Sunlight spilled through the slats of an open window, painting the cluttered bedroom in soft golden stripes. Posters clung to every inch of the walls—faded anime prints, vintage action movie ads, and cosmic artwork that shimmered faintly in the light like galaxy graffiti. A cracked ceiling fan spun lazily overhead, stirring loose papers on a desk littered with notebooks, manga, and a half-eaten bag of chips.
In the chaos of tangled blankets and mismatched sheets, a boy snored deeply.
BEEP! BEEP!! BEEP!!!
The alarm clock blared to life, its neon-purple digits flashing 8:50 AM like it was announcing the apocalypse.
Obi groaned and slapped the clock with the kind of force that suggested this wasn't their first argument. He sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep crust from his heavy-lidded eyes.
His skin glowed a warm caramel under the sunbeams, and his black curls stuck out in every direction like he'd wrestled a lightning bolt in his sleep. His eyes, soft and heavy-lidded, blinked with the kind of confusion only sleep deprivation can produce. A white T-shirt hung loosely on his frame, one shoulder exposed, the words "Sleep is Life" scrawled across the front in sleepy kanji. His pajama pants were blinding orange, covered in cartoon foxes gleefully slurping bowls of ramen.
He stared at the clock.
Then—realization hit like a truck full of overdue assignments.
"Oh crap—I'm late!!!"
He shot out of bed like a missile. His foot immediately caught in a tangle of headphone cords, sending him flying into a teetering pile of laundry. A small explosion of socks erupted. The open bag of chips he'd left out the night before met its end in a tragic, crunchy death across the floor.
"Why doesn't anyone wake me up in this huge house?!" he yelled to absolutely no one as he frantically tore through drawers in search of his school uniform.
Minutes later, he stood before the mirror in the hallway, a toothbrush clenched between his teeth, foamy toothpaste threatening to drip onto his shirt. His button-up was half-done—crooked—and his pants were undeniably backwards. His school blazer looked like it had lost a wrestling match with a vacuum cleaner. And his tie? Missing in action.
He scowled at the mirror. His curls had gone full rebellion.
"Where's my tie—WHERE'S MY TIE?!" he barked at the mirror, as though it had the answer.
His blazer was wrinkled beyond salvation, his curls refused to be tamed by the squeaky comb he found at the bottom of his drawer, and his expression in the mirror was that of a boy who had made peace with disaster.
He leaned in close, toothpaste bubbles hanging from his lip.
"...Close enough."
He spat, rinsed, and charged out of the bathroom, grabbing his bag, one of his sneakers was untied.
He didn't care.
He spat, rinsed, yanked the wrinkled blazer over his shoulders, snatched up his school bag, and sprinted out of his room like the house was on fire.
---
Downstairs – The Kitchen
The scent hit him first—smoky grilled fish, savory miso, and warm rice—drifting up the stairs and wrapping around Obi like a soft blanket. It was the smell of home, of comfort, of mornings that had rhythm and warmth even when chaos reigned.
The quiet clatter of chopsticks tapping against porcelain bowls added to the symphony of domestic life, and from the corner of the living room, the TV murmured through the morning news. A peppy anchor discussed local weather and upcoming festivals with a cheerfulness entirely disconnected from the frantic disaster that had just occurred upstairs.
Obi skidded into the kitchen like a comet crash-landing, breathless, half-dressed, and fully disheveled.
At the breakfast table, his family sat with varying degrees of calm.
His mom sat at the head, framed in a halo of sunlight that streamed through the wide window over the sink. Her deep brown skin glowed warmly in the morning light, and her long braids were pinned into a tidy bun that gave her the air of a queen at court—one who reigned with quiet, commanding grace. She wore a red blouse with sleeves rolled to her elbows, and a pair of worn jeans. She didn't even look up as she picked through her miso soup, casually pushing radish slices to the side with her chopsticks.
