Chapter 1
The alarm buzzed.
It wasn't loud. It wasn't urgent. It was that soft, irritating hum that doesn't scream at you but somehow worms its way into your skull and makes your chest feel tight. I sat up on my small mattress, the springs groaning beneath me as I rubbed my eyes and took in the same familiar sight. My room was quiet. Too quiet. Just four grey walls, a ceiling stained brown from years of leaking rain, and the soft, oppressive hum of nothing. There was no laughter here. No one to wish me good morning. There was only the cold air and the crushing weight of another meaningless day.
My hand fumbled for the small table beside my mattress, searching for my glasses, and of course, I knocked over the stack of unpaid bills. The papers fluttered to the floor like dying leaves. Water bill. Power bill. Rent. Each one was overdue. Each one screamed the same thing at me—I was sinking, and the water was already at my neck.
"Great," I muttered to myself, the word tasting like ash in my mouth. I finally put on my glasses and stared at the mess. "Another perfect start to a perfect day."
I'm thirty-five. Tired, broken, and utterly invisible. I'm a data entry clerk for a local firm that probably has me listed as "Employee #7" because no one has ever bothered to remember my name. Every single morning, I wake up clutching this tiny, stupid flicker of hope that something, anything, has changed. That maybe, just maybe, my life will finally start to mean something. But instead, I only ever wake up to this deafening silence.
I dragged my body to the tiny sink in the corner of the room. No toothpaste left. Just the last bit of soap and a cracked mirror that barely reflected the man I used to be. My hair was a wreck, my face was hollow, and my eyes… my eyes looked like they had forgotten what sleep, or even joy, felt like.
I stared into that cracked reflection for a long time.
"Still here, huh?" I whispered.
No one answered. Of course, no one ever did.
Outside, the city of Hakodate was wearing its usual colors—grey skies, grey buildings, and the grey, tired faces of people rushing through their joyless routines. We all walked past each other like shadows, ghosts in our own lives. No one smiled. No one cared.
I stepped out of the apartment, locking the door behind me with a soft, final-sounding click. The hallway smelled of mildew. I could hear someone down the hall arguing with their partner again. A baby was crying in another apartment. The world just kept moving, even when my heart felt like it had stopped beating long ago.
I reached the bus stop and waited under the miserable drizzle. It wasn't raining hard enough to need an umbrella, but just enough to make my clothes stick uncomfortably to my skin. I hated that feeling more than anything.
An elderly woman stood beside me. She glanced at me for a single, fleeting moment before her eyes slid away, as if looking at me was too much effort. It feels like even strangers can't be bothered with kindness anymore.
By the time I got to work, I already felt completely drained. My clothes were damp, my shoes were soaked, and my spirit felt numb. The office was just a box filled with the sound of keyboards and people who never looked up from their screens.
"Morning," I said as I walked past my coworkers.
No one replied.
I sat at my desk, opened the computer, and began typing in endless rows of meaningless numbers. Hour after hour. Click after click. Time passed, but nothing inside me moved at all.
During lunch, I sat alone. I always did. I didn't even eat. I just stared out the window and watched the clouds drift by.
There was a girl I liked once. Her name was Aika. She used to work in the building across the street, and sometimes, I'd see her smile through the window. That smile… it used to warm something deep inside me, something I thought had long gone cold. I always told myself that one day I'd finally walk over there. I'd talk to her. Ask her name. Ask her out on a date. But that day never came.
She left her job months ago. I still look at that empty window every day.
Maybe I was just lonely. God, was I lonely. Maybe I just wanted someone to see me. To really, truly see me.
After work, my boss handed me a brown envelope.
"You forgot this," the man said coldly, as if I were a piece of furniture.
I opened it slowly. My hands began to shake. Inside was a copy of my eviction notice. I had known it was coming, but seeing it in print—seeing the date stamped in stark red ink—felt like being kicked hard in the chest.
"You have three days to vacate," it said.
I didn't respond. I just nodded, turned, and left the building.
By the time I reached home, the sun had disappeared, though it had never truly shined to begin with. My steps were slow. Heavy. It felt like I was walking underwater. When I entered my apartment, I didn't even bother turning on the lights. I just sat down on the floor, my back against the cold wall, and let the darkness sit with me like an old friend.
"Why?" I whispered into the suffocating silence. "Why does life hate me this much?"
There was no answer. There never was.
I thought about calling someone. But I had no one left. My parents were gone. My friends had all drifted away years ago. And the girl I once dreamed about from across the street didn't even know my name.
I leaned my head back and stared at the ceiling. The cracks spreading across it looked like old, tired veins. Dry. Brittle. Just like me.
I didn't cry. I don't think I even remember how anymore.
An hour passed. Maybe more. I don't know. Then I stood up, changed into clean clothes, and walked out again. My steps were slow, but for the first time all day, they felt determined.
I didn't know where I was going. I just walked. Through the streets, past the blur of neon lights and late-night stores. I stopped at a bar near the station. One I hadn't been to in a long, long time.
The bartender recognized me.
"Rough day?" he asked, placing a glass in front of me without me having to ask.
I laughed. It was a dry, broken sound. "The usual."
I took a sip. Then another. And another. I didn't drink to forget. I drank to feel something. Anything at all.
A couple laughed in the corner booth. A girl was celebrating her birthday over by the jukebox. People lived. People smiled. But none of it could reach me. I was trapped behind some invisible wall.
I stared down at the glass in my hand and whispered, "I just wanted a different life. Something more."
The bartender overheard and gave me a sad, knowing look.
"Don't we all?"
I left the bar just after midnight. The streets were empty now. The sky was still heavy with clouds that refused to break. I walked slowly, like a man with nowhere to go.
And maybe that was the truth.
As I crossed the road near my apartment, my thoughts began to wander. I remembered my childhood. The nights I spent praying for a family that loved me. The dreams I once had. The promises I made to myself when I was just a boy.
"I'll make something of myself. I won't be forgotten."
But here I was. Alone. Broke. Invisible.
I didn't see the truck.
There was just a blinding flash. A sound like thunder splitting the world apart. Then nothing.
Everything went black.
And just like that, my story in Hakodate ended.
But somewhere far beyond that grey city, in a world of fire, wind, and spirit, something ancient stirred.
Something was beginning.