The city is crowded, yet the air feels silent.
The people rush to their destinations, yet their steps hesitate mid-motion.
…
A woman laughs with her friends, but her face empties the moment her friends look away.
The billboard loops an actor's bright smile, yet the next frame shows him wiping off his tears.
…
Kenshi walks through the crowded streets of Tokyo, skyscraper screens flashing faces he doesn't care to remember. A small group of entertainers sings for loose change. People gather around them, clapping until their hands redden.
Sheep…
He slows his pace. I need a quiet place to read.
A statue ahead portrays two figures holding hands, some symbol of unity. He pauses for a moment.
Bonding? Not in this age.
The book in his briefcase weighs lightly against his side: The Faculty of Our Perfect World. He bought it earlier this afternoon. A plain coal-black bookmark slips between its first pages.
Walking toward his reading bench, he stumbles upon a classmate he doesn't want to encounter. He avoids the confrontation by taking a different pathway, turning his head so the classmate won't recognize him.
Not another hindrance. No time.
He walks toward the bench he always uses when he reads. He opens the book and flips it over, eyes scanning the text on the back.
"Intentions are based on people's ideals."
Interesting."So it's a book about intentions… I'm already hooked."
"If you are reading this book, have you ever considered your worldview as the definitive right one? If you already have an answer to that question, I want you to keep reminding yourself to actively search for it while turning each page. You may discover what truth lies within your own thesis."~ Hinachi Yota
The writer's name is Hinachi Yota— a famous author who has never revealed the reason he made this book.
Now that I'm thinking about it, he never published his face.
Hidden identity..? Why the secrecy? What are you trying to prove?
Suddenly a flicker of movement catches his eye from the right. A small electronics store is broadcasting a live news report, the screen glowing beside the river.
Explosions. Smoke. Soldiers running through a ruined street. A war he's never seen, in a country he's never been to.
The anchor's voice trembles with urgency—but her face doesn't.
She smiles. Wide. Bright. Creepy.
Her tone rises cheerfully as buildings collapse behind her.
Keeps smiling… even through this? Is she just following her script?
The crowd near the store barely reacts. A few even chuckle, assuming the broadcast is staged entertainment.
Kenshi looks away.
Stop getting distracted, Kenshi. You should read further—and faster—or you'll be late for class.
While he reads, a line catches his attention.
"If humankind acted upon its initial thoughts, would the world become truthful? Or would it fall into chaos?"
What a question. My initial answer would be—
Suddenly, a man bumps into Kenshi, knocking him off the bench and onto the ground.
"Are you alright, sir? You must have hurt yourself. Let me help you."
Kenshi reaches out his hand—
but the man instantly pulls back, panics, and sprints away.
''What's with him?''
Huh… he dropped something. A gun.
I won't pick it up. It could be used with the wrong intentions. If I touch it, it'll look like it belonged to me.
Should I bring it to an officer? They'd take it from me—but of course they'd interrogate me first.
Kenshi calmly picks up his book from the dark brown leaves. His expression tightens, confused, scanning the area.The man is still running, panicking at the far end of the street. It takes only a few seconds before he trips a second time. While scrambling back to his feet, the man glances over his shoulder—straight at Kenshi.
Why is he looking at me with that much fear in his eyes… as if I'm the last person he wants to be seen by?
Kenshi checks his black vintage watch, worried on how late it is. He turns his head to the left just in time to see the man leap into the path of a moving bus.
"What…?"He jumped intentionally…
What's the matter with him? Was he running away from someone? And why did he keep looking at me? As if he wanted to show me his suicide attempt…
Kenshi stares blankly at the scene. A wide crowd surrounds the bus that hit the man. Blood spreads across the ground, the driver recoiling the moment the vehicle comes to a stop. The driver snaps at the man he hit, but there's no response from the critically injured man.
I feel numb to this for some reason. It's as if I didn't see it happen just now.
"Sir, did you see that?" Kenshi asks.
"No, but I'm sad I couldn't see it. Would have been exciting to see something like that," the man responds with a smirk.
What is wrong with this guy?
How is it that we humans sometimes seem to search for pain just to entertain ourselves?
It's odd, if I think about it. But I sort of relate to what he said. For some reason, I'm glad I saw it—I can reflect on my reaction. Maybe I should've reacted more intensely.
The injured man suddenly crawls to the other side of the road. This road is still active. The man peeks to his left, waiting for the next car to drive his way. He leans his head forward and starts screaming.
"GOD, SAVE ME. SAVE ME FROM MY FINAL JUDGEMENT! "His voice trembles with panic, eyes wide, pupils dilated, as if the very sight of Kenshi could be the end of him.
For a moment, time stretches, waiting for the inevitable. And then, with a twist of fate, he throws one last glance toward Kenshi — a fleeting moment before his fate is sealed. The man laughs—a hollow, manic sound—his lips curling into a final, eerie grin. A last expression of insanity and defiance, before the world turns to black.
In that instant, a car speeds by, its engine roaring like a bell announcing death. Before Kenshi can even blink, the man's head is severed, disappearing in a flash.
A silence appeared out of the blue.