Kengen Takeshi stood frozen, his entire body a statue carved from pure shock. Before him, a monstrous abomination had materialized, its very existence a tangible assault on sanity. The air crackled with an unnatural energy, a palpable aura of dread that seemed to warp reality itself. Around him, the world dissolved into a symphony of screams and terrified shouts as the crowd, a sea of fleeing figures, succumbed to primal fear. Each person's instinct for survival screamed louder than reason, their faces a blur of panic. Kengen's eyes, wide and unblinking, mirrored the terror he felt. His pupils trembled, dilated to their absolute limit, and a voice, raw and broken, escaped his lips.
"What in the name of madness is happening…?" he whispered, the words barely audible above the cacophony. A chilling thought, cold and sharp, pierced through his daze. "Is this truly where my life ends?"
A sound, barely a breath, escaped him. It was a laugh, hollow and fractured, born not of mirth but of an abyss of despair so deep it had stripped away all dignity. Tears, hot and uncontrollable, streamed down his face, blurring the horrifying spectacle before him. He choked back a sob, his voice shaking with a cruel, self-deprecating mockery.
"Ha… ha…" The sound was choked, pathetic. "If I were to die here and now, who would even notice? Who would shed a tear for Kengen Takeshi? So this is how my story concludes—an insignificant failure meeting an equally insignificant end. Quite the tale, isn't it? A fitting epitaph for a life lived in the shadows." He coughed, trying to regain some semblance of composure, but it was futile. "But this isn't a novel, nor a manga, nor some romanticized fantasy where salvation arrives at the final moment. No miraculous awakening awaits me. No overwhelming power will descend from the heavens to rewrite my fate."
The monster advanced, each ponderous step radiating an unholy malice that seemed to push against Kengen's very soul. Its form was a fevered nightmare, a blasphemy against nature. Twisted flesh, impossibly long limbs, and a gaping maw that promised oblivion—it was a sight that defied description, a presence that assaulted the very essence of his being. With a single, swift, and utterly merciless motion, the creature unleashed its attack. Flesh, bone, and existence itself were cleaved in two, severed without hesitation, without a shred of mercy.
—
Kengen jolted awake, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His body was slick with cold sweat, clinging unpleasantly to his skin. For a moment, he stared at the familiar, unremarkable ceiling above him, the mundane reality a stark contrast to the horror he had just experienced. A weary sigh escaped his lips, a puff of air that carried the weight of his exhaustion. He muttered to himself, his voice raspy, "I knew it… Of course it was just a dream." The relief, however, was short-lived, quickly replaced by the dull ache of his usual apathy.
He glanced towards the clock, its faint glow a small beacon in the oppressive darkness of his room. "Five in the morning… School starts at seven." The prospect of another day, identical to the last, settled over him like a shroud.
He slid the window open, and the world beyond greeted him not with sunlight, but with a curtain of falling rain. Gray clouds, heavy and suffocating, smothered the sky, their somber presence reflected in the steady patter of water against the concrete below. The sound was a dull, melancholic lament, a soundtrack to his solitary existence. A wave of cold air seeped into the room, carrying with it the sharp, earthy scent of wet asphalt and the quiet, pervasive loneliness that had become his constant companion. A bitter, exhausted expression, etched deeply into his features, settled upon his face. He muttered aloud, his voice soaked in a heavy, dark irony, "What a wonderful day!"
Kengen Takeshi lived alone in a small, unremarkable room. It was a space that perfectly mirrored his existence – plain, forgettable, and devoid of any distinguishing features. Each day followed the same merciless cycle: he left for school, returned in the evening, and endured the slow, agonizing passage of time without leaving any discernible mark on the world. He was nothing extraordinary, merely another face lost in the vast anonymity of the crowd. The only constant in his life, a fragile thread connecting his present to a past that felt increasingly distant and faded, was a single friend, someone he had known since childhood.
After school hours, his days were further filled with a part-time job at a local restaurant. He exchanged his limited time and dwindling energy for a modest wage, a meager sum that barely covered his expenses. During the rare moments when the harsh grip of reality loosened its hold, Kengen found solace in escaping into other worlds. He would lose himself in the pages of manhwa, manhua, manga, light novels, and comics, or find refuge in the flickering glow of animated fantasies on his screen. Fiction was his sanctuary, a place where lives held meaning, where struggles had purpose, and where the ordinary could become extraordinary.
Soon after waking and with the same resigned sigh he always emitted on such dreary mornings, he made his way to school. However, as he approached the familiar campus, he found himself standing before the locked iron gates. The entire campus lay silent and deserted beyond them, devoid of the usual student chatter and the bustling noise of a typical school day. A flicker of confusion, a rare departure from his usual apathy, crept across his face. His brows furrowed as he spoke under his breath, a hint of disbelief in his tone. "What…? It should be open. Everyone keeps saying I'm always late." A sudden thought struck him. "Wait—let me check the date."
He pulled out his phone, his eyes scanning the screen. The bright display seemed to mock him as he froze. Sunday. A sound of pure, unadulterated frustration escaped him, a sharp exclamation of annoyance. "Ugh… seriously? What am I supposed to do now?" He considered his options, his gaze drifting aimlessly. "Maybe I'll go to the park…" The thought, however, lasted only a fleeting moment. He paused, a grimace contorting his features, and shook his head almost immediately. "Hell no. I'm not a kid anymore." The idea was immediately dismissed, leaving him with no clear path forward.
