I always thought when you die, you'd see a blinding light—or maybe nothing at all. But for me, it was chaos.
The screeching of tires. The cracking sound of bones. The smell of gasoline and blood blending into something sickeningly metallic. And then—nothing.
I remember lying on the pavement, my body refusing to move, the cold of the road licking at my skin. People were rushing around me, their faces a blur. I could see mouths moving, wide eyes staring, but all I could hear was a high-pitched ping…ping…ping, ringing louder than any voice.
Then, somewhere behind that noise, a woman's voice cut through the haze.
"Stay with us! The ambulance is on the way!"
I blinked slowly, my vision tunneling into blackness. A strange thought crossed my mind.
So this is how it ends…?
What a boring life I had lived.
My name is Miyasato Tetsuya. Twenty-seven years old. Waiter at a family restaurant for the last two years. Average height, average looks, and an existence so forgettable I could disappear for days, and no one would notice.
I wasn't always like this. At least, I don't think I was.
When I was a kid, I believed in happy endings. But mine never came.
My father left the moment I was born, claiming he "couldn't afford another mistake." My mother was the only warmth I ever knew. She worked herself to exhaustion—three jobs, night shifts, meals skipped—just to keep our tiny apartment and buy me books, toys, anything to keep me smiling.
But even her strength had limits.
When I was seven, I fell gravely ill. The hospital bills devoured everything we had. When I recovered, I saw the toll it had taken on her—sunken eyes, thinner arms, slower steps. But she never stopped smiling.
"Mom, are you okay?" I had asked one night, watching her slip on worn-out shoes.
"I'm fine, sweetheart. Mama just needs to work a little harder. Don't worry about me."
That was the last time I saw her standing.
The next morning, she wasn't home.
She always came back by 4:45 a.m. But the clock hit noon, and I sat there with an empty stomach and a growing knot in my chest.
Then the door creaked open.
"Mom—!" I called out, rushing to the door.
But it wasn't her.
It was my father.
I froze. He hadn't visited in years. Not even once. He stood tall in the doorway, his face unreadable.
"She's gone," he said flatly. "She collapsed at work last night. Didn't make it."
I remember how my world stopped.
He took me to the hospital. I saw her—my mother—lying there, pale and still. Her face was wet with tears, even in death.
I held her hand, and to my shock, her fingers weakly gripped mine.
She wasn't gone. Not yet.
"Sweetheart…" she whispered. "Promise me… stay with your father. He'll take care of you."
Her voice was cracked, broken.
"Promise me… Miyasato…"
I nodded, unable to speak.
And then… her hand went limp.
Living with my father was worse than being alone.
He remarried within weeks. As if he had been waiting for her to die.
My stepmother ignored me. Treated me like a stray dog. Meals were shared with everyone—except me. If I wanted to eat, I had to cook it myself. If I got sick, I had to walk to the clinic alone.
No one noticed when I cried.
At school, I had one friend—Sone Nobuo. He was small like me, quiet and kind. We stuck together from elementary to high school.
Then he was gone too.
Beaten to death by bullies. Teachers turned a blind eye. The school called it a "tragic accident." I knew the truth.
They got away with it.
Just like my father. Just like everyone else who ever hurt someone and smiled about it.
I started keeping my head down. I tried making new friends in high school—but my short height and thinning hair made me easy to mock. I was rejected by every girl I liked. I stopped trying.
I graduated. Got a job as a waiter.
Day in, day out—serving food to couples, laughing families, children who reminded me of everything I lost.
At night, I'd return to my tiny apartment. Heat a cup of noodles. Sit in silence.
No messages. No calls. No one cared if I was alive.
And now?
Now I was dying on a street, in a city that never knew my name.
Beep… beep… beep…
The hospital room came into focus. Lights. Chaos. Blood. My own blood.
"He's fading!"
My chest rose once… then again… and then stopped.
Everything went cold.
I could hear the flatline.
Beep—
And in that final moment, as darkness took me, I whispered to the universe:
If there's another life… please… let me be someone better. Let me be loved. Let me be strong enough to protect those I love. Just once.
And then—
Silence.