Ren slept for three hours.
That was more than usual.
He woke before his alarm because the apartment was too quiet.
No television.
No shouting.
No bottles rolling across the floor.
No heavy footsteps from his uncle.
For a few seconds, Ren lay on the thin mattress in the corner of the room and listened.
Nothing.
The quiet felt strange.
Almost kind.
Then the bedroom door opened.
His aunt stepped out, tying her hair back with one hand while scrolling through her phone with the other.
She glanced at him like she had almost forgotten he was there.
“You came back late,” she said.
Ren sat up.
“I had deliveries.” “You always have deliveries.” She said it like work was an excuse.
Ren folded his blanket and stood.
His uncle was asleep on the floor near the low table.
One arm covered his face.
Empty cans stood around him.
His mouth was open, and his breathing came out heavy.
Still alive.
Of course he was.
His aunt looked up from her phone.
“Your pay?” “End of the week.” “You said that last week.” “It is still the end of the week.” She narrowed her eyes.
“Do not be clever with me.” Ren picked up his school uniform from the chair.
It was still slightly damp from the rain.
He had hung it near the window, but the apartment trapped moisture.
His aunt went back to her phone.
“They said more people died last night.” Ren buttoned his shirt.
“Who?” “How would I know?
People online.” She sounded annoyed, like the dead had disturbed her morning.
His uncle groaned on the floor and turned over.
Both of them stopped moving.
His aunt lowered her voice.
“Do not wake him.” Ren looked at the man on the floor.
A gambler.
A drunk.
A man who turned every bad night into someone else’s problem.
Ren looked away first.
He tied his school tie, grabbed his bag, and left without breakfast.
Outside, morning had already started.
Tokyo still moved.
The convenience store at the corner was open.
Office workers walked quickly toward the station.
Students in uniforms clustered near crossings, complaining about tests and teachers.
Bicycles rolled past.
Delivery trucks unloaded crates behind restaurants.
Normal things.
Too many normal things.
Ren ran before school.
He usually did when his body felt heavy and his thoughts felt worse.
He took the longer route past narrow streets, an empty playground, and the back of the school gym.
His shoes struck wet pavement in a steady rhythm.
Breathe in.
Step.
Breathe out.
Step.
He did not run fast.
Fast burned too quickly.
Ren ran the way he survived.
Quiet.
Steady.
Longer than people expected.
By the time he reached the school gate, sweat had cooled under his uniform jacket.
His legs ached, but the ache was clean.
Better than anger.
Better than memory.
Someone whistled behind him.
“You run before school now?” Ren did not turn right away.
He knew the voice.
Hayato Kurogane jogged up beside him with his school bag hanging from one shoulder and his tie already loose.
He was taller than Ren and broader too.
He had the relaxed confidence of someone who believed most problems were waiting to be thrown.
“You say that like it is new,” Ren said.
“It is still disturbing every time.” “You should try it.” “I do judo.
I do not need extra suffering.” “You invited me to judo.” “That is different.
Throwing people is useful.” Ren kept walking.
Hayato fell in step beside him.
“You saw the video last night?” “Which one?” Hayato looked at him.
“That is not a good answer.” Ren said nothing.
Hayato took out his phone and showed him a paused clip.
The public square.
The collapsed man.
The umbrella rolling in the rain.
Ren was barely visible at the edge of the frame beside his bicycle.
His hand tightened around his school bag.
Hayato noticed.
“You were there?” “Nearby.” “Why didn’t you say anything?” “I went home.” “That is not an answer.” “It is the answer.” Hayato studied him for a moment, then sighed.
“You make normal questions difficult.” “You ask too many.” “I ask the correct amount for someone like you.” Ren looked at him.
Hayato grinned.
“There.
Still alive.” Before Ren replied, a clear voice cut in from the school gate.
“If he were not alive, your shouting would still wake him.” Shizuka Ayanami stood near the entrance with a kendo bag slung over one shoulder.
Her uniform was neat despite the damp air.
Her hair was tied back.
Her posture was straight.
Her expression was calm in a way most students mistook for cold.
National champion.
Top student.
Someone people praised from a distance because standing too close made them nervous.
