The video appeared online before midnight.
Ren did not upload it.
He did not even know someone had recorded him at first.
By the time he completed his next delivery, his phone had already started vibrating inside his jacket pocket.
Not from calls.
Not from messages alone.
Notifications.
The city was drowning in fear, but the internet still knew how to turn one person into a target.
He stopped beneath the shelter of an apartment block and opened the first link.
The video was shaky.
Rain blurred half the screen.
An old man lay collapsed at a bus stop while people stood around him, none of them willing to move closer.
Then Ren appeared, running across the street with his delivery bag still strapped behind him.
The caption had already chosen the story for everyone.
[VIDEO TITLE] STUDENT RIDER TOUCHES COLLAPSE VICTIM DURING POSSIBLE OUTBREAK Another version used bigger words.
[VIDEO TITLE] BRAVE OR STUPID?
DELIVERY RIDER RISKS SPREADING UNKNOWN DISEASE Then another.
[VIDEO TITLE] IS THIS WHY CASES ARE INCREASING?
Ren watched himself crouch beside the old man.
He watched the old man’s hand claw weakly at his chest.
He watched himself lean closer.
The audio was useless beneath the rain and traffic.
Nobody else could hear what the old man said.
Ren heard it anyway.
It’s not a sickness.
It’s pulling me apart.
He closed the video.
More comments loaded beneath it.
[COMMENT] Why would he go near him?
[COMMENT] This is how outbreaks spread.
[COMMENT] At least someone tried to help.
[COMMENT] Idiot.
If he is infected now, he will spread it to everyone.
[COMMENT] Look at the old man’s hand.
He was grabbing his chest like something was tearing him.
Ren stared at that last comment.
Then the page refreshed.
The comment disappeared.
^^ CONTENT NOTICE Some comments have been removed for spreading unverified information.
Ren lowered his phone.
Rainwater ran from the ends of his hair onto his collar.
His uniform clung to his skin beneath the delivery jacket.
His fingers were still cold from touching the old man’s wrist.
No pulse.
He remembered that clearly.
The skin had not felt sick.
It felt empty.
The apartment lobby door opened behind him.
A woman wearing a mask stood inside, holding her phone up like a shield.
“You’re the rider?” Ren turned.
“Yes.” “Leave the food there.” He looked at the paper bag in his hand.
“It’s getting wet.” “Leave it there.” Her voice shook, but her eyes were hard.
Ren placed the bag on the floor beside the entrance.
The woman did not move.
“You were near that man.” Ren looked at her.
For a second, he considered lying.
Then he said, “Yes.” She stepped back immediately.
“Don’t come in.” “I wasn’t going to.” “Take the picture and go.” Ren took the proof-of-delivery photo.
The app marked the order complete.
The woman waited until he had stepped all the way back into the rain before snatching the bag from the floor and shutting the door.
Ren stood outside for a while.
Then he laughed once.
Not because it was funny.
Because he did not know what else to do.
His phone buzzed again.
~~ Hayato: That video is you.
Ren did not answer.
Another message.
~~ Hayato: Ren.
Then another.
~~ Shizuka: I told you not to go near the station.
~~ Hayato: Wrong timing.
~~ Shizuka: Correct timing.
He needs to understand cause and effect.
~~ Hayato: He helped someone.
~~ Shizuka: I know.
A private message appeared.
~ Shizuka: Ren, are your hands shaking?
Ren looked at his hands.
They were steady.
Too steady.
He typed.
~ Ren: No.
Her reply came quickly.
~ Shizuka: That is worse.
Ren stared at the words.
Then another private message came.
~ Shizuka: Where are you?
He did not answer.
The group chat moved again.
~~ Hayato: I’m going out.
~~ Shizuka: No.
~~ Hayato: You were already wearing shoes.
~~ Shizuka: That is different.
~~ Hayato: Because you are doing it?
~~ Shizuka: Because I have a route.
~~ Hayato: That sounds criminal.
~~ Shizuka: It is efficient.
Ren shut off the screen.
