Bang.
The gunshot split the air.
A blinding white flash — then silence.
Kaizen's body jerked backward as if the world itself had pushed him away.
Time cracked, Sound stretched thin.
Blood trailed through the air like red threads dissolving into shattered glass.
And then— Nothing.
Scene Cut
Earlier — Present Time
The alarm buzzed at 7:00 A.M.
Tokyo sunlight spilled into the apartment, soft and indifferent, as Kaizen zipped his suitcase shut.
The sound echoed louder than it should have.
His face was calm.
But his eyes carried a weight no award, no audience, no success had ever managed to lift.
Lyra adjusted her jacket and studied him carefully.
"You don't have to go," she said softly. "If it's too much—"
Kaizen shook his head.
"They were still my friends," he replied. "I'll go."
The sentence landed heavy, like a promise carved into stone.
Lyra nodded once.
"I'll come with you."
He didn't thank her.
He didn't need to.
The flight to India was long And silent.
Kaizen stared out of the airplane window as clouds drifted past, vast and unreachable.
Each one felt like a memory he had once touched — and then lost.
Funny, he thought.
From up here, the world looks peaceful.
From down there, it keeps breaking people.
He closed his eyes.
For a moment, the red flicker returned behind his eyelids.
India
The air was heavy — thick with heat, smoke, and incense.
Kaizen stood beside the funeral pyres, the sound of chanting echoing faintly like a distant tide.
Flames rose, hungry and unashamed, turning bodies into ash — turning people into memories.
He said nothing.
He pressed his palms together, eyes half-closed.
As the fire burned, faces flooded his mind.
Flashback
A classroom filled with afternoon sunlight.
Simi sat on the desk, legs swinging, holding a rough notebook filled with crooked panels.
"These are bad," she said bluntly.
Kaizen froze.
Then she smiled.
"But they're honest And honesty is rare."
Manajit leaned over his shoulder.
"If you ever get famous, don't forget us," he joked.
Kaizen had laughed back then.
"I won't," he said. "Stories don't forget their beginning."
Another flash.
Three of them under a broken streetlight, arguing about science exams and manga endings.
"You always kill characters," Manajit complained.
"Because life does," Kaizen replied.
Simi punched his arm lightly.
"Then promise you'll keep drawing, Even if it hurts."
Kaizen had nodded.
"I promise."
The flames snapped loudly.
Reality returned.
Lyra stood a step behind him, silent, respectful.
For the first time, she noticed the cracks beneath his composure —
the slight tremble in his fingers
the way his breath hesitated
the way grief tried to escape but had nowhere to go.
Kaizen stepped forward and released a single white flower into the river.
It floated for a second.
Then drifted away.
"Goodbye," he whispered — so quietly it almost didn't exist.
After the ceremony, Kaizen met Manajit outside the cremation ground.
Manajit looked older.
Thinner.
Like someone who had survived something he wasn't supposed to.
When he saw Kaizen, he smiled faintly.
"Still the same face," he said.
Kaizen studied him for a moment, then replied,
"You too. Just less hair."
They both laughed, Soft, Brief.
The kind of laughter that doesn't chase sadness away — it just sits beside it.
Lyra joined them, and the three began walking along the old road.
Dust rose with every step.
They talked about school days.
Old drawings.
Failed experiments.
Dreams that once felt infinite.
For a moment — just a moment — life felt almost normal.
Then— Bang.
The sound tore through the street.
Time froze.
Kaizen turned.
A man stood at the far end of the road, gun raised, eyes wild with something between rage and obsession.
"You ruined it!" the man screamed.
"You ruined the story!"
The world fractured.
Another gunshot.
Pain bloomed in Kaizen's chest like a dying star.
Blood spilled.
The sky tilted.
As he fell backward, one thought surfaced — calm, terrifyingly clear.
So this is how horizons break.
Darkness swallowed him.
And somewhere beyond sight,
something inside Kaizen finally opened its eyes.
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