Across from her, Obi's dad held a steaming mug of coffee in one hand and a newspaper in the other. He was all stillness—Japanese with a composed face, sleek black hair, and striking blue eyes magnified just slightly by thin-rimmed glasses. He turned a page quietly and muttered under his breath, eyes scanning the news.
"Another teenager missing near Harajuku," he murmured, more to himself than to the table. "That's the fifth one this week."
The words hung in the air like a cold draft. No one responded.
Obi's siblings were already halfway through their meals.
Kanou, two years younger, had her shoulder-length hair tied into a messy ponytail, a streak of rebellious energy in her eyes. Her skin was a shade lighter than Obi's, but those sharp blue eyes were unmistakably from their father's side—intense, calculating, and currently narrowed into a perfect, scalding glare aimed directly at him. She wore her school uniform like it was a prison jumpsuit, her entire aura radiating early-morning annoyance.
Kobi, the baby of the family at eight, sat with his legs swinging off his chair, a serene little monk with glasses far too big for his face. His skin was the fairest of the bunch, and he chewed his grilled salmon like he was preparing for a business meeting, silent and disturbingly composed.
Their mother finally glanced up, just for a second, the edge of her mouth twitching.
"Well, well. Look who finally joined the land of the living."
"I overslept! Again!" Obi groaned, already reaching for a bowl of rice like it was a lifeline, shoveling it into his mouth between panicked gulps of breath. "No one woke me up!"
"You ignored your alarms. Again," Kobi said flatly, not even glancing up. The smugness in his tone was like a knife—small, but sharp.
Their dad peeked over the top of the newspaper. "You're lucky your school's just down the block. If I'd been that slow when I was your age—"
"—You'd have walked ten miles uphill in the snow," Obi and Kanou chimed in unison.
Kanou cracked a grin. Obi matched it.
"You've told us that, like, twenty times, Dad," Kanou added, rolling her eyes but without any real venom.
Obi had just started to wolf down his eggs when he noticed his sister staring at him.
"What?" he asked, mouth full. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
Kanou tilted her head dramatically, eyes dancing with amusement.
"I just realized… what are you wearing?" she teased, her smirk widening. "Did you get dressed in the dark or lose a fight with your closet?"
Obi groaned, glaring down at his backwards pants and wrinkled blazer. "Okay, rude. But seriously—why are you even still here? Shouldn't you be halfway down the street, screaming about being late?"
Kanou's smirk vanished in an instant.
Her eyes narrowed into venomous slits.
"Unfortunately, Obi—" she spat his name like it tasted bitter, "—Mom made us wait for you. And I actually wanted to eat breakfast today."
He winced at her tone.
(Side note: Obi means "belt" in Japanese. Kanou never lets him forget it. Ever.)
The tension crackled in the air. They locked eyes across the table, forks frozen midair. A sibling boss battle was imminent.
SMACK!
Their mom slammed her palm flat on the table. Not hard—but loud enough to silence the entire room. Chopsticks clinked as everyone jumped.
"Eat. Now. Both of you."
"Yes, Mom," they muttered, voices perfectly synchronized as they bowed their heads and snapped back into motion, scooping up rice with sudden discipline.
She slid a small dish in front of Obi—grilled salmon, tamagoyaki, steamed rice, pickled daikon, miso soup. A traditional spread. Balanced. Nourishing. No shortcuts. The kind of meal made with love and a quiet warning.
"Eat like humans," she said firmly, casting a sideways glance at Obi. "Not like raccoons."
Obi grinned through a mouthful of egg. "Love you, Mom."
She didn't even look up.
"I know," she said calmly. "You better. I'm your mother. Now chew properly."
---
Breakfast ended with the clatter of empty bowls and the scrape of chairs against the floor. Obi leapt up from the table, energized like he hadn't been a groggy mess just ten minutes ago. He turned to his little brother, holding out a hand.
Kobi didn't even blink—he just lifted his own tiny fist and bumped it against Obi's like a seasoned pro.
"I'm off!" Obi called, already halfway down the hall, backpack swinging wildly behind him.
