first, began to pulse in the center of his chest. It was not the weight of the debts or the pain of his wounds; it was a forgotten warmth, like the morning sun entering through his window. The darkness fractured and a vibrant, golden light, charged with an energy that Yuomo had never felt, enveloped him entirely.
In that instant, the pain disappeared. He was no longer the unemployed engineer or the wounded man in the street. He felt light, powerful, as if he were being redrawn by an invisible hand while a voice, soft yet firm, resonated in his mind:
"Do not give up yet." The light was not only snatching him from the jaws of death; it was reclaiming him for something much greater.