Dim light clung to Shin, pooling over his slumped frame. The splintered chair bit into his arms. Each breath came slower—shallow, uneven.
He noticed it too.
"Am I dying?" His eyes fluttered, heavy with dark rings. Each blink burned.
"I can't keep them open… should I just let it happen? I can't do anything now. Yes… I should rest. There's no escaping this place… no other way out."
His gaze blurred, the world melting into shadow.
The weight behind his eyes crushed him. Slowly, they shut.
Darkness pressed in.
For a while, there was nothing—no sound, no air, no pain.
And then…
Something changed.
The stifling heat of the room was gone. No ropes dug into his wrists.
A soft breeze brushed against his skin, carrying the faint scent of water. Sunlight spilled across his face in gentle strokes.
And then—
A voice, brimming with energy, broke the quiet.
"Shin! Look, look! I think I've caught something!"
Shin's eyelids fluttered open.
A lake stretched out before him, water glittering under the sunlight. For a second, his mind lagged—puzzled by the sudden change. He turned his head and saw a boy, probably around nine or ten years old, gripping a wooden fishing rod and leaning back, struggling to pull something in.
Shin's brow knitted tight.
"Is that… Azuma-san?"
His eyes snapped down to his hands—small, delicate, almost like a child's. Not the hands of a fifteen-year-old.
His breath caught, lodged in his throat.
My fingers… they're whole.
Smooth. Perfect.
A cold shock tightened his chest. Disbelief clawed at him like claws on bare skin.
He leaned closer, staring into the lake's surface.
His reflection stared back—no older than ten.
Before he could process it further, Azuma's voice called again—more urgent this time.
"What are you doing staring at the lake? Come help me pull this, or it'll get away!"
Shin blinked, shaking his head to clear it.
"Ah—okay!"
Shin ran over to Azuma, grabbed the rod, and pulled alongside him.
Was it all a dream? The room… the man…
He tightened his grip, fingers whole but pulsing with phantom pain. Lips stung from bruises, every punch still echoing.
If it was a dream, why does it still hurt?
Azuma grunted, struggling against the pull.
"What are you doing? Pull harder! Didn't you eat anything this morning?"
Shin gritted his teeth and pulled with all his strength. Just as the catch seemed within reach, the wooden rod snapped with a sharp crack. The sudden release of tension sent both boys tumbling backward into the grass.
Shin exhaled in frustration.
"Agh… I thought I'd catch one this time."
Azuma rolled over, facing him.
"What's with you today? You were spacing out."
Shin's voice was quieter now, almost absent-minded.
"I guess… I just saw a bad dream. A really bad one."
"Really?" Azuma tilted his head, then looked down at the broken rod in his hands. "I should just buy a metal one. These wooden rods are useless."
Shin thought to himself, "So… they really were all just dreams."
Azuma's laughter faded, replaced by a sudden stillness. His playful smile slipped away, eyes sharpening.
"Shin…" His voice dropped, low and steady, carrying an edge that didn't belong before.
"Do you know what real pain feels like?"
Shin's breath hitched.
"…What?"
Azuma's gaze pinned him in place, unblinking and cold. Each word came slow, deliberate.
"Do you know how dying feels?"
Before Shin could answer, everything shifted.
The warmth of the sun vanished. Shadows swallowed the world. Moonlight spilled through a canopy of trees overhead, painting the ground in silver. The lake was gone. The air was damp, still.
Shin's pulse quickened.
"What's… happening?"
His gaze drifted toward the clearing, where moonlight pooled in a perfect circle. The sight froze him—breath caught, heart pounding—
A sharp click cut through the silence.
Kenjiro sat hunched forward on the worn leather sofa, the glow from a single bulb casting deep shadows across his face. A half-burnt cigarette smoldered in the ashtray beside him as he pressed the phone to his ear.
"We've been torturing the kid for hours," Kenjiro said, his voice low but edged with frustration. "Still not opening his mouth about where he's kept the Gaiden Card."
