The rain pounded.
Thud.
A storm emerged overhead.
The rain felt heavy — unnaturally heavy — each drop landing like it carried weight it shouldn't have.
Akira narrowed his eyes as the wind shifted.
Rain…
snow…
hail…
all mixed together, falling violently from the sky in confused, chaotic bursts.
Was it rain?
Hailsnow?
Ice?
He didn't know.
The air felt sharp.
Cold.
Hostile.
As he pondered—
"Akira Sato."
Akira froze.
"That is your name, correct?"
He slowly turned around.
A man stood there.
Dark-skinned.
Wearing a full white suit that somehow stayed immaculate despite the storm.
He was slender, tall, and looked to be in his early 30s.
His head was bald, rain sliding cleanly across the smooth surface.
Black tinted glasses hid his eyes.
His posture was calm, almost bored.
And yet—
Even without the scythe,
even without knowing anything about him,
Akira felt an instinctive respect for the man.
A quiet pressure.
A presence that didn't need to be announced.
Akira swallowed.
"What…"
He took a deep breath as his eyes widened.
"…did you say?"
The man didn't blink.
"Akira Sato," he repeated.
"That is your name, correct?"
Akira opened his mouth.
"Who are yo—?"
Then he noticed the weapon.
The man lifted a scythe — sharp, crooked, ugly, its blade marked with dark red ink that looked far too fresh to be ink at all.
Akira's thoughts cracked.
crap
crap
crap…
The man tilted his head.
"Ah.
So you noticed."
He raised the scythe.
"You'll be coming with me."
He dashed forward in a blur.
Akira threw his arms over his face—
And everything went blank.
***
The present
Flames sparked from the ruins of the library.
Akira gripped his hand tightly.
"What is going on…" he muttered.
His eyes widened as more firefighters rushed in, hoses blasting the collapsing structure, steam rising in violent clouds.
He began remembering—
The woman in the black suit.
The man with purple hair.
The timid young girl.
The dozens of faceless silhouettes swarming the room.
He bit into his thumb, frustration twisting inside him.
What on earth did I just get myself into…?
He exhaled sharply.
BEEP.
He checked his pocket — his phone lit up.
A Gmail notification.
"Just spam—"
His voice snapped mid-sentence.
"Wait… I'll call Hina."
But then he remembered the girl's voice from earlier.
The young girl had closed her eyes.
A long inhale.
A trembling exhale.
Her voice breaking:
"The aftermath was… horrible."
Akira's chest tightened.
"Your boss couldn't believe you would do such a thing."
His heart stuttered.
"Your girlfriend was extremely upset.
She said you were a kind soul… yet this world is full of liars."
Her lips had quivered.
"I can't believe you'd let her cry so much…
what a horrible thing to do."
Her hand pressed against her chest, gaze glued to the floor.
Not angry.
Just ashamed on his behalf.
Akira's breath faltered.
His pulse hammered.
"Your family… see you as a failure now."
He clenched his fist as the memory blurred and dissolved deep into his mind.
He didn't know what to feel.
Rage.
Fury.
Sadness.
Despair.
THUMP.
THUMP.
His heart raced.
He raised his phone with trembling fingers and called her.
ring…
ring…
ring…
A girl answered, blowing her nose.
Her voice sounded empty.
"Um…
Hello?"
Akira swallowed.
"Hina, it's—"
Silence.
Then her voice sharpened.
"…Who is this?"
"It's me, Aki—"
His voice was cut off.
"Is this some sick joke?
Are you aware how fucked that is?
What is wrong with you?!"
Her voice trembled — fury and grief tangled together, cracking with every breath.
And then—
CUT.
The call ended.
Akira stared at the screen.
He sighed.
"Hina…
hung up."
Akira covered his face with both hands.
"Man… what is this," he whispered, voice cracking slightly.
He breathed in slowly, then exhaled through clenched teeth as memories surfaced uninvited.
Hina always respected him.
Always trusted him.
Always looked at him like he was the safest person in the world.
His family?
They boasted about him.
Called him the ideal son.
The reliable one.
The calm one.
The anchor.
All of that?
Gone.
Twenty-plus years of reputation—
every relationship he built,
every ounce of trust he earned—
wiped out.
"Because of… some book," he muttered bitterly.
He stretched his arms out in frustration, trying to shake off the numbness swallowing his body.