"Don't forget your lunch!" their mom shouted, one hand still holding out the carefully packed bento box as she stepped around the table.
Too late.
The front door slammed with a bang that rattled the cups in the cabinet. A quiet pause settled over the kitchen.
Kobi grinned around a bite of pickled daikon, chewing dramatically. "Five minutes before he comes running back."
"Four," Kanou said, barely looking up as she poked at the last bits of egg.
Their dad turned the page of his newspaper with a thoughtful nod. "Three."
"Two," their mom added with a knowing smirk, placing the bento back on the table like a timer being set.
They all froze, the silence thick with anticipation.
From outside came the sudden, panicked screech.
"WAAAAIT! MY LUNCH!!!"
Laughter erupted around the table.
Obi burst back into the house like a hurricane in sneakers, hair windswept and eyes wide.
"Told you!" Kobi giggled, nearly choking on his rice.
Obi grabbed the bento off the table with a breathless, sheepish grin.
"Okay! Now—actually—I'm going. See you after school!"
"Bye!!" Kobi beamed, waving as Obi disappeared again through the front door.
This time, it stayed closed. For now.
---
After getting a considerable distance away from the shop. He sees a trash can next to a house and thinks.
A little shortcut won't hurt plus it's great exercise.
He sprinted toward the trash can, hopped onto its lid, and launched himself up onto the nearest rooftop with a smirk. Ninja-level: unlocked.
smirks. He continues going towards the direction of his school while doing parkour. Jumping from rooftop to rooftop then stays on a high roof to see the urban beauty of Shibuya. He hears the cars horns and the people talking distinctively. He smells the scent of assorted meals and exhales before smiling and continuing his journey to school
---
After putting a good distance between himself and Mr. Kumon's shop, Obi slowed just enough to catch his breath, eyes scanning the path ahead.
That's when he spotted it — a trash can pushed up against the wall of someone's house, right next to a narrow alley.
He grinned.
A little shortcut won't hurt, he thought, already veering off the sidewalk. Plus, it's basically cardio. Right?
Without missing a beat, he sprinted toward the can, his sneakers thudding softly against the pavement. He planted one foot on the lid — which wobbled beneath his weight — then launched himself upward in one fluid motion.
"Let's gooo," he whispered under his breath, grabbing the edge of the roof and hauling himself up.
Landing with a satisfying thud, Obi stood tall, hands on his hips like a victorious hero. "Ninja-level: unlocked."
A smirk tugged at his lips as he broke into a run again, bounding from rooftop to rooftop with practiced ease. His bag bounced against his side, and his hair whipped behind him in wild curls. With every leap, he felt lighter — like gravity had decided to cut him some slack just for the morning.
Down below, Shibuya bustled as always. The honks of impatient taxis echoed off the buildings, mixing with the chatter of school kids and the distant call of street vendors already setting up shop.
Obi came to a stop on one of the taller rooftops and took a moment to breathe it in.
The city stretched out before him — tall buildings casting long shadows over narrow alleys, neon signs still flickering from the night before, and rooftops dotted with laundry lines and potted plants. From here, he could see the cranes in the distance, the tangled wires above intersections, even a few cats lounging on sun-warmed tin roofs.
He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. The scent of grilled meat, soy sauce, fresh bread, and something sweet like taiyaki drifted up from the streets below.
Exhaling, he opened his eyes and smiled, a calm kind of peace settling over him.
"This city never gets old," he murmured.
And with that, he took one last leap, the thrill returning to his chest as he continued his wild rooftop journey toward school — running not just to beat the clock, but for the sheer joy of it.
---
By the time Obi reached the school gates, he was drenched in sweat and out of breath. His curls stuck to his forehead, and his backpack felt like it had bricks in it. He sprinted down the hall, his footsteps echoing louder than they had any right to.
He didn't even slow down when he reached his classroom — he just shoved the door open.
The class turned to stare as he stumbled inside, panting like a marathon runner on mile twenty.
