She looked tired—no, not merely tired, but drained in a way that sleep alone could never fix. There was a heaviness clinging to her presence, subtle yet unmistakable, as though her energy had been slowly leeched away over time rather than spent all at once. Mentally exhausted, emotionally dulled, she carried herself with a restraint that unsettled him. The woman standing before him felt quieter, more withdrawn, lacking the easy extroversion she had worn so naturally the last time they met. It was as if something within her had folded inward, deliberately concealed behind a thin, fragile calm.
He noticed it all—the way her eyes lingered a fraction longer on nothing in particular, the muted cadence of her breathing, the absence of that familiar spark. The observation sat uncomfortably in his chest, stirring a vague concern he couldn't quite rationalize. Eventually, the silence pressed too hard against him, urging him to fill it.
"Are you perhaps not having a good day?" he asked, his voice cautious, almost tentative, as though he feared disturbing something delicate.
The question didn't fully rouse her. It only drew her gaze toward him, slow and measured, before she responded with a tone that tried—too hard—to sound energetic.
"Eh? Nope. Today is quite a good day for me!" she said, forcing a lightness that didn't quite reach her eyes. "I was just… not getting enough sleep."
Yet even as she spoke, she sighed inwardly, the effort evident in the way her shoulders subtly tensed. When she spoke again, the emotion beneath her words slipped through despite her composure. Her expression turned calm—cold, even—but laced with an unmistakable strain.
"You really gave me a hard time by not sleeping before eleven."
What?
The sentence struck him completely off guard. He froze, staring at her blankly, his thoughts scattering as if the world had skipped a beat. For a few seconds, he could only stand there, stunned, before words finally forced their way out of him.
"Y-you… know?"
His mind spiraled instantly.
How would she know something like that?
Is she involved too?
Me, Mr. Riot, my family… her—what exactly is this world I'm standing in?
The foundation of his understanding trembled, reality itself suddenly feeling thin, questionable, as though it might peel away if he stared too hard. The uncertainty gnawed at him, demanding answers he didn't yet have.
"Who really are you?" he asked at last, the question slipping out more like a plea than an accusation. He needed clarity—needed something to anchor his curiosity before it turned into unease.
Sarah Wayne responded with a smirk, one sharp with confidence and quiet provocation. Her eyes glinted with something daring, almost amused, as she offered him a vague answer.
"A traveler, perhaps?"
Traveler?
That didn't soothe his curiosity—it worsened it. The word only deepened the mystery, leaving him more disoriented than before.
What does she mean by that?
Is she playing with me? Or is this her way of telling the truth without telling it at all?
She shifted her posture then, straightening before bending slightly forward, one hand lifting to rest beneath her chin while the other loosely held her upper arm. The stance was casual yet deliberate, thoughtful yet probing. Her gaze locked onto his, unblinking, as though she were studying something hidden beneath his surface.
"By the way," she added calmly, "your mental strength is quite low—especially for a half-mortal."
The words hit him harder than anything else she had said.
Half-mortal?
Confusion flooded his thoughts, sharper and colder than before. The term echoed in his mind, forcing him to confront a realization that unsettled him deeply: she knew something about him—something fundamental—perhaps more than he knew about himself.
Instead of offering further explanation, she continued speaking, her voice calm yet edged with something unreadable.
"Also," she said, her gaze steady on him, "you can sense someone's emotions, their feelings. But tell me—are you also able to sense a person's condition?"
Ryu didn't answer immediately. In truth, he didn't know how to. The question forced him inward, stirring a quiet realization he had never properly named before. He could do what she described—he had felt it countless times, that subtle awareness of exhaustion, distress, or imbalance within others—but he had never consciously acknowledged it, much less understood it as an ability. Words failed him, so he simply nodded once, slowly.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized how far he had drifted from his original purpose. He had come into this store for something simple—to buy food, to eat, to ground himself in something ordinary. Yet now, that intention felt distant, almost absurd, overshadowed by the weight of the conversation unfolding before him. How did it end up like this? he wondered, unsettled by how easily his reality had been pulled off course.
