「Tatsuya Fukawa, age 34.」
Tatsuya leaned against the counter, letting the cold steel slide under his fingertips as he slowly counted the bills. Each crumpled note told the same tired story—another day dragging to an end. When his fingers hovered over the last bill, he paused.
Thirty-four, he thought, staring at the money with a faint smile tugging at his lips. Yeah, thirty-four. His lips twitched into a worn-out smirk. "Go ahead, laugh. I'm not getting any younger," he muttered under his breath, as if someone were there to hear him.
The store was dead quiet, save for the soft hum of the fridges and the low buzz of traffic outside. Tatsuya glanced through the smudged glass doors. It was late, well past 10 PM. No one usually came in around this time, except the occasional straggler looking for cigarettes or some cheap beer. The stillness of the night wrapped around him like an old, heavy blanket, the kind that made you feel like time itself had slowed to a crawl.
A shuffle from the back room broke the silence. Footsteps, slow and dragging, moved across the linoleum. Fuko appeared in the doorway, her black hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, blue streaks catching the harsh fluorescent lights. She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, and didn't speak for a moment.
"Your shift's over," she said, her voice monotone, as usual. There was always a hint of boredom in the way she spoke, like nothing really fazed her.
Tatsuya turned his head slightly, glancing over his shoulder at her. "You don't sound too thrilled," he replied, slipping the last of the bills into the register and snapping it shut.
"I'm not," she said flatly, pushing off the doorframe. "Holidays are coming up, and the last thing I want is to get stuck here with a bunch of people scrambling for last-minute crap."
Tatsuya smirked, grabbing his jacket. "Yeah, 'tis the season for overpriced chocolates and people panic-buying gift cards like they forgot what time of year it was."
Fuko rolled her eyes, leaning against the counter now. "You can already tell it's gonna be a nightmare. I had a woman the other day ask me if we sell Christmas trees. In a convenience store. I almost lost it."
Tatsuya chuckled. "Guess you missed your chance to sell her on a mini tree made out of beer cans. Would've been a hit."
"Honestly, it's tempting," Fuko muttered, a half-smile creeping onto her face. "But nah, I'll stick to ringing up instant noodles and cigarettes. It's safer that way."
Tatsuya shook his head, pulling on his jacket. "You never were big on holidays, were you?"
"Not really." Fuko shrugged. "I don't see the point in it. Everyone's either stressed about shopping or pretending they're happy for a couple of days before going back to the grind."
He glanced at her, noting the way she fiddled with one of the rings on her fingers. "You're not wrong, but... still. A break's a break, right?"
"Maybe," she replied, her voice softer. "But it's just more of the same in the end."
Tatsuya nodded, not pushing the topic any further. He knew Fuko well enough by now to understand when she didn't want to get into things.
"Anyway," she said, her tone more neutral now, "you sure you're good to walk home? Yakuza've been getting bolder around here."
He shrugged, smirking a little. "I'll be fine. I'm just a convenience store cashier—nothing worth bothering with."
Fuko crossed her arms again, a frown tugging at her lips. "Don't be stupid, Tatsuya."
He chuckled softly. What makes you think I care? he thought but didn't say it. Instead, he just shrugged. "What's the worst that could happen?"
Fuko shot him a look, the concern hidden under her usual deadpan expression. "I don't know, maybe don't find out?"
He waved her off, stepping toward the door. "See you tomorrow," he muttered, shooting her one last glance before heading out into the cool night air.
The streets were quiet, and the occasional car passed by in a blur of headlights. Tatsuya pulled out his phone, checking the time. 10:25 PM.
Somewhere down the street, faint Christmas music drifted from a nearby shop. It was the kind of music meant to make people feel festive, but it only added to the emptiness of the street.
Forgot my manga, Tatsuya realized. 3-Bit's still sitting on the counter. He stopped for a moment, considering going back, then shook his head. I'll grab it tomorrow.
He popped a piece of gum into his mouth, the minty flavor hitting his senses, giving him something sharp to focus on as he chewed slowly. "Good stuff," he mumbled to himself.
As he walked, something caught his eye—a girl, maybe fifteen or sixteen, being dragged into an alley by a man in a black suit. Tatsuya's heart skipped a beat, his breath catching in his throat. The scene unfolded before him like a slow-motion nightmare.
What the hell is this? His feet started moving toward the alley before he could think. I can't just stand here.
"Hey!" he shouted, his voice echoing off the nearby buildings. The man jerked his head around, his grip tightening on the girl's arm. Their eyes locked for a moment, and Tatsuya felt a cold chill run down his spine. A tattoo crept up the side of the man's neck—Yakuza.
"Mind your business," the man growled, his voice low and dangerous. His hand slid into his jacket, and Tatsuya's heart sank. The metallic glint of a gun appeared under the alley's dim light.
Shit, Tatsuya thought, his mind racing. This guy isn't messing around.
He hesitated, his hands trembling. Do I run? Call the cops? But before he could decide, the girl's eyes locked onto his, wide and terrified.
Something snapped inside him.
"Let her go!" he shouted, his voice cutting through the tension. His hand brushed against something cold and solid—a metal pipe leaning against the alley wall. Without thinking, he grabbed it, swinging it in front of him, the weight of it grounding him, giving him a strange sense of control.
The man's eyes narrowed, and Tatsuya saw his finger tighten on the trigger. Oh shit...