Hayato pointed at her.
“She started this morning by knocking on my window.” Shizuka looked at him.
“You did not answer your phone.” “It was six in the morning.” “You were awake.” “How do you know?” “Your room light was on.” Hayato turned to Ren.
“You hear that?
Her surveillance includes me now.” “It is not surveillance,” Shizuka said.
“Then what is it?” “Neighborhood awareness.” “That sounds worse.” Ren looked at her.
“You came early.” Shizuka’s eyes shifted toward him.
Only for a second.
“I thought you might skip school.” “I came.” “Yes.” She said it softly.
Hayato missed the warmth in it.
Ren heard it.
He looked away first.
Hayato made a face.
“Why did that sound like praise?” “It was a factual statement,” Shizuka said.
“You make every sentence sound like a factual statement.” Ren walked ahead before they could keep going.
They followed him anyway.
That was how it usually went.
Hayato and Shizuka lived next door to each other.
They had known each other since childhood, long before either of them knew Ren.
Hayato said Shizuka had been bossy since birth.
Shizuka said Hayato had survived childhood because someone responsible lived nearby.
They argued like people who had never wondered if the other person would still be there tomorrow.
Ren used to think that kind of closeness would feel heavy.
Then he learned it could also look safe.
That made it harder to accept.
Students around them glanced over.
Some looked at Shizuka because she was Shizuka.
Some looked at Hayato because he was loud.
Some looked at Ren because people often seemed to notice him even when he did nothing.
Ren never understood it.
He did not try to attract people.
He did not join conversations unless someone pulled him in.
He did not smile often.
He did not share much.
Still, people remembered him.
Classmates asked him for notes.
Teachers called on him when they needed someone calm.
Strangers spoke to him during delivery shifts.
Even customers sometimes told him things they would never say to friends.
Ren knew many people.
But only a few mattered.
Hayato and Shizuka were two of them.
Shizuka walked on his right, half a step behind.
Not close enough to be obvious.
Close enough to watch his hands.
Ren noticed.
“What?” “Nothing.” “You are staring.” “I am observing.” Hayato groaned.
“That word again.” Shizuka looked at Ren’s face.
“You did not eat breakfast.” Ren said nothing.
Hayato looked impressed.
“She got that from your face?” “His pace is slower after his morning run,” Shizuka said.
“His left hand is in his pocket because he is trying not to press his stomach.
He also did not buy anything from the vending machine near the gate.” Hayato stared at Ren.
“Do you feel safe?” Ren looked at Shizuka.
She held his gaze for a moment, then looked away.
“Eat during break,” she said.
It sounded like an order.
It was not.
Not completely.
Ren reached into his bag and pulled out the sports jelly she had forced on him the week before.
It was still there, unopened.
Shizuka saw it.
Her expression changed.
Only a little.
“You kept it.” “I forgot it was there.” “That is not better.” Hayato leaned over.
“Wait.
She gave you emergency food?” Ren put it back into his bag.
“It is not emergency food.” Shizuka said, “It is now.” Hayato looked between them.
“I want emergency jelly too.” “You eat normally,” Shizuka said.
“I still want one.” “Buy your own.” Ren almost smiled.
Almost.
That morning, school felt wrong before the announcement came.
Teachers spoke in low voices in the hallways.
Several desks stayed empty.
Students kept checking phones under the tables.
One girl started crying after reading a message during homeroom.
The teacher took her outside.
No one knew what happened.
No one asked loudly.
At 10:40 a.m., the speakers crackled.
^^ SCHOOL ANNOUNCEMENT All students are to proceed to the auditorium for an emergency assembly.
Please remain calm and follow your teachers’ instructions.
The classroom went silent.
Then everyone spoke at once.
“Are they closing school?” “Did someone die?” “My mother said this would happen.” “Is it an outbreak?” The teacher clapped once.
“Quiet.
Line up.” No one became quiet.
They only lowered their voices.
Ren sat near the back of the auditorium with Hayato on his left and Shizuka one row ahead.
She sat slightly turned, close enough to hear them.
Hayato leaned back with his arms crossed.