JINGLE. JINGLE.
Something slid out of his pocket and hit the ground.
Akira blinked.
He crouched down and picked it up.
His house key.
Cold metal.
Familiar weight.
The house he lived in.
The house he shared with Hina.
The life they built together.
The life that—according to the world—
no longer belonged to him.
He stared at the key in his palm.
A tiny, ordinary object.
And yet now…
It felt like it belonged to a stranger.
He decided, why not?
What else could he possibly lose?
He tightened his grip on the key and walked toward the house—
the flames of the library still crackling behind him, painting the street in orange and red.
He blinked.
His eyelids felt heavy.
His legs ached.
Twenty minutes of walking, and his mind held nothing except the faces he saw in that void.
"Ren…" he muttered under his breath.
And the other two—
the purple-haired man,
the trembling girl—
he didn't even know their names.
He climbed the final set of stairs.
He muttered to himself:
"Here goes nothing…"
He lifted the key.
The metal slid into the lock.
Click.
He twisted it.
Step by step,
he pushed the door open.
He walked in slowly,
each movement making the old floorboards complain.
Creak…
The air inside was cold.
Still.
Wrong.
Silent—
far too silent for a home that once held warmth.
The small fan in the living room spun lazily, blowing stale air into a room that didn't feel like his anymore.
Akira swallowed.
He didn't know why—
but he felt anxious,
on edge,
unsafe…
…in his own house.
He took another step.
CREAK.
Another.
CREAK.
He wasn't breathing properly.
Every sound was amplified.
Every shadow looked unfamiliar.
The house he shared with Hina—
felt like a stranger's place now.
A place where he didn't belong.
A place that didn't recognise him.
He heard a girl scream.
Akira's body reacted before his mind did—
he sprinted into the living room—
SWING.
He ducked instinctively.
A steel blur cut the air above his head.
"What the hell, Hina?!"
A young woman stood there—
mid-20s, long brown hair, youthful face twisted in shock and fury.
Her eyes—normally warm—
were brown and cold, like she'd just seen a ghost in her own home.
She clutched a steel bat in both hands.
"Who the hell are you," she hissed,
"and how do you know my name?"
"Fucking stalker."
She ran at him and swung again.
Akira stumbled aside—
the bat slammed into the table with a violent CRACK.
"Whoa—whoa! Calm down!"
She scoffed, voice rising.
"Calm down!?"
Her grip tightened.
"Why are you in MY HOUSE?!"
She grabbed her phone with one hand, still pointing the bat at him with the other.
"I'm calling the police…
scumbag."
Akira gulped.
His hand twitched.
His brain raced.
Holy crap…
Red and blue flashed through the window—
sirens, close.
Hina smiled coldly as she lowered the bat.
"You're so done now, creep."
"Huh…
It's me, Ak—"
He blinked—
And he was suddenly on the floor.
His lips pressed into the wooden boards.
Pain shot across his wrists.
Why are my hands so tight?
I… can't move…
Then it hit him.
He'd been tackled.
Arrested.
Rough hands lifted him upright, forcing him toward the police car.
"You're coming with us," a man barked.
Akira's vision blurred—
just like before—
And the last thing he saw was Hina,
still gripping the bat,
still pointing it toward him,
her cold, confused, terrified expression fading into darkness.
Akira opened his eyes.
Metal.
A cold metal chair beneath him.
Metal table in front of him.
Metal walls.
His breath hitched as he looked around frantically, chest tightening.
THUMP.
THUMP.
THUMP.
"Where am I…?
What the hell…
Not again…"
His vision snapped as cold water splashed across his face.
He jerked upright, gasping.
He blinked hard, wiped his eyes, and looked down at his hands.
Oh…
I'm in an interrogation room?
Two men stood in front of him.
Police officers.
Their expressions unenthusiastic and exhausted.
"So," one began, arms crossed,
"why were you stalking that girl, Mister John Smith?"
"Poor woman," the other added.
"She's been through a lot. Your actions don't necessarily help."
The first officer sighed.
"Tell you what—
it's been a rough night.
How about just a slap on the wrist and we let you go?"
Akira stared blankly.
His mind was still fogged.
Still spinning.
"…John Smith?" he muttered.
"Yeah," the officer replied casually.
"That's your name."
