Kengen Takeshi stood frozen in place as a grotesque abomination revealed itself before him, its presence alone enough to fracture reason itself. All around him, people fled in blind panic, their screams dissolving into the chaos as survival instinct overtook humanity. His eyes widened, pupils trembling, and with a voice fractured by disbelief and terror, he whispered,
"What in the name of madness is happening…?
Is this truly where my life ends?"
A laugh escaped his lips—hollow, broken—intertwined with tears that streamed uncontrollably down his face. It was not laughter born of joy, but of despair so profound it had abandoned dignity altogether. Through choking breaths, he continued, his voice trembling with cruel self-mockery,
"Ha… ha… If I were to die here and now, who would even notice? Who would mourn me? So this is how my story concludes—an insignificant failure meeting an equally insignificant end. Quite the tale, isn't it? But this isn't a novel, nor a manga, nor some romanticized fantasy where salvation arrives at the final moment. No miraculous awakening awaits me. No overwhelming power will descend from the heavens to rewrite my fate."
The monster advanced toward him, each step radiating malice. Its form was nightmarish beyond comprehension—twisted flesh, inhuman proportions, and a presence that assaulted the very soul. In a single, merciless motion, the creature cleaved his body in two, severing flesh, bone, and existence itself without hesitation.
—
Kengen jolted awake, his breath ragged, his body drenched in cold sweat. He stared at the familiar ceiling above him before releasing a weary sigh, muttering to himself,
"I knew it… Of course it was just a dream."
He glanced toward the clock glowing faintly in the darkness.
"Five in the morning…
School starts at seven."
He slid the window open, and the world beyond greeted him with a curtain of falling rain. Gray clouds smothered the sky, and the steady patter of water against concrete echoed like a dull lament. Cold air seeped into the room, carrying with it the scent of wet asphalt and quiet loneliness. With a bitter, exhausted expression etched across his face, he muttered in a voice soaked in irony,
"What a wonderful day!"
Kengen Takeshi lived alone in a small, unremarkable room—a space that mirrored his existence in every possible way. Each day followed the same merciless cycle: he left for school, returned in the evening, and endured the slow passage of time without leaving any mark behind. He was nothing extraordinary—merely another face swallowed by the crowd. The only constant in his life was a single friend, someone he had known since childhood, a fragile thread connecting his present to a past that felt increasingly distant.
After school hours, he worked part-time at a restaurant, exchanging his time and energy for a modest wage. During the rare moments when reality loosened its grip, he escaped into other worlds—reading manhwa, manhua, manga, light novels, and comics, or losing himself in the glow of animated fantasies. Fiction was his refuge, a place where lives held meaning and struggles led somewhere.
Soon after, he made his way to school, only to find himself standing before the locked iron gates. The campus lay silent beyond them, devoid of students and noise. Confusion crept across his face, slowly replacing his usual apathy. His brows furrowed as he spoke under his breath,
"What…? It should be open. Everyone keeps saying I'm always late. Wait—let me check the date."
He pulled out his phone, his eyes scanning the screen—only to freeze.
Sunday.
A sound of pure frustration escaped him.
"Ugh… seriously? What am I supposed to do now? Maybe I'll go to the park…"
He paused, grimacing, shaking his head almost immediately.
"Hell no. I'm not a kid anymore."
Eventually, Kengen found himself standing before his friend's apartment. The corridor was dim and quiet, the air thick with the familiar stillness of a weekend morning. He raised his hand and knocked on the door with a casual rhythm, as though he had done this countless times before.
A voice echoed from the other side, muffled yet alert.
"Who is it?"
"It's me, grandson," Kengen replied without hesitation, his tone shamelessly casual.
A brief pause followed, then the door creaked open. Standing there was none other than Kenja Yamazaki, his expression already twisted with annoyance.
"Come on," Kenja said, sighing. "I have a name, you know."
Kengen lifted a plastic bag in response, its contents rustling softly.
"I bought some ramen."
Kenja's eyes instantly lit up, excitement flickering across his face.
"Ohh! Then let's eat together!"
"Huh?" Kengen scoffed, his expression flat. "This is only for me. I just came here to use your hot water. Nothing more."
Kenja froze, visibly stunned.
"Eh? Dude, you're seriously so random."
Despite his complaint, the two of them ended up sitting together anyway, steam rising from their cups as they ate side by side in comfortable familiarity.
Kenja Yamazaki was Kengen Takeshi's closest—and perhaps only—friend. Like Kengen, he lived alone, though his apartment was only a short walk away. Their lifestyles and hobbies overlapped almost perfectly, making silence between them feel natural rather than awkward.
Between mouthfuls, Kengen spoke casually,
"The new Demon Slayer movie has already been released."
"Hmm," Kenja replied noncommittally, eyes still glued to the screen.
Kengen opened his mouth again.
"Grandso—"
"I know," Kenja cut in sharply. "Shut up, bitch."
Kengen didn't bother responding. Without another word, they started the movie together.
Three hours passed in a blur of vibrant animation, thunderous sound, and emotional climaxes.
When the credits finally rolled, Kenja leaned back with a satisfied grin.
"Damn… that was way too good."
Kengen stood up, stretching slightly.
"Alright, grandson. I'm heading home."
The rain had finally ceased, leaving behind a city washed clean yet eerily lifeless. Kengen began his walk home beneath the dim glow of streetlights, their reflections trembling across the wet asphalt like fractured memories. The road was unnervingly silent—too silent—as if the world itself were holding its breath.
After taking only a few steps, his pace faltered.
Ahead of him, shadows writhed.
A group of men surrounded a girl, their movements violent and unrestrained. She struggled desperately, tears streaming down her face as her scream tore through the night.
"HELP—!"
The sound pierced him like a blade.
Kengen stopped.
His heart pounded, yet his feet remained rooted to the ground. His thoughts churned, cold and brutally honest.
What should I do?
If I step in… what do I gain from it?
Nothing.
No reward. No gratitude worth risking his life for.
Just then, a voice emerged from behind him—calm, sudden, and unsettlingly close.
"You should save her."
Kengen stiffened. He turned sharply, eyes narrowing in alarm.
"Wait…" he said slowly, disbelief creeping into his voice.
"…are you Kim Joon Goo?"