“If they cancel exams, I accept.” Shizuka did not look back.
“That is your first thought?” “It is an important thought.” “You did not study.” “I studied judo.” “That will not help mathematics.” “It teaches angles.” Ren said, “Not those angles.” Hayato placed a hand over his chest.
“Betrayed by my own training partner.” Shizuka’s mouth almost moved.
Almost.
Then she reached back without looking and placed a wrapped rice cracker in Ren’s lap.
Ren stared at it.
Hayato stared too.
Shizuka said, “Eat quietly.” Ren picked it up.
“Why do you have this?” “For emergencies.” Hayato whispered, “Why are all her emergencies you?” Shizuka turned halfway.
“Do you want to lose the ability to whisper?” Hayato sat straighter.
Ren looked down at the rice cracker.
It was small.
Too small to feel like help.
That was why he could accept it.
He opened the wrapper quietly.
Shizuka faced forward again.
The principal walked onto the stage with two vice principals behind him.
From far away, he looked prepared.
On the projection screen, Ren could see the sweat near his temple and the way his fingers held the podium too tightly.
The microphone gave a short burst of feedback.
Several students flinched.
“Good morning, everyone.” His voice was steady because he forced it to be.
“I know many of you have seen reports online about the recent sudden collapse cases across the country.
I understand your concerns.
Your teachers understand them as well.” Whispers moved through the auditorium.
The principal waited.
“As of now, we have not received an order to suspend classes.
The Ministry has advised schools to continue operations while monitoring student health closely.” Someone near the front said too loudly, “That means they don’t know anything.” A teacher snapped his name.
The principal continued.
“Students who feel unwell must report immediately to a teacher or the nurse’s office.
Do not hide symptoms.
Do not spread rumors.
Do not record or share unverified information.” Behind Ren, someone whispered, “They always say that when something is true.” Hayato leaned closer.
“This is bad.” Ren looked at the teachers lined along the side of the auditorium.
One kept checking her phone.
Another was crying silently.
The principal paused.
It was small.
Almost nothing.
But Ren noticed.
The man looked toward the vice principal.
Then back to the students.
“The government has advised citizens to remain calm.
If necessary, students and families should stay home and avoid crowded areas unless travel is essential.” The room changed.
Not loudly.
No one screamed yet.
But everyone heard it.
If school was safe, why say stay home?
If there was no danger, why avoid crowds?
If they knew what was happening, why did every instruction sound unsure?
A phone buzzed somewhere.
Then another.
Then many.
Teachers tried to stop students from checking, but the wave had already started.
Hayato pulled out his phone.
His face changed.
The joke left him.
Ren looked at him.
“What is it?” Hayato turned the screen.
A live news feed showed a packed train platform.
Police and emergency workers moved through the crowd.
Several bodies lay on the floor covered with jackets.
The headline read: MULTIPLE COLLAPSES REPORTED AT SHINJUKU STATION The comments moved too fast to read.
Then someone screamed.
The sound came from the middle section of the auditorium.
At first, Ren thought a student had reacted to the news.
Then chairs scraped violently.
A body hit the floor between two rows.
Students around him scattered.
“Move away!” “Don’t touch him!” “Call the nurse!” “He was fine a second ago!” The principal shouted into the microphone.
His voice broke under the noise.
Hayato was already standing.
Ren grabbed his sleeve.
“Wait.” Hayato looked down at him.
“What?” Ren did not know why he said it.
Something inside him had gone cold.
Not fear.
Something else.
The collapsed student lay on his side with one arm twisted beneath him.
His hand clawed weakly at his chest.
His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.
For one second, his face twisted in pain.
The same expression Ren had seen on the man near the station.
Then the hand fell still.
A teacher tried to reach him.
Another teacher held her back.
“Gloves first.
Wait for the nurse.” “He is a student.” “I said wait.” That hesitation spread faster than panic.
Everyone wanted someone to help.
Nobody wanted to be the first to touch him.
The school nurse arrived with a mask pulled tight over her face and shaking hands.
She knelt beside the student, checked his neck, then his wrist.
Her face changed.
She started CPR anyway.
The auditorium watched.