Shizuka and Hayato lived next door to each other.
They had known each other since childhood, long before Ren knew either of them.
Hayato said this meant Shizuka had been bossy since birth.
Shizuka said it meant Hayato had survived only because someone responsible lived nearby.
They argued like they had done it for years.
Because they had.
Ren used to think that kind of familiarity would feel suffocating.
Then he learned it could also look like safety.
That made it harder to accept.
His next order came in.
High demand.
Bonus active.
Delivery distance, 2.4 kilometers.
Ren accepted.
Work was work.
Fear did not pay rent.
The restaurant was crowded with riders when he arrived.
Most stood apart from one another.
A few wore masks.
One had rubber gloves pulled over his sleeves.
The manager looked like he had aged years since evening.
Three delivery bags sat on the counter.
“Kurono.” Ren stepped forward.
The manager handed him one of the bags, then lowered his voice.
“Customers are getting strange tonight.
One rider came back saying he was told 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.
The next customer 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’m 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.
By the time he returned home, it was nearly two in the morning.
The apartment building stood in a narrow residential street wedged between newer towers and old shops that never seemed to change.
The stairwell smelled of damp concrete, cigarettes, and cheap cooking oil.
Someone on the second floor was arguing behind a closed door.
A baby cried somewhere above.
Normal sounds.
Human sounds.
Ren climbed the stairs quietly.
His bicycle chain clicked as he lifted it over the final step.
He locked it near the landing, wiped rain from his face with his sleeve, and reached for his key.
Before he opened the door, he heard glass break inside.
Then his uncle shouted.
“You think money appears because you cry?” Ren stopped.
His hand remained on the key.
Inside, his aunt answered, too soft for him to hear.
His uncle’s voice rose.
“You think hiding behind him will help?” A heavy thud followed.
Not furniture.
A body hitting the floor.
Ren’s jaw tightened.
Then his aunt cried out.
That was enough.
Ren unlocked the door.
The apartment smelled of stale alcohol.
His uncle stood in the middle of the living room wearing an old sleeveless shirt, his face red, his hair damp with sweat.
A beer can lay crushed near his foot.
His aunt sat on the floor beside the low table, one hand pressed against her cheek.
She looked at Ren.
Then immediately looked away.
His uncle turned slowly.
“Finally.” Ren closed the door behind him.
“I had work.” “I know you had work.” His uncle stepped closer.
“That means you got paid.” “Not tonight.” The slap came fast.
Ren saw it coming.
He always saw it coming.
He let it land anyway.
His head turned slightly from the impact.
His uncle smiled, satisfied.
“You think I’m stupid?” Ren said nothing.
His aunt pushed herself up from the floor.
“Give it to him, Ren.
Don’t make things worse.” That made something inside him twist.
Not anger.
Something older than anger.
Exhaustion.
He reached into his pocket and took out the cash tips from his delivery shift.
The bills were damp at the corners from the rain.
His uncle snatched them from his hand and counted quickly.
“This is all?” “Yes.” His uncle stared at him.
“You’re hiding the rest.” “I’m not.” Another slap.
Harder.
Ren’s aunt flinched, but said nothing.
His uncle leaned close enough that Ren could smell the alcohol on his breath.
“Do you know how much I lost today?” Ren looked at him.
“No.” “You don’t ask?
You don’t care?” Ren stayed silent.
That was usually safer.
But tonight, silence angered him too.
His uncle grabbed him by the collar and shoved him against the wall.
The back of Ren’s head struck the old wood panel.
The pain was dull compared to the day he had lived through.
People dying in streets.
Emergency lines busy.
A dead man whispering that something was pulling him apart.
And here, in this apartment, his uncle was still alive.
Still breathing.
Still strong enough to hurt people.
When the deaths began, Ren had hated himself for hoping.
But he had hoped anyway.
Every morning, every news update, every siren in the distance, a shameful part of him wondered if their names would be next.
His aunt.
His uncle.
Both gone.
Both finally removed from his life by something no one could blame him for.