"I'm... here," Obi wheezed, one hand on his knee, the other holding the door frame for dear life. "Obi Takahashi... present and accounted for."
The teacher, a tall woman in a gray blazer with a no-nonsense aura, raised one eyebrow and folded her arms.
"How generous of you to join us, Mr. Takahashi," she said dryly, her tone clipped with sarcasm. "Truly, an honor."
The class burst into soft snickers and muffled giggles as Obi shuffled to his seat, face flushed from both the run and the attention.
"Way to go, Belt," someone whispered.
"Boss move, Belt," another added.
Obi winced but kept walking. The nickname had stuck like superglue. All because of one stupid moment in the sixth grade when Kanou, in front of his friends, had laughed and said, "Obi means belt, y'know."
Now, years later, it followed him like a bad smell. At some point, correcting people just got exhausting.
He let out a sigh, offering a tired smile to no one in particular, and sank into his seat. He tried — really tried — to focus on the lesson. Something about historical reform in post-war Japan. Or maybe it was math. He wasn't sure.
Within minutes, his eyelids drooped. The comforting hum of the teacher's voice, the soft shuffling of notebooks, and the distant sounds of the city outside lulled him.
And then — silence.
Obi blinked awake, confused. The classroom was empty. Desks sat neatly in rows, sunlight pooled on the floor, and the clock on the wall told him it was nearly lunchtime.
He sat up, rubbing his eyes. "Where is everyone...?"
"You fell asleep," came the calm voice of his teacher. She was still at her desk, grading papers. She didn't even look up. "They've all gone to lunch. I told them not to wake you."
Obi sat there, stunned. "Wait, why?"
She finally glanced at him over the rim of her glasses. "Because you looked like you deserved it. And because, unfortunately for me, your grades are exceptional. If they weren't, letting you stay would've been the least of your worries."
A sheepish smile tugged at his lips. He chewed his bottom lip and bowed his head slightly. "Sorry, ma'am. I really didn't mean to—"
She held up a hand, softening. "Don't worry. Just remember to read page fifty-two before tomorrow."
He stood, slinging his bag over one shoulder. "I will. Thank you, ma'am."
With his bento box in hand, he jogged out of the room, a little more awake — and very ready for lunch.
---
At the far end of the bustling cafeteria, tucked into a corner away from the noise and energy, sat a lone student. His straight black hair fell neatly over his forehead, and round glasses perched low on his nose. He wore the standard school uniform — pressed, spotless — and had a quiet, composed air about him. A novel sat open in his hands, his blue eyes scanning the page with laser focus, seemingly unaware of the world moving around him.
But he was waiting. His eyes flicked toward the entrance every so often — just for a second.
Then—
"Oi! Kaito!" Obi's voice rang out like a siren from the cafeteria doors.
Kaito looked up, blinking like he'd surfaced from deep underwater. When he spotted Obi weaving through tables with his lunchbox in hand, a small smile tugged at his lips.
"You're late," Kaito said simply, closing his book and setting it aside. He picked up his chopsticks and took a bite of sashimi.
Obi dropped into the seat across from him with a grin. "Good to see you too, pal," he said, giving Kaito a firm handshake before popping open his bento box. "Man, I nearly died getting here."
Kaito raised a brow. "You say that every morning."
"Doesn't make it any less true."
Kaito exhaled, brushing a bit of rice off his sleeve. "Anyway, I need to tell you something I read this morning. It's… strange."
Obi groaned, already chewing. "Lemme guess — serial killers are actually demons now, right?"
Kaito didn't even flinch. "There's a pattern, Obi. Multiple sightings, same kind of mutilation, same symbols left behind—"
"Bro," Obi said, pointing at him with his chopsticks, "you're gonna find a way to link everything to demons. Earthquakes? Demons. Weird weather? Demons. My late homework? Definitely demons."
Kaito remained perfectly serious. "There's more truth to it than you think."