One compression.
Two.
Three.
The sound of her palms pressing against his chest filled the hall.
Someone behind Ren began sobbing.
Hayato’s fists clenched.
“Damn it.” Ren said nothing.
He could not look away.
The nurse kept going until paramedics arrived.
By then, everyone already knew.
The student was dead.
Classes were suspended before sunset.
Not officially because of the death.
The message sent to parents called it a precautionary closure due to public health concerns.
^^ SCHOOL NOTICE All classes will move to remote learning until further notice.
Students are advised to return home immediately.
Do not gather near school entrances.
Follow public health instructions issued by authorities.
Students left in clusters.
Some cried.
Some called home.
Some walked with blank faces, like their bodies had left the auditorium but their minds were still there.
Outside the school gate, parents had already gathered.
Cars lined both sides of the road.
A mother shouted at her son for not answering his phone.
Another parent demanded answers from a teacher who had none.
Hayato walked beside Ren in silence.
That alone felt wrong.
Hayato was never silent for long.
At the corner, he finally spoke.
“You stopped me.” Ren kept walking.
“Yes.” “Why?” “I don’t know.” “You thought it was dangerous?” “I don’t know.” Hayato looked at him.
“Ren.” Ren stopped.
Cars moved past them slowly.
Somewhere far away, another ambulance siren rose and faded.
Ren looked down at his hands.
They were steady.
That bothered him.
A student had died in front of him, and his hands were steady.
“I felt something was wrong.” Hayato studied him.
Then he nodded once.
“Fine.” “That is it?” “What do you want me to say?” “That it sounds strange.” Hayato looked toward the school gate, where teachers were still trying to calm frightened parents.
“Everything sounds strange right now.” Before Ren answered, Shizuka called his name.
“Kurono.” She stood near the wall with her kendo bag over one shoulder.
Her posture was straight, but her grip on the strap was tight.
Hayato lifted a hand.
“Shizuka, if you are here to kidnap him for kendo, this is a bad time.” “I am not kidnapping anyone.” “That sounds suspicious.” She ignored him.
Her gaze stayed on Ren.
“You saw what happened.” Ren nodded.
“So did everyone.” “That is not what I mean.” Her voice lowered.
“When he collapsed, you reacted before anyone screamed.” Hayato glanced between them.
Ren did not answer.
Shizuka stepped closer.
“You knew something was wrong.” “I did not know.” “But you felt it?” Ren met her gaze.
Shizuka had always noticed too much.
During kendo, she noticed the moment his weight shifted.
During class, she noticed when he skipped lunch.
During conversations, she noticed when he lied by saying nothing.
That was why she made him uncomfortable.
That was also why he trusted her more than he wanted to.
His phone buzzed.
The delivery app had sent a notification.
High demand in your area.
Bonus pay active.
Ren stared at it.
Hayato saw the screen and frowned.
“You are not working tonight.” “I need the money.” “People are dying in public.” “That does not stop rent.” Shizuka’s expression sharpened.
“You are serious.” Ren slipped the phone into his pocket.
“I have a shift.” Hayato cursed under his breath.
“Your aunt again?” Ren did not answer.
That was answer enough.
Shizuka’s jaw tightened.
She knew pieces of Ren’s home situation.
Hayato knew more.
Neither of them knew all of it.
Ren did not like pity.
He hated it more than insults.
Hayato exhaled hard.
“At least let me go with you.” “No.” “Ren.” “You will slow me down.” Hayato stared.
“Excuse me?” Shizuka cut in.
“I’ll go.” Hayato looked between them.
“Why does she get rejected less?” “I am more useful,” Shizuka said.
“You swing bamboo at people.” “And I do it well.” Ren shook his head.
“Neither of you are coming.” Shizuka stared at him.
Then she reached into her bag and pulled out a small pack of sports jelly.
“Take this.” “I already ate.” “The rice cracker was not a meal.” Hayato looked offended.
“She feeds you twice now?” Shizuka pushed the jelly into Ren’s hand.
“You do not have to eat it now.
Keep it.” Ren looked at the packet.
His fingers closed around it.
“Thanks.” Shizuka blinked once.