The voice on the other end answered without hesitation, each word clipped and cold.
"You've already wasted more than twenty-four hours, Mr. Yamazaki. We can't afford to wait much longer. Make that kid spit out the location of the card—fast."
Kenjiro's brow twitched, irritation bleeding into his tone.
"Do you have any idea what I'm doing here? I'm putting the lives of all my men—and my own—on the line. The only reason I'm even doing this is because I owe your father a debt. If it weren't for that, I wouldn't even think about kidnapping someone who's being hunted by both the government and the criminals."
The voice replied without a shred of sympathy.
"That's not my problem you see. We need the Gaiden Card. Whether you're alive or not isn't my concern. You have thirty-six hours. If you can't get any information by then… I'm sure your name will be at the top of the assassination list in no time."
Kenjiro's jaw tightened.
"Tch…"
He ended the call—not slamming the phone down, but setting it on the table with controlled force. Then, without a word, he reached for a cigarette, stuck it between his lips, and lit it himself.
The first drag burned hot in his chest. He exhaled slowly, the smoke curling into the stagnant air.
His gaze shifted to the man standing nearby.
"Did the kid say anything about the card?"
The man shook his head.
"No, sir."
Kenjiro released a sharp breath through his nose, smoke spilling from his mouth.
"Prepare the car. Tell everyone we're leaving this place. We can't afford to keep that kid in one place for too long."
The man frowned.
"But why, sir? This is an underground basement—there are twenty guards posted outside. There's no way anyone could get in."
Kenjiro's glare cut through the room. His voice snapped like a whip.
"Just do the goddamn thing."
The man flinched at the sudden edge in his tone.
"Y–yes, sir."
He left quickly, leaving Kenjiro alone with the haze of cigarette smoke and the faint, gnawing silence.
The same man who had been speaking with Kenjiro earlier walked down the dark hall and finally reached Kazuki.
"Hey, Kazuki. Bring the kid outside. We're leaving."
Haruki frowned.
"Wait… why?"
The man's voice was flat, no patience left.
"We're leaving this place. Sir said it might be too dangerous to keep the kid here for much longer."
Haruki nodded slowly, then walked toward the door and reached for the handle. The man stepped out first, and Kazuki pulled the door open.
The dim basement air seemed to shiver as the door swung wide.
Cold night spilled in, the scent of damp earth riding the breeze. The sound of cicadas faded, replaced by the muffled thud of movement outside.
Under the pale moonlight, another Shin knelt over a boy pinned to the dirt. His fingers locked around the boy's throat, knuckles white, his face contorted with rage—eyes burning with something wild and unhuman.
Shin's eyes widened. The boy beneath was Azuma.
He spun around—Azuma stood beside him, silent, watching.
When Shin's gaze snapped back, the other Azuma was still on the ground, clutching at Shin's hands as they tightened around his throat. Small tears streaked down his face, the desperate glimmer of someone fighting to survive.
"That… that's not me," Shin whispered, his voice trembling like a frayed thread about to snap.
Azuma stood in the half-light, his presence almost too still, too heavy to be real. His words slid out smooth, but each syllable cut.
"That's you. Look at those eyes—boiling with rage. That's you… killing me."
Shin's gaze locked on the figure before him. The world around them warped at the edges—walls bending, shadows breathing like living things.
"No… no, this isn't real." Shin's voice cracked, trembling.
"I was in that room, tied to that chair… tortured."
He swallowed hard, eyes wild, breath ragged.
"That wasn't a dream—this is! This is a nightmare!"
Desperation clawed at him like fire.
He raised his hand and slapped his own face—hard.
The sting bloomed instantly, sharp and raw against his skin.
But the darkness didn't break.
He blinked, panic rising.
"I just have to wake up. Yes… wake up!"
Again, he struck himself—slap—sharp, real pain.
But the shadows clung tighter, suffocating.
His heartbeat thundered in his ears as he gasped—caught between two worlds, trapped in a nightmare that refused to end.