The alley was too narrow for mistakes.
Kuro pressed his back against the damp concrete wall, hoodie pulled low, rain dripping from the edge of the fabric onto the ground below. The city lights barely reached here. Neon signs flickered at the mouth of the alley, but inside it was shadow and silence—exactly where he needed to be.
A sharp mechanical hum passed overhead.
He froze.
A patrol unit hovered above the street, scanning. Red light washed briefly over the alley entrance, pausing, searching. Kuro slowed his breathing, forcing his pulse down. He didn't move. Didn't blink. He had learned the hard way that the system noticed panic faster than motion.
Seconds passed.
Then the light moved on.
Only after the hum faded into the distance did Kuro exhale.
He stayed still anyway.
Experience had taught him patience.
This wouldn't have happened…
If I hadn't made that mistake.
The thought came uninvited, as it always did. Sharp. Familiar.
That day… it all started there.
He didn't let himself think further. Thinking too much led to hesitation, and hesitation got people erased. He adjusted the strap of the small bag slung across his shoulder and slipped deeper into the shadows, boots silent against wet concrete.
Once, a long time ago, he had walked these streets without fear. Without counting cameras. Without memorizing blind spots.
Once, he had been normal.
The city above him continued to glow—clean, efficient, alive. Down here, in the cracks it pretended didn't exist, Kuro disappeared.
And with him, the memory of who he used to be.
The morning bell rang, sharp and familiar.
Kuro lifted his head from his desk, blinking as sunlight poured through the classroom windows. The sound of chatter filled the room immediately—complaints about homework, lazy jokes, someone arguing about a game update from last night.
"Oi, Kuro, you asleep again?"
He glanced to his left. His friend leaned over, grinning, already bored ten seconds into the day.
"I wasn't asleep," Kuro said, straightening slightly. "I was… thinking."
"That's worse," his friend replied without missing a beat.
Kuro sighed and leaned back in his chair. Same classroom. Same seat. Same cracked window near the back that never quite closed properly. He adjusted his tie lazily, white school shirt slightly wrinkled like always.
Nothing special.
That was how he liked it.
The teacher walked in, immediately launching into a lecture about attendance and exams. Kuro half-listened, pen tapping lightly against his notebook. His grades were fine. Not great. Not bad. Enough to keep everyone off his back.
He wasn't popular.
He wasn't invisible either.
He existed comfortably in the middle.
Normal.
During lunch, he sat with the same group, listening more than talking. The cafeteria buzzed softly, automated service units gliding between tables, screens overhead flashing public announcements and reminders about city regulations.
Report suspicious behavior.
The system protects you.
Obedience ensures safety.
Kuro barely noticed them anymore. Nobody did.
After school, he walked home alone, earbuds in, music low. The streets were clean, orderly. Drones drifted lazily above intersections, traffic flowed perfectly, pedestrians moved like they all shared the same unspoken rhythm.
This was a safe city.
That's what everyone said.
And Kuro believed it.
As he passed a narrow side street, he slowed for a moment, glancing down it without knowing why. Nothing was there—just shadows and old brick walls.
He shrugged it off and kept walking.
At seventeen, Kuro had no idea his life was already standing at a crossroads.
No warning.
No sign.
Just one ordinary day… waiting to end.
End of Chapter 1