BANG.
The gunshot rang out, deafening in the narrow alley. Pain exploded in Tatsuya's chest, white-hot and searing. He staggered back, gasping for air, his hands instinctively clutching his chest as warm blood spilled between his fingers.
This can't be happening. His thoughts spun, blurry and frantic. I can't die here...
But something inside him refused to give in. Adrenaline surged through his body, overriding the pain. With a guttural yell, he charged forward, swinging the pipe with every ounce of strength he had left.
The metal crashed into the man's ribs, the impact sending a shudder up Tatsuya's arms. The Yakuza grunted in pain, doubling over. Tatsuya didn't stop. He swung again, harder, aiming for the man's head.
The pipe connected with a sickening thud. The man stumbled, cursing, but Tatsuya's breath was coming in ragged gasps now. His vision was starting to blur from the blood loss, and his grip on the pipe was weakening.
One more swing. I just need one more...
But before he could bring the pipe down again, a sharp pain tore through his back.
Stab.
Tatsuya's body froze, the knife's cold edge slicing through him like fire. His legs gave out, and he crumpled to the ground. The world around him blurred into a haze of blood and pain. He tried to grab the pipe, but his fingers were numb, too weak to hold onto anything.
What the hell just happened? His mind struggled to make sense of it. I'm dying... I'm actually dying.
The cold concrete beneath him felt distant, as did the pain. Everything was fading—his thoughts, his surroundings, the Yakuza retreating into the shadows. They don't care anymore. They think I'm already dead.
I don't want to die... The thought clawed at him, raw and desperate. Not like this.
But his body betrayed him. His heartbeat slowed, his limbs felt heavier, and the world around him dimmed into nothingness.
White. Endless white.
Tatsuya blinked, gasping for breath. He wasn't in the alley anymore. The cold, damp ground had been replaced by something soft, almost... ethereal. He sat up, but there was no air, just silence. A vast, suffocating silence.
What the hell? He looked around, confused. Everything was white, stretching endlessly in all directions. His blood-soaked clothes were still clinging to him, but the pain was gone. His hand grazed over the bullet wound in his chest, but it was dry, the blood long-since dried up.
"Am I dead?" he whispered to himself, his voice startlingly loud in the stillness. "Is this... the afterlife?"
Before he could even try to understand it, the air rippled, and a figure materialized in front of him—massive, incomprehensible, a living void with a skull-like face. Hollow eyes stared down at him, dark and devouring.
What the hell is that...?
The figure spoke, its voice deep and echoing like ancient stone shifting. "Another human who thought he could play the hero," it said, the words laced with cold amusement. "How quaint."
Tatsuya scrambled back instinctively, his heart pounding. But there was nowhere to go—the void stretched on forever, and the creature didn't move, just watched him.
"And your name?" the being asked, its voice rumbling through the silence.
"T-Tatsuya," he stammered. "Fukawa Tatsuya. Where the hell am I?"
The being laughed, a hollow, chilling sound that vibrated in the endless white. "Where you are doesn't matter. What matters is what happens next."
Above the being's head, a clock appeared, black and white flames flickering around its edges. It started counting down from five minutes, each tick echoing in Tatsuya's chest.
"What the...?" Panic twisted in his gut.
"Time is running out," the being said darkly. "You have a choice."
"A choice?" Tatsuya felt like his mind was spinning. "What choice?"
"Heaven, for those who seek peace. Nothingness, for those who desire oblivion. Or..." The being's voice lowered, filled with malice. "Reincarnation, for fools who crave another life."
Tatsuya swallowed hard, his throat dry. Heaven? Reincarnation? He didn't have to think long. Something inside him—some stubborn, burning part of him—refused to let go.
"Reincarnation," he said firmly. "I want to live again."
The being's form seemed to darken, its presence growing heavier, more ominous. "FOOL!" it roared, the force of its voice shaking the void. "You dare ask for more? You will regret this choice. I will reincarnate you in the worst body imaginable, in the worst situation conceivable. YOU WILL HAVE NOTHING. NO SKILLS. NO POWER. YOU FILTHY LIFEFORM!"
Before Tatsuya could respond, a blinding light engulfed him. Pain—unimaginable, unbearable pain—ripped through him, searing hotter than the bullet or the knife. He screamed, but the light swallowed everything.
When he opened his eyes again, the first thing he noticed was the cold stone beneath him. He blinked, groaning as he pushed himself up. The pain still clung to his body, dull but lingering, like an old injury. He was lying on an ancient altar, surrounded by crumbling pillars and decayed ruins. The scent of damp earth and decay filled his nose.
He gasped, sitting up sharply. His hand flew to his chest—and there it was. A knife, buried deep in his chest.
"What the hell...?" His voice shook as he looked around in a panic.
This wasn't the alley. This wasn't the world he knew. He looked down at his hands—small, pale, trembling. His clothes were ragged, a tattered coat hanging loosely on his frail body.
He stumbled to his feet, almost falling as he caught sight of his reflection in a pool of stagnant water nearby.
Diamond-shaped pupils stared back at him.
"This... this is what I asked for?" he whispered, disbelief choking his words.
A hollow laugh bubbled up, weak and bitter. "I'm... a kid. A kid with a knife in his chest."
He dropped to his knees, his laughter fading into silence as the weight of his new reality came crashing down.