The word landed harder than Ren expected.
Hayato noticed too.
He looked between them, opened his mouth, then closed it.
For a brief moment, standing outside the school gate while sirens echoed across the city, life felt close to normal.
Then every phone on the street screamed at once.
The emergency alert tone ripped through the crowd.
Parents froze.
Students looked down.
Teachers stopped speaking mid-sentence.
Ren opened the alert.
^^ PUBLIC HEALTH ADVISORY Citizens are advised to return home immediately and avoid non-essential travel.
Report sudden collapse cases to emergency services.
Do not approach unknown unconscious individuals unless instructed by medical personnel.
If necessary, remain indoors until further notice.
Stay calm.
Stay calm.
No one moved for several seconds.
Then the street erupted.
Parents dragged children toward cars.
Students shouted into phones.
Teachers tried to organize the crowd and failed.
Traffic jammed outside the school gate.
Shizuka read the alert again.
“They are telling people not to help.” Ren looked at the line.
Do not approach unknown unconscious individuals.
He thought of the student in the auditorium.
His hand clawing at his chest.
His mouth opening without sound.
Everyone frozen around him.
Hayato’s voice dropped.
“This is not normal.” Ren looked at him.
“No.” His phone buzzed again.
The delivery bonus doubled.
For a second, Ren stared at the number.
The world was breaking in public, and the app was offering extra pay because there were not enough riders.
Then he accepted the order.
Hayato saw it.
“Ren.” “I will be careful.” “That is not enough.” Ren looked at Hayato.
Then at Shizuka.
She said nothing.
Her face stayed controlled, but the hand holding her kendo bag strap had tightened.
Ren softened his voice.
“I know.” That surprised both of them.
He meant more than that.
I know you are worried.
I know you are trying.
I know I am making this worse.
None of it came out.
Shizuka stepped closer.
“Then do not disappear.” “I will answer when I can.” Hayato frowned.
“That is not the same thing.” Shizuka did not look away from Ren.
“One word is enough.” Ren remembered her message from the night before.
Moving.
A thing she could believe.
He nodded once.
“One word.” She held his gaze for a moment longer.
Then she moved aside.
Not because she agreed.
Because she knew he would leave either way.
As Ren walked toward his bicycle, Shizuka called out.
“Kurono.” He paused.
“If you do not answer your phone, I will find you.” Hayato nodded.
“And I will help.” Ren looked back at them.
“I know.” This time, he meant it as reassurance.
He left before the warmth in his chest became harder to carry.
The city outside school had changed by the time Ren reached the main road.
The buildings still stood.
Traffic lights still worked.
Convenience stores still glowed.
But the people moved differently.
Everyone was faster now.
Ren took the train back toward his apartment.
Not all the way home.
Only close enough to reach the bicycle he had locked near the stairwell that morning before running to school.
The street outside his building was quiet.
Too quiet.
He unlocked the old bicycle, tightened the delivery bag behind the seat, and pushed back into traffic.
His first order took him to a high-rise apartment near the station.
The restaurant was packed with delivery riders waiting for food.
Some wore masks pulled high.
Others checked death maps and news feeds while pretending they were not afraid.
One rider in a red jacket shook his head.
“Too many orders tonight.” “People are scared to leave home,” another said.
“Can you blame them?” The restaurant manager placed three bags on the counter.
“Kurono.” Ren stepped forward.
The manager handed him one of the bags, then lowered his voice.
“Customers are strange tonight.
One rider said the customer told him to leave the food outside and step away before the door opened.” Ren nodded.
At the apartment, the same thing happened.
A woman’s voice came through the door.
“Leave it there.” Ren placed the food down.
“Done.” “Step back.” He stepped back.
The door opened only after he moved several meters away.
A hand reached out, grabbed the bag, and pulled it inside.
The door shut immediately.
Ren stared at the closed door for half a second before leaving.
His phone buzzed.
~~ Hayato: Where are you now?
Ren did not answer.
Another message appeared.
~~ Shizuka: He is not going to answer that.
~~ Hayato: I know.
~~ Shizuka: Ask something smaller.
~~ Hayato: Smaller?