Eventually, with no other appealing options, Kengen found himself standing before his friend's apartment building. The corridor was dimly lit and eerily quiet, the air thick with the familiar, heavy stillness of a weekend morning. He raised his hand and knocked on the door with a casual, rhythmic tap, as though he had performed this ritual countless times before, which, in a way, he had.
A voice echoed from the other side, muffled by the door but still alert. "Who is it?"
"It's me, grandson," Kengen replied without hesitation, his tone shamelessly casual, a familiar jest that had become their usual greeting.
A brief pause followed, the silence stretching for a beat too long, then the door creaked open. Standing there, framed by the dim light of his apartment, was none other than Kenja Yamazaki, his expression already twisted with annoyance, a familiar sight for Kengen.
"Come on," Kenja said, letting out a long, put-upon sigh. "I have a name, you know. You don't have to call me that."
Kengen lifted a plastic bag in response, its contents rustling softly, a silent testament to his errand. "I bought some ramen."
Kenja's eyes instantly lit up, a spark of excitement flickering across his face, instantly erasing his annoyance. "Ohh! Then let's eat together!" he exclaimed, his tone shifting from exasperation to eagerness.
"Huh?" Kengen scoffed, his expression remaining flat, betraying no emotion. "This is only for me. I just came here to use your hot water. Nothing more." He stated it as a simple fact, devoid of any warmth or consideration.
Kenja froze, visibly stunned by the bluntness of Kengen's statement. "Eh? Dude, you're seriously so random." He couldn't quite comprehend Kengen's logic, or lack thereof.
Despite his complaint, and Kengen's clear declaration, the two of them ended up sitting together anyway. Steam rose from their individual cups of ramen as they ate side by side, a comfortable familiarity settling between them, a silence that felt natural rather than awkward.
Kenja Yamazaki was Kengen Takeshi's closest—and perhaps only—friend. Like Kengen, he lived alone, though his apartment was only a short walk away, a convenient proximity that facilitated their shared moments. Their lifestyles and hobbies overlapped almost perfectly, from their shared taste in media to their similar social anxieties, making silence between them a comfortable companion rather than an uncomfortable void.
Between mouthfuls of ramen, Kengen spoke casually, his gaze fixed on the television screen. "The new Demon Slayer movie has already been released."
"Hmm," Kenja replied noncommittally, his eyes still glued to the screen, a gesture of focused attention that Kengen was accustomed to.
Kengen opened his mouth again, ready to continue his thought. "Grandso—"
"I know," Kenja cut in sharply, his voice laced with a hint of exasperation, but also with an underlying affection. "Shut up, bitch." The insult, delivered with a smirk, was a testament to their long-standing friendship, a playful jab that held no real malice.
Kengen didn't bother responding, accustomed to Kenja's bluntness. Without another word, they both turned their full attention to the screen and started the movie together, the comforting weight of shared experience settling around them.
Three hours passed in a blur of vibrant animation, thunderous sound effects, and emotionally charged climaxes. The story unfolded, drawing them both into its world, a temporary escape from their own realities. When the credits finally rolled, Kenja leaned back in his chair with a satisfied grin, a look of genuine enjoyment on his face. "Damn… that was way too good."
Kengen stood up, stretching slightly, the stiffness in his limbs a reminder of his prolonged sitting. "Alright, grandson. I'm heading home." The familiar farewell was delivered with the same casual tone as always.
The rain had finally ceased, leaving behind a city washed clean but eerily lifeless. Kengen began his walk home beneath the dim glow of streetlights, their reflections trembling across the wet asphalt like fractured memories, fragmented and distorted. The road was unnervingly silent—too silent—as if the entire world were holding its breath, a stillness that felt unnatural.
After taking only a few tentative steps, his pace faltered. His senses, dulled by the monotony of his routine, suddenly sharpened. Ahead of him, in the dim light, shadows writhed. A knot of figures moved with a disturbing urgency.
A group of men surrounded a girl, their movements violent and unrestrained. She struggled desperately, her body writhing against their grips, tears streaming down her face as her raw scream tore through the oppressive night air. "HELP—!"
The sound, sharp and desperate, pierced him like a physical blade, jolting him out of his stupor. Kengen stopped, his feet seemingly rooted to the spot. His heart pounded a frantic rhythm against his ribs, a drumbeat of fear and indecision. His thoughts churned, cold and brutally honest, a stark assessment of his own cowardice.
What should I do? The question echoed in his mind, devoid of any heroic impulse.
If I step in… what do I gain from it? The answer, stark and unyielding, presented itself immediately.
Nothing.
No reward. No gratitude worth risking his life for. His own safety, his own insignificant existence, seemed far more valuable than intervening.
Just then, a voice emerged from behind him—calm, sudden, and unsettlingly close, as if it had materialized from the very shadows. "You should save her."
Kengen stiffened, a jolt of surprise running through him. He turned sharply, his eyes narrowing in alarm and a growing sense of unease. "Wait…" he said slowly, the words catching in his throat as disbelief crept into his voice. He stared at the figure standing there, a figure he recognized with a chilling certainty. "…are you Kim Joon Goo?"