But death ignored them.
It took strangers.
It took the helpless.
It took people at bus stops and supermarkets and schools.
It left this man standing in front of him.
His uncle shoved him again.
“Are you listening?” Ren said nothing.
His uncle leaned closer, smiling now.
“You still thinking about that bracelet?” Ren’s eyes lifted.
The room changed.
Not much.
Only a breath.
Only the way his aunt stopped moving.
But Ren noticed.
His uncle noticed too.
His smile widened.
“Oh.” His aunt’s face went pale.
“Don’t.” Ren looked at her.
For years, she had told him the bracelet was still somewhere in the apartment.
Hidden.
Safe.
Somewhere he would not find it until he was old enough to stop losing things.
He had searched when he was younger.
Under clothes.
Inside drawers.
Behind old boxes.
Between stacks of unpaid bills.
He had never found it.
But that had not killed the belief.
It had made the apartment worse.
Every cabinet became a possibility.
Every locked drawer became a promise.
Every place he had not searched properly became a reason to stay.
That bracelet was the only string tying him to this place.
The only proof his mother had not been completely taken from him.
Ren’s gaze moved toward the small cabinet near the kitchen.
The bottom drawer.
His uncle followed his eyes.
“What are you looking at?” “Nothing.” His uncle turned toward the cabinet.
Ren’s body moved before his thoughts did.
He stepped forward.
His uncle looked back at him, surprised.
“What?” Ren did not answer.
His aunt stood quickly.
“Ren, don’t.” That was enough.
Not proof.
Not certainty.
But enough to pull the old belief tight around his throat.
His hands curled at his sides.
“Where is it?” His aunt’s face tightened.
“Not now.” “Where is it?” His uncle laughed.
“What?
That green thing?” Ren turned toward him.
The room seemed to narrow.
His uncle scratched his chin, pretending to think.
“Maybe she sold it.
Maybe I did.
Who remembers?” Ren stepped closer.
His aunt grabbed his sleeve.
“Ren.” He looked at her hand.
The same hand that had taken the bracelet from him when he was eight.
“For safekeeping.” His mother had worn that bracelet during the accident.
Ren remembered it because when he woke in the hospital, the bracelet had been pressed against his cheek.
His mother’s arm had been wrapped around him, broken and bleeding, but still holding him.
The bracelet had been cold at first.
Then warm.
Then wet.
It was the last thing he had of her.
His uncle’s smile widened.
“You look angry.” Ren looked up.
The room became quiet.
For one second, his uncle seemed smaller than usual.
Not weaker.
Readable.
His weight sat too heavily on his right foot.
His shoulder was tense.
His breathing was uneven.
His next movement would come from the left.
Ren knew it before it happened.
His uncle swung.
Ren moved.
The fist struck the wall beside his head.
His uncle blinked.
Ren caught his wrist.
For a moment, nobody breathed.
Then Ren twisted.
Not hard enough to break it.
Hard enough to make the man drop to one knee.
His uncle gasped.
His aunt covered her mouth.
Ren looked down at him, his own heart beating so slowly it scared him.
He could throw him.
He knew exactly how.
Hip position.
Balance.
Pressure.
Angle.
Hayato’s voice moved through his memory.
“Don’t fight angry.
Your body gets honest before your mouth does.” Shizuka’s voice followed.
“You always stop at the edge.” Ren let go.
His uncle fell backward, clutching his wrist.
The fear in his eyes lasted less than a second before shame turned it into rage.
“You little bastard.” Ren picked up his school bag from the floor.
His aunt whispered, “Where are you going?” He did not answer.
“Ren, wait.” He opened the door.
His uncle shouted behind him.
“Come back here!” Ren stepped into the stairwell and closed the door.
For a moment, he stood there, breathing through his nose while the fluorescent light above him flickered.
His cheek burned.
His head hurt.
His chest felt hollow.
But his hands were steady again.
Always steady when they should not be.
He took his bicycle and went back down into the rain.
He did not go far at first.