"Sure," Obi muttered, taking another bite of rice. "Hoaxes happen all the time. Urban legends get juiced up by forums, faked photos, bored teenagers. Whatever rows your boat, man."
Kaito leaned back slightly, unconvinced but unbothered. Obi, meanwhile, glanced down at the book Kaito had been reading earlier. The cover was a deep crimson, with an unsettling design — a stitched, laughing mouth stretched wide across the front. In the center of the mouth was a single, red-and-black eye, staring back at him. Above it, in elegant kanji, was the word: "Consume."
"Okay, creepy," Obi said, squinting at the book. "What are you reading?"
"Oh, this?" Kaito held it up. "It's written by a guy who claims he survived an attack by one of the serial killers. Said he saw things that weren't human. Demons. Spirits. Whatever."
Obi raised a brow. "Let me guess — he goes nuts at the end?"
"Pretty much." Kaito flipped the book around to show him a page. "He started ranting about a 'Nameless King' before they had to institutionalize him. I'm just trying to understand his mind before it unraveled."
Obi shook his head and snorted, poking at a piece of tamagoyaki with his chopsticks. "You need new hobbies, man."
Kaito gave a half-smile. "You'll thank me when we're the only two left alive."
"I'll take my chances," Obi said with a mouthful of rice, grinning.
The cafeteria buzzed on around them, but at their table, the conversation settled into comfortable silence — one boy with his wild theories, the other just happy to have made it to lunch without collapsing.
---
After lunch, the cafeteria slowly emptied out, students trailing out in pairs or groups, their chatter fading down the halls. Obi snapped his lunchbox shut with a satisfied sigh, leaning back in his seat.
"Alright," he said, stretching his arms above his head. "Time to burn off all this food. Tennis courts are calling my name."
Kaito adjusted his glasses, picking up his book again. "You mean you're gonna run around in the sun and hit a ball like a maniac."
Obi grinned. "Exactly. It's called exercise, Kaito. You should try it sometime. Might add a little color to those ghost cheeks."
Kaito didn't even blink. "And you might try sitting still and using your brain for once."
"Tried that," Obi said, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "Didn't like it. Gave me a headache."
He started walking toward the exit, then paused to glance back at his friend. "You coming to watch me dominate the court?"
"I'd rather spend an hour in the library with a cursed book whispering ancient threats into my ear," Kaito replied flatly, standing up and brushing crumbs off his pants.
"So… same difference."
"Exactly."
They parted ways at the end of the hallway — Obi headed outside toward the sunlit courts, while Kaito made his way toward the cool, quiet sanctuary of the library.
---
Different places. Different paces. But in their own ways, both Obi and Kaito were exactly where they belonged.
---
The sky was painted in soft shades of orange and pink as the sun dipped below the rooftops, casting long shadows along the sidewalk. School was finally out, and a cool breeze rolled through the streets as Obi and Kaito strolled past the school gates, their backpacks slung lazily over one shoulder.
Obi kicked a stray pebble down the path and glanced over at his friend.
"So, you wanna hit the arcade later?" he asked casually. "My curfew's at nine, so we've got time."
Kaito pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, clearly hesitant. "I don't know, man... I've been reading some stuff. Weird stuff. Maybe we should just head home."
Obi groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Kai, c'mon. You've gotta stop reading horror forums at 2 a.m. Demons don't exist. You'll be fine. We'll be fine."
Kaito narrowed his eyes, not entirely convinced. "I'm just saying there've been some strange reports lately..."
"Alright, alright," Obi cut in with a dramatic sigh. "How about this—before we go to the arcade, we'll stop by that diner you love. My treat. Extra fries, even."
Kaito paused, clearly tempted. "The one with the caramel milkshakes?"
"The very same."
A grin tugged at Kaito's lips. "Deal."
They bumped fists, sealing the agreement as the streetlights flickered to life around them. The night was still young, and for now, all that mattered was friendship, food, and a few rounds at the claw machine.