The second officer leaned in—
and whispered way too loudly:
"Maybe he's on drugs."
The first nodded.
"Poor guy doesn't even remember his own name."
CLICK.
The door unlocked and swung open.
The officers exchanged looks.
"Well," one said, shrugging,
"you're free to go."
Akira slowly stood up, nodding weakly.
He stepped toward the door—
"Oh, and we'll need your fingerprint," one of them added.
"…Fingerprint?" Akira repeated, still dazed.
"Just right there."
Akira pressed his thumb onto the scanner panel.
The screen lit up instantly.
MATCH FOUND.
A digital profile appeared:
Name: John Smith
Eyes: Blue
Hair: Blonde
Age: 35
"Huh…?" Akira whispered.
"My name's Akira… and I'm twen—"
"Yeah, yeah," the officer cut him off.
"Whatever you say, Mister John Smith.
Just leave already."
The other muttered under his breath—poorly whispered, not quiet enough:
"Goddamn foreigners…"
Akira stepped out of the station.
Alone.
Identity stolen.
Name overwritten.
Life replaced.
Even the police believed he was someone else.
The world truly had no place for "Akira" anymore.
Akira wandered the streets in a daze.
It was raining—
lightly at first.
Cold drops slid down his brown hair, darkening it strand by strand.
Then the rain grew heavier, pounding harder against his scalp.
His hands stayed buried in his pockets.
His mind raced, a thousand voices and memories overlapping at once.
The young girl had closed her eyes.
A long inhale.
A trembling exhale.
Her voice breaking:
"The aftermath was… horrible."
Akira's chest tightened.
"Your boss couldn't believe you would do such a thing."
His heart stuttered.
"Your girlfriend was extremely upset.
She said you were a kind soul… yet this world is full of liars."
Her lips had quivered.
"I can't believe you'd let her cry so much…
what a horrible thing to do."
Her hand had pressed to her chest.
Her gaze remained low.
Not angry.
Just ashamed.
Akira's breath faltered.
His pulse hammered.
"Your family… see you as a failure now."
Hina's voice cut through next:
"Who the fuck are you, creep?"
"Is this some sick joke?!"
The rain dropped harder.
Then another voice—
Ren's.
Explosive. Furious.
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT WAS THE WRONG GUY?!"
A slurp of apple juice echoed in his skull.
"Terrorist."
"Is he on drugs?"
And then—
his own voice, echoing from a memory so normal it hurt:
"Tough crowd, huh?"
He remembered smiling awkwardly at the librarian, bleeding from a paper cut.
A moment so harmless.
So mundane.
Before his life was stolen.
The rain hammered harder.
Too hard.
"…Huh?"
Akira looked up at the sky.
Was it rain?
Hailstone?
Ice?
He didn't know.
His thoughts were scrambled beyond coherence.
His eyes dull and empty.
His mind churning with fear, confusion, disbelief.
And then—
The storm shifted.
The rain pounded.
Thud.
A storm emerged overhead.
The rain felt unnaturally heavy—each drop landing with the weight of stone.
Akira narrowed his eyes as the wind twisted violently.
Rain…
snow…
hail…
All mixed together, falling in chaotic bursts.
The air sharpened—
cold, cutting, hostile.
As he pondered—
"Akira Sato."
Akira froze.
"That is your name, correct?"
He turned slowly.
The man stood there.
Dark-skinned.
Full white suit, immaculate despite the storm.
Slender. Tall. Early 30s.
Bald head reflecting the warped sky.
Black tinted glasses concealing his eyes.
Posture calm—almost bored.
And yet—
Even before the weapon appeared,
even before a single word more was spoken,
Akira felt it.
Respect.
Pressure.
A presence too heavy to ignore.
"What…" Akira breathed.
He took a deep inhale as his eyes widened.
"…did you say?"
The man didn't blink.
"Akira Sato. That is your name, correct?"
Akira opened his mouth.
"Who are yo—?"
Then he noticed the weapon.
The scythe.
Sharp.
Crooked.
Ugly.
Its blade stained with red ink far too fresh to be ink at all.
Akira's thoughts cracked.
crap
crap
crap…
The man tilted his head.
"Ah.
So you noticed."
He raised the scythe.
"You'll be coming with me."
He dashed forward in a blur.
Akira threw his arms over his face—
readying himself for whatever came next.