After noticing his nod, she continued, her tone measured, almost instructional.
"That ability isn't particularly rare when it comes to natural-born traits," she explained. "However, the one I'm referring to isn't merely sensing emotions that resemble your own. It's the ability to perceive emotions as they truly are—separate from yourself." She paused briefly, letting the words sink in. "In other words, what you possess is far more refined."
Her gaze softened just slightly before sharpening again with intent.
"And tell me," she added, "are you curious as to why I'm tired?"
Ryu didn't answer verbally, but his body did. He took a few slow steps forward until he stood near the counter, positioning himself as though he were ready to pay for whatever items he had picked up earlier—if he could even remember what they were. He remained silent, but his presence there was enough. It was an answer in itself. He wanted to know.
"Well then," she said quietly, "I won't tell you everything." Her eyes narrowed with something between disbelief and concern. "Your mental level is far too low. Honestly, I can hardly believe it—especially considering that you're a half-mortal."
The term echoed again in his thoughts, unsettling, unanswered, but she didn't give him time to dwell on it.
"But to answer you," she continued, "last night, I was fighting an entity that entered this world after the barrier was cancelled." Her voice darkened, losing its casual edge. "Not just one—but many."
Ryu felt his breath hitch slightly.
"Fortunately, I wasn't alone in fighting them off," she said. "Unfortunately…" She paused, her expression tightening, "…they escaped."
The silence that followed felt heavy, charged with implications she didn't yet speak aloud. After a moment, she lifted her eyes to meet his, her gaze unwavering.
"So," she said slowly, deliberately,
"…we might need your help tonight."
Ryu didn't respond right away. Whatever words he might have offered felt inadequate, fragile against the weight of what she had just revealed. Instead, he let the silence settle between them, heavy but not hostile, as if acknowledging that this was a threshold neither of them could casually cross with small talk. He turned his attention back to the counter, finally remembering why he had come here in the first place—or at least trying to.
He placed the items down one by one: packaged food, a bottle of drink, things mundane enough to feel almost out of place after a conversation that had cracked open his understanding of the world. The soft thud of each item against the counter sounded unusually loud to him, grounding him in the present. This was real, he told himself. The counter was solid beneath his fingertips. The chill from the refrigerated bottle seeped into his palm. Ordinary sensations, clinging to him like anchors.
As she rang him up, he avoided her eyes. Not out of fear, but because he wasn't ready to see whatever knowing look might be waiting there. His thoughts were in disarray—entities, barriers, half-mortals, tonight. Each word replayed in his mind, overlapping, refusing to settle into anything coherent. He handed over the payment almost automatically, his movements practiced, detached, as though his body remembered how to function even when his mind lagged behind.
The transaction ended with a soft beep, an unremarkable sound that marked the conclusion of something deceptively simple. He gathered the bag, the thin plastic handles stretching slightly under the weight, and stepped back from the counter. For a brief moment, he hesitated, as if there was something else he was supposed to say—some question left unasked, some decision waiting to be made.
But nothing came.
So he turned away.
The door opened with a familiar chime as he pushed it, and a rush of outside air greeted him. Stepping out of the store, he felt the world resume its normal rhythm—cars passing by, distant voices, the quiet hum of a night that seemed entirely unaware of what lurked beneath its surface. The door closed behind him, cutting off the light and warmth of the store in an instant.
Ryu stood there for a moment, the bag hanging at his side, the drink inside still cold against his leg. He exhaled slowly, his breath fogging faintly in the air, and began to walk. Yet with every step away from the store, he knew one thing with unsettling certainty.
Tonight was no longer just another night.
***
Last night, just outside the college grounds, the digital clock on her dashboard glowed faintly in the darkness.
11:55 PM.
Sarah Wayne drove with one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting loosely against the door, her expression unreadable as the road stretched ahead of her. From the outside, it would have looked like she was simply heading home after a long day—unhurried, unremarkable, blending perfectly into the late-night calm. Yet beneath that surface ease, her thoughts churned with impatience, tightly coiled and sharp.
