The alarm clock's shrill, mechanical beep shattered the fragile peace of my dreams. I groaned, my hand fumbling to silence it as the pale gray light of dawn spilled through the cracked blinds of my bedroom. It was 6:30 AM, like every other morning. The monotony of my life was a relentless machine, and I was just another gear turning inside it.
I sat up, letting the weight of another day settle on my shoulders. The walls of my room were bare, save for a few curling posters from years ago. I hadn't bothered replacing them—they were just another part of my existence that I didn't care to fix. My school uniform hung neatly on the chair by my desk, pressed and folded with precision. My mother's habit, not mine. She still clung to these little rituals, as if they could patch the growing cracks in our lives.
The sound of my father's voice echoed up the stairs, sharp and angry even in its drunken slur.
"Haruto! Get your ass down here, you lazy piece of shit!"
He was always like this in the morning—hungover, bitter, and looking for someone to blame. I dragged myself to my feet, my limbs heavy with reluctance, and began pulling on my uniform. The fabric was old, fraying at the seams, and the navy-blue blazer had faded to a washed-out gray. I didn't mind. Nobody at school cared how I looked.
The stairs creaked under my weight as I descended, every step filling me with a sense of impending dread. The smell of alcohol and stale cigarettes hit me before I even reached the bottom. My father was sprawled on the couch, a beer bottle in one hand and the other gripping a crumpled newspaper. His unshaven face twisted into a scowl as he glanced at me.
"Look at you," he sneered, his voice thick with contempt. "You're just like your mother—weak, useless."
I didn't reply. What was the point? Talking back would only make things worse. My mother stood in the kitchen, her back to us as she prepared breakfast. She moved with mechanical precision, her shoulders hunched and her head bowed. The long sleeves of her blouse hid the bruises, but I knew they were there. They always were.
I grabbed a piece of bread from the counter and slipped it into my mouth. My father muttered something under his breath as I headed for the door.
"Don't come back empty-handed!" he shouted after me. "You're not living here for free!"
The streets were quiet as I walked to school, the usual dull hum of the city muted in the early morning light. The same cracked sidewalks, the same rows of identical houses, the same people passing by without sparing a glance. I kept my head down, my hands shoved deep into my pockets.
At school, the usual routine awaited me. The bullies were already loitering near the gate, their laughter loud and grating. I tried to slip past them unnoticed, but Yamada, the leader of the group, spotted me.
"Hey, Haruto!" he called, his tone mocking. "Where do you think you're going?"
I froze as he and his friends approached, their smirks widening with each step. Yamada grabbed me by the collar and shoved me against the gate.
"Got any money for us today?" he asked, his breath reeking of cheap snacks.
I pulled a few crumpled bills from my pocket and handed them over without a word. It was easier that way. They laughed as they walked away, their voices fading into the background as I made my way to the classroom.
The day dragged on, each class blending into the next. I sat at the back, staring out the window as the teachers droned on about things that didn't matter. Outside, the sky was a dull gray, the clouds heavy with the threat of rain.
At lunchtime, I escaped to the rooftop. It was the only place where I could be alone. I sat on the edge, staring down at the sprawling city below. The wind tugged at my hair, cool and refreshing against my skin. For a moment, I let myself imagine what it would be like to just… let go. To fall, and keep falling, until everything stopped.
But even that felt like too much effort.
That night, I sat in my room, the sound of the television drifting up from the living room. My father's voice was loud and slurred as he argued with the news anchor on the screen.
"A new virus," she was saying, her tone grave. "The government is urging citizens to remain calm as investigations continue. Early reports suggest—"
"Bullshit," my father muttered, taking another swig of his beer. "They always say the same crap. Just another scare tactic to keep us in line."
I tuned him out, focusing instead on the steady hum of the TV. The words washed over me, distant and meaningless. I didn't care about viruses or pandemics. They were just another thing I couldn't control.
The next day, school was the same as always—until it wasn't. When I opened my locker, a folded piece of paper fluttered to the ground. I picked it up, unfolding it with trembling hands.
"Come behind the school. XOXO."
The handwriting was neat and delicate, with little hearts dotting the i's. My heart raced as I read the words again. Was this real? Or just another cruel joke?
When classes ended, I found myself standing behind the school, my hands stuffed nervously into my pockets. The air was still, the faint sound of distant traffic the only noise. I was about to leave when I heard a soft voice.
"Takeda-kun?"