---
The neon sign of Momo's Diner buzzed above them as Obi and Kaito slid into a booth by the window. The smell of grease, grilled meat, and syrupy soda hung in the air like a warm blanket.
Obi stretched, cracking his knuckles. "I've been thinking about this cheeseburger all day."
"You always are," Kaito said, flipping through the menu he didn't need.
The waitress came by, and they ordered—Obi with his triple cheeseburger and fries, Kaito with teriyaki noodles and a caramel milkshake.
"So," Obi leaned forward, tapping the table, "still thinking demons are real?"
Kaito gave him a look. "Just saying… a lot of strange things are happening. That book I showed you? The author went insane. Talked about a 'Nameless King'—feeds on fear."
"Sounds like someone needs a hug," Obi said, taking a long sip of his soda. "Or a cheeseburger."
Kaito smirked. "You'll be laughing until one shows up and bites your face off."
"Then I'll throw this burger at it and run."
Their food arrived, and they ate in easy silence for a moment.
"You sure you're okay walking around late?" Kaito asked between sips of milkshake.
"It's Shibuya," Obi shrugged. "City never sleeps. Plus, if anything does happen, I got you."
"With ketchup on your hands?"
"Battle armor."
They both laughed. Obi stood, grabbing his tray. "Ready to lose at air hockey?"
Kaito slurped the last of his milkshake. "Only if you're ready to get crushed at Galaga."
They bumped fists, stepped out into the city night, and headed for the arcade—unaware of the chill creeping into the air behind them.
---
The arcade buzzed with life—flashing lights, digital explosions, and the rapid clack of buttons. Obi and Kaito had bounced from game to game for nearly two hours, their laughter echoing between the whir of machines and upbeat music.
At 8:45 PM, Kaito checked his watch, then gave Obi a nudge. "Dude. You've got fifteen minutes left. You know your mom's gonna kill you if you're late."
Obi groaned, still gripping the joystick of a claw machine. "Ugh, fine. But I'm not leaving without getting something for Haru."
He focused, lined up the claw, and snagged a small brown teddy bear with a crooked smile. The machine dropped it into the prize chute with a soft thud. Obi grabbed it, holding it up triumphantly.
"Boom. Best big brother award secured."
Kaito smirked. "You're lucky you're fast. Now run."
Obi turned to him, grin softening. "Thanks for tonight, Kai."
"Yeah, yeah. Go before you get grounded for life."
They bumped fists, and Obi slipped out of the arcade, the cool night air greeting him as the doors shut behind him.
He jogged through the glowing streets of Shibuya, the city still alive with chatter and neon. But a few blocks in, something shifted.
The hairs on his arms prickled.
He slowed down.
The scent hit him first—acrid smoke, thick ash… and something foul, like rotting eggs. Sulfur. Then came another, heavier smell: blood. Iron and wet earth.
Obi's breath caught in his throat.
Something was wrong. Very wrong.
Then, faintly, he heard it—the subtle crackle of fire, distant but growing louder, hungry. Consuming.
"No…" he whispered, eyes wide.
His feet moved before he could think. He clutched the teddy bear tight and bolted toward his street, heart pounding, dread curling in his stomach like a coiled beast.
Each step brought the smoke closer, thicker. And in his bones, he knew—
Something terrible was waiting at home.
---
As Obi rounded the final corner, his sneakers skidded against the pavement.
His breath caught.
The world around him seemed to slow—colors dimming, sounds dulling.
His house…
It was engulfed in flames.
A roaring inferno devoured the structure from the inside out, windows shattering as black smoke billowed into the evening sky. Wood cracked and groaned, the roof caving in with a thunderous crash.
Obi staggered forward a step, his eyes wide in disbelief.
His knees buckled.
The teddy bear he'd bought for his brother slipped from his grasp and hit the ground with a soft thud.
He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out—only a silent gasp.
His chest felt tight, his limbs frozen.
His blood ran cold.
He stood there, trembling, helpless, watching everything he knew burn.