"Ha…" she muttered under her breath, a faint, humorless scoff escaping her lips.
"I need to meet that bastard…"
She eased the car to a turn, the familiar fluorescent glow of a local pharmacy coming into view. It was one of those places that never slept, its glass windows lit brightly against the surrounding darkness, a beacon for insomniacs, night-shift workers, and people who preferred not to be seen during the day. Sarah slowed, pulled into the parking lot, and cut the engine, sitting still for a moment longer than necessary.
She remembered clearly why she was here.
The pharmacy ran twenty-four hours, and she knew—because she always knew—that the person she was looking for worked the night shift. A timid-looking man, from what most people would assume at first glance. Messy hair that never quite settled, not long enough to be styled yet too unruly to behave, giving him a perpetually disheveled appearance. And yet, beneath that unassuming exterior was a body that didn't match expectations at all—tall, well-built, the kind of physique earned through discipline rather than vanity.
Through the glass, she spotted him.
He was moving behind the counter, restocking shelves, organizing medicine, doing all the quiet, repetitive tasks one would expect from a night-shift pharmacy worker. Ordinary. Predictable. Almost painfully mundane.
Sarah slipped her hands into the pockets of her coat as she stepped out of the car, the cool night air brushing against her skin. As she walked toward the entrance, her fingers curled around something small hidden in her palm. A tiny object, concealed completely from view, cool to the touch. She didn't look at it, didn't need to. Its presence alone was enough.
The automatic doors slid open with a soft mechanical sound.
The moment she stepped inside, his body reacted before his mind caught up.
He stiffened, shoulders tensing as if struck by an invisible jolt. When he turned and saw her standing there, his eyes widened slightly, panic flashing across his face before he hastily tried—and failed—to compose himself.
"S-Sarah—?!" he blurted out, voice cracking just enough to betray his nerves. He straightened awkwardly, fumbling with whatever he had been holding. "Y-you—what are you doing here?"
She stopped a short distance from the counter, her gaze fixed on him, unimpressed.
"Seriously?" she said flatly. "Stop acting like that. It's irritating."
Her tone wasn't loud, but it carried authority, the kind that made excuses shrivel before they could form. She spoke to him the way one would speak to someone they were far too familiar with to bother being polite.
He swallowed, shoulders dropping slightly as he forced himself to calm down. "Y-you could've at least called first," he said, trying to sound firm, though it didn't quite stick. "You can't just show up like this. I'm working."
Sarah tilted her head just a little, a faint, knowing smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
"And you're on night shift," she replied coolly. "Which means you're exactly where I expected you to be."
Her hand tightened subtly around the unseen object in her pocket as she stepped closer to the counter, the bright pharmacy lights reflecting off her eyes.
"I think it's happening…"
The words left her quietly, almost absentmindedly, as if she were speaking more to herself than to the man in front of her. There was no urgency in her tone, no dramatics—only a faint certainty that made the statement far more unsettling than panic ever could.
"What's happening?" he asked, genuinely confused. He didn't stop what he was doing, his hands continuing their routine motions as he organized items behind the counter, the mundane rhythm of work shielding him from whatever she had just implied.
For a brief moment, everything appeared normal.
Then the air shifted.
It was subtle—so subtle that most people would never notice it. The fluorescent lights didn't flicker, the shelves didn't shake, and there was no sudden noise to draw attention. Yet the atmosphere itself felt… off. Thicker. Uneasy. As though the space between objects had grown tense, stretched thin by an invisible pressure.
Sarah noticed immediately.
She stood perfectly still, her posture unchanged, her hands still tucked into her pockets. Without turning her head, without even moving her shoulders, her eyes slid to the side, scanning the pharmacy through her peripheral vision alone.
"I sensed a being," she said calmly. "Something otherworldly."
He frowned. "I don't feel anything like that," he replied, though his voice lacked confidence. Still, he humored her, casting a quick glance around the store. At first, there was nothing—just shelves, counters, reflective glass, the familiar sterility of a late-night pharmacy.