A narrow alley behind the building gave him enough cover from the streetlights.
He sat on the curb beside his bicycle and rested his elbows on his knees.
His phone buzzed.
~~ Hayato: You vanished again.
~~ Shizuka: He may have gone home.
~~ Hayato: How do you know?
~~ Shizuka: He stops replying whenever he gets close to home.
~~ Hayato: That is depressing and terrifying.
~~ Shizuka: I know.
~~ Shizuka: That is why I hate it.
Then a private message.
~ Shizuka: Ren.
~ Shizuka: Did he hit you?
Ren stared at the screen.
His cheek throbbed.
He typed nothing.
Another message appeared.
~ Shizuka: You do not have to explain now.
~ Shizuka: Just stay where there is light.
~ Shizuka: And keep your phone on.
~ Shizuka: Please.
Ren’s thumb hovered over the keyboard.
He wanted to say he was fine.
He wanted to say she was wrong.
He wanted to say anything that would make her stop standing so close to the parts of him he kept locked.
Instead, he typed one word.
~ Ren: Light.
It was not an answer.
But it was not silence.
Her reply came slowly.
~ Shizuka: Good.
~ Shizuka: Stay there for a while.
Ren looked at the message until the screen dimmed.
He did not stay.
By morning, the government issued another advisory.
All citizens were instructed to avoid non-essential travel.
Schools were advised to prepare for temporary closure.
Workplaces were encouraged to implement remote arrangements where possible.
The wording was careful.
Soft.
Avoid.
Advised.
Encouraged.
Nothing direct enough to admit fear.
Ren read the message inside a twenty-four-hour laundromat, waiting for his wet uniform to dry.
He had not slept.
Not properly.
After leaving home, he had ridden through side streets until the rain soaked through every layer of clothing.
The laundromat was the only place still open, bright, and warm enough to sit without being questioned.
His school bag rested between his feet.
His shoes were lined beneath the dryer, dripping onto the floor.
Every few minutes, he checked the street through the glass.
Not because he expected his uncle to follow.
Because part of him still moved like someone being chased.
The laundromat was almost empty.
Two machines turned lazily near the back.
A vending machine hummed beside the entrance.
The television mounted in the corner played the morning news with the volume too low.
A salaryman sat two machines away with a briefcase on his lap.
His eyes were closed, but he was not asleep.
Every few seconds, his phone screen lit up in his hand.
Every time he looked at it, his face grew older.
On the television, a government spokesperson stood behind a podium.
^^ GOVERNMENT ADVISORY We ask citizens to remain calm.
At this time, there is no confirmed evidence that the sudden collapse cases are linked by infectious transmission.
A reporter shouted from off screen.
“Then why are emergency services overwhelmed?” The spokesperson blinked.
“We are reviewing operational capacity.” Another reporter shouted.
“Has the Cabinet been moved to a secure location?” The microphone cut.
The broadcast returned to the studio.
The anchor smiled too quickly.
“We appear to be having some audio issues.” Ren stared at the screen.
The salaryman opened his eyes.
“Did they answer?” Ren shook his head.
“No.” The man laughed weakly.
“Of course not.” He rubbed his face and looked toward the laundromat window.
Outside, rainwater slid down the glass in crooked lines.
The streets were quieter than they should have been.
“My wife told me not to go in today,” the man said.
Ren did not answer.
The man looked down at his briefcase.
“She heard an ambulance last night.
Same floor as us.
By morning, everyone in the building knew someone had died.” His fingers tightened around the handle.
“She asked me what kind of job still expects people to show up after that.” Ren looked at him.
“What did you say?” The man smiled without humor.
“I said my boss does.” Then his eyes filled with tears.
“I don’t even know why I’m telling you this.” Ren turned back to the television.
“People say things to strangers when they’re scared.” The man went quiet.
Then he nodded.
“Yeah.” The dryer beeped.
Ren stood, pulled out his uniform, and packed his damp clothes into his bag.
The salaryman was still staring at his phone.
Ren left before the man found another reason to keep talking.
