The night was cold and empty.
Rain poured down without mercy, soaking the streets beneath a sky with no stars. Clouds pressed low, heavy and suffocating, as if the city itself were being slowly crushed beneath them.
This was the kind of night no one would willingly step into—a night meant to be endured indoors, behind closed doors, far away from the cold and the rain.
This was the kind of night no one would willingly step into—a night meant to be endured indoors, behind closed doors, far away from the cold and the rain.
Yet in the middle of the city, under dim streetlights flickering through the downpour, a young man walked forward in silence.
His footsteps were slow, steady, and unhurried. Water splashed lightly beneath his shoes, but he paid it no attention. His clothes were already soaked, clinging coldly to his skin, yet his expression never changed.
It was as if the storm did not exist.As if the cold, the rain, and the loneliness of the night could no longer reach him.
Ashfei kept walking.
He did not hurry, nor did he stop. He had nowhere to go, yet he refused to stand still. To him, movement itself was a way to resist sinking deeper into thought. This night was nothing more than a tool—something he needed to exhaust himself, to erase a loss he could neither face nor accept.
This night was nothing more than a tool—something he needed to exhaust himself, to erase a loss he could neither face nor accept.
If he stopped walking, he knew his thoughts would catch up.
Alcohol and drugs were not options. He had been taught since childhood to stay away from them, warned again and again about where such paths led. Even now, as an adult, those words still lingered in his mind.
But more than that, he simply felt nothing toward such escapes.
Ngay cả bây giờ, khi đã trưởng thành, những lời đó vẫn còn văng vẳng trong tâm trí anh. Nhưng hơn thế nữa, anh đơn giản là không hề có cảm xúc gì đối với những lối thoát đó.
They were meaningless.
Temporary comfort.Temporary numbness.
None of it could erase what he had lost.
A woman, perhaps?
The thought surfaced briefly, only to be rejected just as quickly.
What a joke.
A man with no home, no car—someone who could barely survive on his own—had no right to think of such things. He couldn't even guarantee his next meal. Spending money just to forget his pain felt wrong. Using another person as a tool for comfort disgusted him. The idea itself made his stomach turn.
Spending money just to forget his pain felt wrong. Using another person as a tool for comfort disgusted him.
The idea itself made his stomach turn.
So he chose to walk.
Walking demanded nothing.
No reason.
No purpose.
It was the only thing that still felt honest.
"Today really is the worst of all bad days," Ash muttered under his breath.
The sound of his own voice was almost drowned out by the rain.
He slipped one hand into his pocket and felt the thin stack of bills there. Too light. Far too light. He already knew the number without counting.
How long would this last?A few days? A week, if he was careful?
Tomorrow—if tomorrow even mattered—he might look for simple work. Cleaning. Carrying boxes. Selling goods at some corner shop. Anything that paid enough to survive another day.
There was no future beyond that.
Without a college degree, better jobs were forever out of reach. He had never been stupid; he knew that much. But intelligence alone meant nothing without qualifications. His mother had never been able to afford his education, and fate had never been kind enough to offer alternatives.
That was simply how things were.
"Hah… unstable," he exhaled quietly.
His breath fogged briefly in the cold air before disappearing.
"What else could possibly go wrong?"
He continued walking through the freezing rain, his gaze unfocused, drifting somewhere between the wet pavement and the dark sky above.
Then—shadows.
Ahead of him, beneath a flickering streetlight, dark shapes rushed forward through the downpour. At first, they were little more than moving blurs, distorted by rain and distance.
"…Hm?"
Ash slowed slightly, squinting.
The rain blurred his vision, but the shapes quickly grew clearer.
Five black cars.
Their headlights cut through the rain like knives. Water sprayed violently from beneath their tires as they moved at high speed, far too fast for an empty street at this hour.
"Police?"
"At this hour?"
"They are chasing someone, maybe."
His thoughts drifted lazily, without urgency.
'Not my problem.'
With that conclusion, Ashfei kept walking. He assumed they would pass him by, disappear into the night like everything else eventually did.
They didn't.
"Screeeeech—!"
The sound tore through the rain.
The cars stopped less than ten meters away, tires screaming as they ground against the wet asphalt. For a brief moment, the world felt unnaturally still—rain falling, engines idling, the air tense.
Then the doors flew open.
Nine men stepped out.
They were clad in black metal armor from head to toe, heavy and imposing, as if built for combat rather than patrol. Their presence pressed down on the air itself, sharp and suffocating. Modern firearms rested firmly in their hands, fingers dangerously close to the trigger.
They were not ordinary police.
They looked like soldiers—no, something colder than that. Something designed to follow orders without hesitation.
"So unlucky," Ash thought.
Despite the warning bells faintly ringing in his mind, he tried to walk past them. He didn't want trouble. He didn't have the energy for it.
"Stop."
The command was sharp and absolute, cutting through the rain with chilling clarity.
Ash halted.
Confusion flickered across his face. He had done nothing wrong. He searched his memory, replaying the last few minutes. Had he seen anyone suspicious? Had he crossed paths with someone dangerous?
And then he realized.
A man dressed in black, wandering alone at night.That man is me.
Slowly, deliberately, Ash raised both hands.
"Ahem… I'm just walking to clear my head," he said flatly."I don't mean any harm. I'll go home now."
His voice was calm. Too calm.
There was no fear in it—only emptiness.
To them, it sounded cold. Detached. Untrustworthy.
The man standing in front of him said nothing. He merely nodded once.
That was enough.
In an instant, Ash was surrounded.
Two men seized his arms with crushing force.
"Hey—what are you doing?""Let go."
He struggled, but it was pointless. His strength was insignificant compared to theirs. The rain slicked his hands, making it even harder to resist.
They ignored him completely.
Within seconds, he was shoved into one of the cars. The door slammed shut with a heavy metallic sound, sealing him inside. The engine roared, drowning out the rain.
The vehicles shot through the city at terrifying speed, lights flashing past like distorted streaks of white and yellow. Buildings blurred together, streets vanishing behind them as if being erased.
Ash leaned back, forcing himself to breathe.
Calm down.
He replayed the last few minutes in his head, again and again, searching for a reason—for anything that explained this.
Nothing.
Inside the car, two armored soldiers sat beside him, unmoving. In front were the driver and a man in the passenger seat. The interior felt sealed—cold, black, and unyielding, like a moving cage built to contain something dangerous.
Rain slid down the windows in long, dark lines.
The man in the passenger seat turned around slowly. His eyes were sharp, calculating. When he spoke, his voice was low and heavy.
"The Door is approaching."
"…What?"
For the first time that night, shock broke through Ash's expressionless face.
The words felt unreal. Meaningless. Yet somehow, they carried weight.
"That's not possible… right?"
The man did not answer.
He did not need to.
Ash leaned back against the seat, his gaze drifting once more to the rain-soaked world outside. The city looked distant now, unreal—like something he was already leaving behind.
'This night won't end.' he thought.
'It was never meant to.'