Then he looked again.
A bead of sweat formed along his temple.
The air felt wrong. He couldn't explain it, but his chest tightened, his breathing growing slightly uneven. The casual motions of his hands slowed, then stopped altogether. He swallowed, suddenly aware of the silence—too quiet, as if the room itself were holding its breath.
Sarah hadn't moved an inch.
Only he turned now, glancing over his shoulder, then spinning slowly to check behind him, eyes darting from corner to corner. Every shadow seemed deeper than it should have been, every reflection just a fraction too slow.
"I—I don't get it," he muttered, disbelief creeping into his voice. "Just a second ago, everything was normal. How does it change like that? All at once?"
She remained still, listening—not just to him, but to something far beyond the range of ordinary senses.
In her mind, a thought surfaced uninvited.
Maybe that guy finally slept past eleven.
The idea was fleeting, almost ironic, but it lingered long enough to connect itself to another realization. Her expression hardened ever so slightly.
"The barrier…" she murmured. "It must've been taken down. Or weakened. Something along those lines."
He paused, then nodded slowly. Understanding dawned on him—not fully, but enough. His shoulders loosened, the initial shock giving way to a cautious composure, though a trace of nervousness still clung to his movements.
Then he exhaled sharply, clicking his tongue in irritation.
"So this is an arrival," he said, raising his voice slightly as if complaining to the universe itself. "Of all places, why here?" He ran a hand through his messy hair, pacing once behind the counter. "Couldn't it have waited? At least give me some time to prepare mentally!"
The air remained tense.
And whatever had crossed over clearly had no intention of waiting.
"By the way," she said, her voice steady despite the growing tension, "I still haven't told you why I came to see you tonight."
Her posture remained firm and composed, as though the atmosphere pressing in around them had no authority over her. Yet the air itself had begun to thicken, heavy and resistant, clinging to the skin like an unseen weight. Without warning, a violent gust tore through the pharmacy, spiraling outward in chaotic currents. Lightweight items were ripped from shelves, medicine boxes skittered across the floor, and loose papers were swept into the air, caught in the sudden storm.
"Y-yes—then tell me! What is it?!" he shouted, panic finally breaking through his restraint. He lowered his stance instinctively, bracing himself, gripping the counter to keep from being dragged off balance by the force of the wind.
The air darkened rapidly.
In the span of a heartbeat, the space around them was swallowed by pitch-black turbulence, as though night itself had poured into the room. They were enveloped on all sides, unable to see the walls, the shelves, or even the entrance anymore. The only things that remained visible were the floor beneath their feet and the ceiling above them—solid, unmoving, unmistakably real.
They weren't being transported anywhere.
Whatever this was, it had come to them.
"Maybe…" Sarah shouted, her voice strained as she fought against the crushing pressure, yet oddly threaded with an unserious calm, "I'll tell you after this!"
"You're right!" he answered quickly, forcing the words out between clenched teeth.
Within seconds, the black wind surged closer, tightening its grasp, closing the distance like a living thing intent on swallowing them whole.
Before it could reach them, Sarah stepped forward.
She thrust her arm straight out toward the oncoming darkness, her stance unyielding. Her fingers spread wide, palm open and facing the violent current head-on, as if daring it to come closer.
It's an evil spirit, she realized instantly.
Light erupted from her palm.
It gathered first as a concentrated glow, then expanded into a circular formation, radiant and precise, etched with something unmistakably divine. The circle pulsed once—then grew larger, its brilliance intensifying as it pushed outward. The encroaching blackness recoiled, shrinking back as the light expanded, forcing it away inch by inch.
Boom!
The light detonated across the space, flooding the pharmacy with blinding brilliance. For several seconds, there was nothing but white—pure, overwhelming brightness that erased all sense of depth and direction.
Then, slowly, it faded.
The pharmacy returned to view, eerily intact yet unmistakably changed. Shelves were overturned, items scattered across the floor, signs rattling faintly from the aftermath. The air still hummed, carrying the residue of power that had just been unleashed.
The mess alone was proof enough.
