Haaaah.
White steam drifted from his lips as he pulled his threadbare coat tighter around him. Each step through the thick snow felt heavier than the last, as if the earth itself were trying to pull him down.
“Damn it,” he muttered, clicking his tongue.
If that idiot manager hadn’t screwed up, he’d have been home three hours ago.
He chuckled under his breath. “Not like there’s anyone waiting for me anyway.”
Snowflakes fell lazily from the black sky, melting the instant they touched his skin. One landed on his forehead and slid down his cheek like a tear.
The market district came into view—a swirl of lights, laughter, and warm windows. Families filled the restaurants, lovers huddled close under the glowing decorations. The air itself seemed alive with joy.
A joyous night for everyone else.
“God, I hate Christmas,” he said, though even he didn’t believe it. He didn’t hate Christmas, he hated walking home to a cold, empty room while the world outside sparkled.
He hated that everyone else seemed to have somewhere to belong.
Like he did once upon a time.
Back then, his future had looked bright. He was a published writer, fresh out of college, living with the woman he loved. She was an accountant—smart, patient, always smiling. They were so sure of themselves.
But the world didn’t care about his dreams. His books, a mix of history and fantasy, barely sold. The publisher dropped him after one quiet quarter too many. He tried to hold on, to find another editor willing to take a risk, but no one wanted another failed author.
They tried to make it work. She carried the bills while he kept writing, hoping for a miracle that never came. Arguments turned into silence, and silence into goodbye.
He’d heard she was engaged now. Good for her.
He looked up. Somewhere in the city, fireworks had started early, evidenced by faint pops in the distance. The sound echoed against the gray sky, then faded.
By the time he reached his apartment complex, the snow had begun to harden into slush. The building loomed ahead like a condemned cell block, its walls cracked and roof sagging under the weight of snow.
Cheap rent. That was its only charm.
The landlord was probably involved with the Yakuza or some other illegal things, but he didn’t care. As long as he kept to himself, he wouldn't be bothered.
Halfway up the creaking stairs, he passed a few guys loitering near one of the doors, whispering in low voices. They looked like trouble.
Not my problem, he thought. Nothing ever is.
He slid the key into his door and stepped into darkness.
“I’m home,” he said halfheartedly.
No answer, of course. Just the soft scurrying of insects as he flicked on the light.
The single bulb flickered weakly, casting shadows across piles of unwashed dishes and crumpled papers. The air smelled faintly of instant noodles and regret.
“Guess you guys don’t want to hang out either,” he muttered as the insects scattered.
He sat down on the tatami, cracked open a cold beer, and peeled the lid off his convenience-store dinner. It had gone lukewarm hours ago.
“Thanks for the meal,” he said dryly, raising the can in a mock toast.
The light flickered again. Bzzt. Bzzt.
He stared up at it, sighing. “Yeah. I know the feeling.”
Once, he’d burned bright too. Now he was just another dying bulb in a forgotten apartment.
“Damn it,” he said quietly. “Guess I’ll have to go out again.”
He slipped his jacket back on, muttering curses under his breath as the cold bit at his fingers. The hallway lights buzzed above him, flickering like dying stars.
The three men from earlier were still there, lingering outside a door halfway down the corridor. Their voices were low, sharp—too deliberate to be casual. The faint smell of cigarettes and cheap cologne hung in the air.
He recognized the look. Predatory. The kind you avoided making eye contact with.
Not my problem, he told himself. None of this ever is.
He started down the stairs. Then he heard it— A muffled struggle. A woman’s voice, barely a whisper.
“Let me go—!”
The sound was swallowed by a heavy thud.
He froze mid-step. His heart hammered against his ribs, each beat louder than the last. Every sensible part of him screamed to walk away.
He almost did.
Almost.
Instead, he turned back and saw one of the men drag a woman out of the apartment. She stumbled, coat half-torn, eyes wide with panic.
“You still here?” he barked.
He quickly turned to leave, not daring to look at the horrible sight before him.
Then he heard it.
“Help me…”
A whisper. Barely audible. Fragile. Desperate.
His key trembled in his hand.
Just mind your own damn business.
But the voice clung to him like the snow on his coat.
The woman struggled to get up, dragged by the arm. One of the men gripped her wrist; the other held her shoulder. She kicked, resisted, cried out.
“Shut up!” one of them snarled.
Something snapped inside him.
He didn’t think. Didn’t plan.
He just dropped his keys and charged.
“Let her go!” he shouted, slamming into one of the men.
The impact knocked the thug off balance. The woman’s eyes widened in shock as he grabbed her arm and pushed her toward the stairwell.
“Run! Go!”
She hesitated, then took off, barefoot and crying.
He turned, just in time for a punch to the gut.
Pain exploded through him. One of the men tackled him into the wall. He swung wildly, landed a hit—but it barely registered.
Then came the kicks.
To his ribs. Stomach. Face.
He curled up, trying to shield himself, but it was useless. They beat him mercilessly, like he was nothing more than a roach in their way.
“Stupid bastard,” one of them muttered.
“Should’ve stayed out of it, hero,” another spat before grabbing him by the collar.
Each strike felt distant, like it was happening to someone else.
Blood filled his mouth. His fingers scraped against the cold tile, desperate for something—anything—to grab onto.
One of them crouched beside him. “You should’ve kept walking, man.”
His breath smelled of smoke and cheap liquor.
He tried to speak, but only blood came out.
The flickering light above him buzzed violently, pulsing faster, brighter, until the world itself seemed to blur.
Their laughter started to fade, swallowed by the static hum in his ears.
Then he wasn’t on the floor anymore.
The light stretched, became blinding, then collapsed into a point of darkness.
For a moment, he saw something, an armored figure standing on a battlefield, sword in hand, crimson sky above him. The figure’s gaze met his, as though waiting.
And then, nothing.
When he came to, the world around him had changed.
He was dazed, but he could see. Above him hung a chandelier, grand and radiant, its crystals scattering golden light across an ornate ceiling. The air smelled faintly of incense and polished wood.
For a moment, he simply stared, mind blank.
Where… am I?
A faint ringing filled his ears — soft at first, then growing until it drowned everything else out. Beneath it, he caught the faintest sounds of voices, blurred and distant.
“...get... off... please...”
“Assa... sin... hold her... she’ll pay for this!”
“No... I did nothing...!!”
He tried to move, but his body felt foreign, heavy, sluggish. His limbs barely responded. He could only turn his head to the side, just enough to see a woman struggling against two armored men. Her cries were sharp, filled with terror.
And then someone rushed toward him.
A woman, red-of hair with a slender but well-built body, beautiful and fierce, unlike any woman he's ever met. She wore an elegant silver armour with gold trimmings, the perfect image of a female knight from some period drama.
“Master!” she called, kneeling beside him and gently lifting his head.
The word struck him like a shock.
Master?
Then came the pain.
It crashed into him like a wave — fierce, blinding, splitting his skull open from the inside.
He groaned, curling up as memories not his own flooded in: a battlefield drenched in blood, flames devouring banners, soldiers shouting a name that echoed through the chaos.
Lord Artos.
The name struck deep, foreign yet achingly familiar.
His vision began to blur. The chandelier above shattered into fragments of light. The knight's voice grew distant. The woman’s cries faded into nothing.
And as the darkness swallowed him again, he realized only one thing.
Everything's not right.