School officially moved online that afternoon.
The message came from the administration at 1:12 p.m.
^^ SCHOOL NOTICE Temporary remote learning until further notice.
Students should remain at home where possible.
Further updates will be provided through official school channels.
Hayato called three minutes later.
Ren answered while sitting on the steps behind an apartment block, eating bread bought with coins.
“You alive?” “That is becoming your greeting.” “It works because you keep making it necessary.
Where are you?” “Outside.” “Outside where?” “Somewhere.” “That is not an answer.” “It is the only one I have.” A doorbell rang faintly through the call.
Hayato groaned.
“Hold on.” Ren heard footsteps, then a door sliding open.
Shizuka’s voice came through clearly.
“You called him without me?” “You live next door.
I knew you’d appear.” “I told you to wait.” “You were putting on shoes.” “I was preparing.” Hayato returned to the phone.
“She’s here.” Ren closed his eyes.
“You two are impossible.” Shizuka’s voice moved closer.
“Kurono.
Are you injured?” “No.” “Do not lie.” “I’m tired.” “That is not an answer.” “It is the only answer I have.” Silence followed.
Not empty silence.
The kind where someone was trying not to say something too soft.
Then Shizuka asked, “Did something happen last night?” Ren looked across the road.
Two men were loading boxes of bottled water into a small car.
One looked around nervously while the other shouted for him to hurry.
“I left home,” Ren said.
Hayato went quiet.
Shizuka did too.
Then Hayato said, “Come here.” “No.” “You don’t even know what I’m offering.” “A bad plan.” “A safe floor, food, and my mother pretending she is not worried about you.” Ren closed his eyes.
That sounded dangerous.
Not because it was unsafe.
Because it sounded warm.
He could not afford to get used to warmth.
“I have work tonight.” Shizuka exhaled softly.
“You are still doing deliveries?” “Yes.” “After yesterday?” “Yes.” Hayato cursed.
“Ren, people online are calling riders plague carriers.” “People online say many things.” “They might attack you.” “Then I’ll ride faster.” “That is not funny.” “I was not joking.” The line went quiet.
Then Shizuka said, “You always make it sound simple.” “I know.” “No.
You don’t.” Her voice stayed quiet.
“That is the problem.” “You act like your life is something cheap.” Ren looked at the bread in his hand.
Half eaten.
Dry.
Enough.
“My life has a price,” Ren said.
“Rent, food, school fees, and whatever my aunt decides I owe her.” Hayato said nothing.
Shizuka said nothing.
Ren stood.
“I’ll call later.” “You won’t,” Hayato said.
“I might.” “That means no.” Ren ended the call.
For several seconds, he stared at the blank screen.
Then a message came in from Shizuka.
~ Shizuka: I know where you go when you want to disappear.
~ Shizuka: I will not go there unless I have to.
~ Shizuka: Please do not make me have to.
A second message followed.
~ Shizuka: And eat more than bread.
Ren stared at both messages.
Then Hayato sent one in the group chat.
~~ Hayato: She is staring at her shoes like she wants to fight the city.
~~ Shizuka: Stop narrating.
~~ Hayato: It helps with tension.
~~ Shizuka: I will create tension.
Ren laughed.
Quietly.
Briefly.
Enough to hurt.
By evening, Tokyo had entered a state no one knew how to name.
Not lockdown.
Not normal.
Something in between.
Trains still ran, but stations felt tense and hollow.
Shops remained open, but many had signs limiting purchases of rice, bottled water, batteries, masks, and medicine.
Police stood near major intersections in pairs.
Ambulances moved constantly.
People kept looking up.
Not at buildings.
At the sky.
The helicopters came again at 7:43 p.m.
Ren heard them before he saw them.
A deep chopping sound rolling through the clouds.
One helicopter appeared above the rooftops, lights blinking red and white through the mist.
Then another.
Then three more.
All heading south.
People stopped walking.
A man outside a pharmacy raised his phone to record.
A woman holding grocery bags whispered, “Again?” An old shop owner stepped out from behind his counter and stared upward.