But it wasn't over.
His instincts screamed before his mind could fully catch up.
"It's still around," he said, voice low but certain.
Sarah already knew.
Her ability never stopped tracking it, even when it withdrew from sight. The presence lingered, circling just beyond immediate perception, watching, waiting.
As for him, his instincts had finally sharpened. His ability had failed him at first—caught off guard by the suddenness of the attack, dulled by carelessness and surprise. But now, fully alert, he felt it too. The danger pressing in from somewhere unseen, coiled and patient.
They stood still, backs nearly aligned, both focusing outward rather than on each other.
Slowly, almost in unison, they turned.
Both of them faced the same direction.
That was where the presence was strongest.
That was where the danger waited, gathering itself for its next move.
"Is the partner you're working with here… still here?"
The question left Sarah's lips calmly, almost casually, yet beneath that composed tone was a sudden realization clicking into place. Her eyes remained fixed forward, her posture unchanged, but her attention sharpened all at once, as if a thread she had been unconsciously following had finally pulled taut.
The man beside her didn't answer.
Instead, a single word tore out of him, raw and unrestrained.
"Fuck."
The direction they were facing led to a narrow hallway branching into several back rooms—the kind every pharmacy had. Storage, staff rooms, preparation areas. Spaces meant to be unremarkable, functional, and safe. In that instant, memory struck him hard. There was someone else on the night shift with him. She had been around earlier. Close enough that he should have noticed. Close enough that he should have checked.
"I sensed another presence," Sarah said evenly, her voice steady despite the tightening air. "Not the same as that thing. This one feels mortal." She paused, then added, "I believe it's your night-shift partner."
The realization hit him like a physical blow.
He didn't hesitate.
In less than a second, his body surged forward, feet pounding against the floor as he sprinted down the hallway toward the point where the danger felt thickest, most concentrated. The air seemed to recoil as he moved through it. Almost simultaneously, Sarah appeared behind him, keeping pace with impossible ease, her presence as silent as a shadow.
They stopped in front of a door.
It led to one of the back rooms—a space designated for staff use during the night shift. He reached for the handle and pulled it open immediately, his instincts screaming louder than his thoughts.
The stench hit first.
A sickening, unmistakable odor of decay flooded his senses, forcing the breath from his lungs. His eyes widened as the room came into view, horror searing itself into his mind in an instant. A woman lay inside—the coworker he had shared the shift with. Her body was limp, lifeless, held unnaturally close by a black, smoke-like figure shaped vaguely like a human. It had no distinct features, no face, no substance, yet it mimicked the outline of a person through its warped presence alone.
Sarah felt it before she needed to look closer.
She sensed no life within the woman. Nothing warm. Nothing responsive. Just absence. Death.
Even without her perception, it was painfully obvious what had happened. The way the body hung, the unnatural stillness, the entity's possessive grip—it was clear that whatever stood before them was responsible. The man's hands curled into fists, his nails biting into his palms as rage surged through him, unfiltered and violent. A vein throbbed visibly on his forehead, his presence shifting so abruptly that even the entity reacted.
The black figure faltered.
Startled by the sudden change in pressure, it loosened its hold, the corpse slipping from its grasp as if the thing itself had sensed the danger too late.
It didn't get the chance to flee.
In a blur of motion, the man dashed forward, his body moving on pure instinct. He drove a powerful jab straight toward the entity, the strike forming in less than a second. As his fist cut through the air, a red light ignited around it—dense, concentrated, symbolic of raw strength given form.
The entity couldn't evade it.
The punch landed.
The moment his fist connected, the thing was seized by the force of the blow, dragged along with the impact as though weighed down by an overwhelming gravity. Though it had no eyes or mouth to display pain, the sheer violence of the hit was undeniable. Its form warped and stretched as it was hurled backward, smashing into the wall with a deafening crash.
The impact carved a massive crater into the surface, debris exploding outward as the black figure slammed into it, the wall fractured and broken under the sheer power of the strike.
The room fell into a stunned, heavy silence.
And the fight was far from over.