~~ Shizuka: Ask if he is still moving.
A private message appeared.
~ Shizuka: Ren.
~ Shizuka: One word is enough.
~ Shizuka: Are you still moving?
Ren looked at the message.
Then at the elevator doors.
He typed: ~ Ren: Moving.
Her reply came after a pause.
~ Shizuka: Good.
~ Shizuka: Keep doing that.
Ren put the phone away.
The next delivery was worse.
A man refused to open the door at all.
“Send me a picture.” Ren took a photo of the food hanging from the door handle.
“You are still outside?” the man asked through the door.
“I am leaving now.” “Do not touch the door.” Ren looked at his own hand on the bicycle grip later and wondered when ordinary contact had become frightening.
Night settled over Tokyo slowly.
Rain began after sunset.
Light at first.
Then heavier.
The city became a blur of headlights, wet roads, and neon reflections.
Ren cycled through narrow streets, apartment blocks, and shopping lanes where shutters had come down earlier than usual.
Some stores had signs taped to the glass.
Closed due to staff shortage.
Temporary closure.
No masks, no entry.
Cash not accepted.
At one convenience store, shelves were already half empty.
Rice, bottled water, instant noodles, and medicine had disappeared first.
The cashier behind the counter looked too tired to speak.
A small television above the cigarette shelf showed a government spokesperson standing behind a podium.
The subtitles lagged behind his words.
^^ GOVERNMENT ADVISORY Citizens are advised to remain calm and avoid spreading misinformation.
Individuals feeling unwell should remain at home where possible.
There is currently no confirmed evidence of human-to-human transmission.
The cashier muttered, “Then why is everyone dying?” Ren bought the cheapest rice ball he could find and ate it outside under the awning while rain dripped from his hair.
His phone buzzed with missed calls.
~ Aunt: Where are you?
~ Aunt: Your uncle is getting angry.
~ Aunt: Do not make trouble tonight.
Ren turned the screen off.
For a moment, he leaned against the glass wall and closed his eyes.
He was tired.
Not the kind sleep fixed.
A memory surfaced without permission.
His aunt’s hand closing around the small red pouch years ago.
“For safekeeping.” His own eight-year-old voice asking when he would get it back.
Her smile.
“Someday.” Ren opened his eyes.
The rain had grown heavier.
Across the street, an elderly man stood under a bus stop shelter, holding a cane in one hand and a plastic bag in the other.
Ren watched him.
He did not mean to.
The old man looked normal.
Tired, maybe.
Cold, maybe.
Then his fingers loosened.
The plastic bag dropped.
An apple rolled into the rain.
Ren straightened.
The old man’s knees buckled.
This time, Ren moved before thinking.
He ran across the street.
A car horn blared.
Ren ignored it and reached the bus stop as the old man collapsed sideways against the bench.
His eyes were half open.
His breath came in short, broken pulls.
Ren crouched near him.
“Sir, can you hear me?” The old man’s lips moved.
No sound came out.
Someone behind Ren shouted, “Do not touch him!” Another voice yelled, “Call emergency services!” Ren looked around.
Five people stood nearby.
No one came closer.
He took out his phone with wet fingers and called emergency services himself.
The line did not connect.
Busy.
He tried again.
Busy.
The old man’s hand twitched once against the wet pavement.
Ren stared at him.
The man’s gaze shifted.
For one second, his fear cleared.
His fingers clawed weakly at his own chest.
Ren leaned closer.
“It’s…” The old man’s voice scraped out.
“It’s not a sickness.” Ren stopped breathing.
The old man’s face twisted.
“It’s pulling me apart.” Then his hand went still.
Ren remained crouched beside him, phone pressed to his ear, rain soaking through his uniform.
The emergency line kept beeping.
Busy.
Busy.
Busy.
Behind him, someone was filming.
Ren slowly lowered the phone.
The old man’s apple rolled along the curb and stopped against Ren’s shoe.
Ren looked down at it.
Then he looked up.
The street was full of people.
But no one moved.
Far above the city, a helicopter moved across the clouds.
Its lights blinked red through the storm.
Heading south.
Chapter 2 End