“Where are they going?” No one answered.
Online posts appeared within minutes.
[POST] MILITARY MOVEMENT OVER TOKYO [POST] HELICOPTERS HEADING SOUTH AGAIN [POST] ARE OFFICIALS BEING EVACUATED?
One post gained traction faster than the rest.
[POST] My brother is SDF.
He said command is moving assets south.
No details.
He told us to stay indoors and not trust the news.
It vanished ten minutes later.
Screenshots spread faster than deletion.
By nine, protests had begun outside a government building.
By ten, riot police were deployed.
By eleven, livestreams showed crowds shouting behind barricades.
Ren watched one while waiting for an order outside a closed ramen shop.
The crowd chanted the same words again and again.
“Tell us the truth.” “Tell us the truth.” “Tell us the truth.” Then the livestream cut to black.
The comments exploded.
[COMMENT] Signal lost.
[COMMENT] They cut him off.
[COMMENT] Police moved in.
[COMMENT] Someone died there.
[COMMENT] Fake.
[COMMENT] Not fake.
I’m nearby.
I hear screaming.
Ren closed the video.
His next order appeared.
Pickup from a family restaurant.
Delivery to a residential tower near the river.
Bonus pay active.
He accepted.
The restaurant was nearly empty when he arrived.
Half the lights were off.
Chairs had already been stacked near the windows even though closing time was still two hours away.
A teenage employee handed him the food with both hands.
“Are you still delivering after this?” Ren checked the app.
“Maybe.” The boy looked toward the kitchen.
“My manager said we stay open until headquarters tells us otherwise.” “Will they?” The boy gave a small, frightened smile.
“Headquarters stopped answering.” Ren took the food.
Outside, rain had started again.
He cycled through streets that looked too bright and too empty, past closed shops, full trash bins, and vending machines glowing against shuttered storefronts.
Somewhere nearby, sirens rose again.
He delivered the food without incident.
Then another order came.
Then another.
Work was work.
Fear did not pay rent.
Close to midnight, the city’s power flickered for the first time.
It lasted less than two seconds.
The streetlights went out.
Traffic signals died.
Buildings became black silhouettes against the rain.
Then everything returned.
Neon signs buzzed back to life.
Convenience store lights snapped on.
A train in the distance resumed moving.
But everyone outside had stopped.
For two seconds, Tokyo had shown them what came next.
Darkness.
A woman began crying at a bus stop.
A man shouted into his phone.
Ren sat frozen on his bicycle in the middle of the sidewalk, rainwater running down his face.
His phone buzzed.
Not a delivery order.
An emergency alert.
^^ PUBLIC SAFETY NOTICE Several districts are experiencing temporary power instability.
Citizens are advised to remain calm and reduce unnecessary electricity usage.
Essential services remain operational.
Ren read the message twice.
Only official words.
Only calm instructions.
Only the kind of wording people used when they wanted panic to stay polite.
Then the forums began moving faster than the alerts.
[POST] Death count tracker updated.
18,402 confirmed posts.
[POST] It jumped again.
21,900.
[POST] My local hospital is not accepting bodies anymore.
[POST] Stop using only Japan tags.
This is happening overseas too.
[POST] Korea, Taiwan, Malaysia, Germany, US.
Same collapse videos.
[POST] Government accounts are deleting maps again.
[POST] Archive everything before it disappears.
Ren stared at the numbers.
They climbed every time the page refreshed.
Not smoothly.
In jumps.
Hundreds.
Then thousands.
Then the thread vanished.
^^ CONTENT NOTICE This content has been removed for spreading unverified information.
Ren lowered the phone.
The old man’s final words returned to him.
It’s not a sickness.
It’s pulling me apart.
The helicopters came again far above the clouds.
Heading south.
Always south.
Ren placed the phone into his jacket pocket, gripped his handlebars, and pushed forward into the rain.
Behind him, the streetlights flickered again.
This time, they took longer to come back.
Chapter 3 ~ End