I turned to see a girl standing a few feet away. She was petite, with long black hair that framed her delicate face. Her eyes sparkled with an almost unnatural brightness, and her lips curved into a shy smile.
"You're here," she said, her voice light and melodic. "I was afraid you wouldn't come."
I swallowed hard, unsure of how to respond. Nobody ever noticed me, let alone went out of their way to talk to me.
She stepped closer, her movements smooth and graceful. Too graceful. Something about her felt… off. But her smile was warm, and her eyes held a kindness I hadn't seen in years.
"Takeda-kun," she said softly, reaching out to touch my arm. "You're special. Do you know that?"
Before I could answer, she lunged. Her mouth opened impossibly wide, revealing rows of sharp, glistening teeth. I stumbled back, my mind reeling as pain shot through my leg. She had bitten me, her teeth sinking deep into my flesh.
I screamed, kicking out desperately. Somehow, I managed to break free, the adrenaline coursing through my veins drowning out the pain. I ran, my vision blurring as the world tilted around me.
The last thing I remembered was collapsing on the pavement, the sound of my heartbeat thundering in my ears.
When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed. The room was stark and sterile, the smell of antiseptic filling my nose. My leg throbbed, wrapped tightly in bandages.
The television in the corner was on, the same news anchor from before speaking in an urgent tone.
"—confirmed cases now at 145,210 in Japan, with over 70 million worldwide. The government has divided the country into three zones: Red Zones for extreme danger, Orange Zones for moderate risk, and Yellow Zones for low-risk areas. Citizens are urged to avoid Red Zones at all costs and adhere to local safety protocols."
I stared at the screen, the numbers climbing higher with each passing second. The girl behind the school wasn't an isolated incident. She was just the beginning.
When the doctor finally entered the room, I sat up straighter, feeling the ache in my leg dull but persistent. He was an older man with a calm demeanor, the kind of face you'd expect to see in a family photo, not a hospital in the middle of a burgeoning pandemic. He held a clipboard in his hands, scanning through what I assumed were my charts.
"You've given us quite the surprise, Takeda-kun," he said, his voice even. "How do you feel?"
"Like I got hit by a truck," I muttered, glancing down at my leg. "But I guess that's better than being dead."
The doctor gave a small chuckle, then gestured to my bandaged leg. "When you were brought in, things were… not looking good. The wound was severe—infected, actually. The infection was spreading rapidly. We were preparing to amputate."
I froze, the words sinking in like lead. Amputate? My mind flashed back to the girl—the monster—and the searing pain as her teeth tore into me. My chest tightened, but before I could ask, the doctor continued.
"But," he said, setting the clipboard down and looking at me directly, "it seems we won't need to. In fact, we've never seen anything like this."
I blinked. "What do you mean?"
The doctor reached for the edge of the bandages, peeling them back carefully. "See for yourself."
I braced myself, expecting the worst—a mangled mess of flesh or, at best, an angry red wound. But when the last of the gauze came off, my breath caught in my throat. My leg was… fine. More than fine. The skin was smooth and unblemished, as if nothing had ever happened. No scars, no bruising, no sign of the bite.
"What the…?" I whispered, running a hand over my calf. It felt real. Solid. Warm.
"We don't know how or why," the doctor said, his tone a mix of disbelief and wonder. "One of my colleagues said it's a miracle. The wound was irreparable, but here you are. Good as new."
A miracle. That word felt wrong. There was nothing miraculous about what had happened behind the school. Nothing miraculous about the girl—or whatever she was—that had bitten me.
I looked at the doctor, his calm expression tinged with curiosity. "You don't think this is… related to the virus, do you?"
He hesitated, the first crack in his composed demeanor. "We don't have enough information yet to say one way or the other. But for now, you seem stable. That's what matters."
Stable. Sure. I leaned back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling as the doctor left the room. The fluorescent lights hummed faintly, their cold glow seeping into every corner of the sterile space.
I flexed my leg experimentally. It moved easily, painlessly. Like nothing had ever happened. But I knew better. Something had happened. And the fact that I was sitting here, whole and unharmed, didn't feel like a blessing. It felt like a warning.
I exhaled sharply, closing my eyes. The weight of everything—the bullies, my father, the girl, the news, the fucking zones—pressed down on me all at once.
"And then some people call this life," I muttered to myself, my voice low and bitter. "Hell, it couldn't get any worse with all this crap."
I chuckled humorlessly at my own words, then fell silent, letting the hum of the hospital fade into the background.