Ichijou floored the pedal, driving with reckless abandon through the congested streets of Tokyo. His maneuvers were daring, weaving in and out of traffic as if the car itself were an extension of his will. Every turn was sharp, every lane change abrupt, but there was no mistaking the desperation in his movements. He was determined to reach the hospital as quickly as possible.
As we hurtled down the road, both of us struggled to maintain our composure, trying—and failing—to push aside the panic that clawed at the edges of our minds. I stole glances into the side mirror whenever I could, watching in growing horror as the pixelation continued its relentless spread across my face. The glowing blue distortion now engulfed my entire right ear, rendering it unrecognizable. Yet, strangely enough, my hearing remained intact, even heightened, allowing me to pick up on sounds with startling clarity—the distant wail of sirens, the hum of engines, the murmurs of pedestrians—all amplified in a way that felt surreal.
"F*ck!" Ichijou cursed vehemently, slamming on the brakes so hard that my body lurched forward against the seatbelt. My eyes shot to the windshield, where a massive traffic jam stretched ahead of us like an impenetrable wall. Cars lined the streets bumper-to-bumper, their occupants trapped in a sea of immobility. Our urgent journey to the hospital suddenly seemed impossible.
"What the hell! It's not even lunch break yet. What's happening out there?!" Ichijou's frustration boiled over as he pounded his fist against the steering wheel, the sound reverberating through the tense silence of the car.
"Ichijou, calm down! There's nothing we can do about it! We just have to wait it out," I urged, placing a hand on his shoulder in what I hoped was a reassuring gesture. But beneath my calm exterior, my own anxiety churned violently.
Taking a deep, shaky breath, Ichijou reluctantly regained some semblance of composure. "Fine… I'm sorry," he muttered, though his knuckles remained white-knuckled around the steering wheel.
"First things first, we need to figure out what's going on," I said firmly, my gaze fixed on the gridlocked road ahead. My mind raced, searching for any plausible explanation for the bizarre phenomenon consuming us.
"Man, did you just spread some virus onto me?! I thought with how advanced our medicine is nowadays, getting sick supposed to be impossible!" Ichijou accused, his tone sharp and accusatory. His eyes darted between me and the mirror, reflecting his unease.
"What?! Hell no! How the hell would I even get a virus in the first place? I hardly ever leave my house!" I retorted, incredulous at the accusation. The absurdity of his words only fueled my frustration further.
"There has to be some kind of explanation for what's happening to us," I insisted, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside me. Instinctively, my hand reached up to touch the pixelated portion of my face, though I stopped myself before making contact. Answers eluded us, but one thing was certain: we needed help—and fast.
"F*cking hell! It'll take forever to get there now! The traffic isn't moving an inch!" Ichijou growled, glaring daggers at the unmoving vehicles ahead. His agitation was palpable, radiating off him in waves.
I examined my hand, noticing how even the slightest scratch or pressure caused the pixelated portions of my skin to crumble like fragile glass. It was alarmingly delicate—if this spread covered more of our bodies, any significant impact might cause us to disintegrate entirely.
"I think we still have time before this... whatever thing completely consumes us. Just stay calm, okay? Did you notice that we don't feel any pain from these pixelations?" I replied, striving to keep my tone soothing and rational.
"What are you trying to say, Kiseki?" Ichijou asked, his confusion evident in his voice.
"What I mean is, I don't think this is life-threatening—at least not immediately. As long as we keep our hands away from it and avoid exposing these pixelations to hard surfaces, we should be fine," I explained, hoping to ease some of his panic with logic.
"And what if we accidentally get hit on those pixelated parts of our bodies?" Ichijou's voice quivered with worry, his fear breaking through his usual bravado.
"Simple. We turn to ashes. So calm down, and let's take it slow to get ourselves to the hospital." I met his gaze with a serious expression, my words carrying the weight of grim truth. For all the uncertainty surrounding us, one thing was clear: losing our heads—literally or figuratively—would only make matters worse.
He swallowed hard, his anxiety palpable as he fell silent, resigning himself to the slow progress through the traffic. The tension in the car was suffocating, each second stretching into an eternity as we inched forward.
Ichijou maneuvered the car with painstaking precision, alternating between pressing the gas and brakes to navigate the congested road. Every movement felt deliberate, every decision calculated to avoid further damage—not just to the car, but to us . Suddenly, a loud crack reverberated through the vehicle, sharp and jarring, causing both of us to tense up instantly.
"I-Ichijou... take off your clothes," I urged, my voice trembling with concern. My mind raced with possibilities, none of them good. If the pixelation had spread further on him, we needed to know—now.
Reluctantly, he complied, peeling away his shirt to reveal a horrifying sight. His chest was entirely consumed by the glowing blue distortion, long cracks stretching from his left armpit to his right shoulder. The fractures shimmered ominously, threatening to crumble at any moment. We stared at it in stunned silence, the gravity of the situation sinking deeper into our bones.
"I... I can't bend my body. I'll shatter, literally. Kiseki, you have to drive for me," Ichijou said calmly, though his voice carried an undertone of resignation. There was no room for argument; we both understood what this meant. Carefully, he opened the driver's side door and stepped out, his movements stiff and deliberate. I followed suit, switching places with him as quickly as possible.
It had been six years since I last drove a car, but there was no time for hesitation or doubt. I slid into the driver's seat, gripping the wheel tightly as I took a deep breath. Beside me, Ichijou sat rigidly, his hands trembling slightly despite his attempts to remain composed. Seeing him like this—a man who thrived in chaos and danger—was a sobering reminder of how dire our situation truly was.
For the next thirty minutes, we crawled through the heavy traffic, inching closer to our destination. Eventually, the source of the delay came into view: a gruesome accident involving a car and a bus. Blood stained the asphalt, and the mangled wreckage painted a grim picture. The bus lay on its side, while the car beneath it was crushed beyond recognition.
"Kiseki... L-Look at that..." Ichijou's voice quavered as he pointed toward something ahead.
I strained my eyes to see what had caught his attention, and when I did, a cold shiver ran down my spine. Lying motionless on the ground near the wreckage was the figure of the car's driver—or what remained of them. Their body was grotesquely snapped in half, but instead of blood and entrails, their form was composed entirely of pixelated blocks. It was surreal, horrifying, and utterly incomprehensible.
Without hesitation, I reached for the car's infotainment system and tuned into the radio. A news report blared through the speakers, the anchor's voice urgent and clipped.
"Breaking news! A strange phenomenon is occurring globally. People worldwide are experiencing abnormal entities spreading on their bodies, referred to as the 'Pixelation Effect.' Scientists and doctors are baffled by the cause of this bizarre occurrence. Governments are urging affected individuals to seek medical attention immediately, although the nature of the entity remains unidentified. Precautionary measures are being taken to contain its spread."
Ichijou and I exchanged stunned glances, the weight of the situation crashing over us like a tidal wave.
"I-Ichijou... we're not the only one," I murmured, my voice tinged with unease.
"No shit, Sherlock! Is this gonna be like another outbreak twenty years ago or something?!" Ichijou's voice cracked with anxiety as he gripped his head tightly, his usual bravado crumbling under the pressure.
"I don't know. The reporter didn't mention anything about it being an illness or contagion. She just said it's an unidentified entity," I replied, my foot pressing down on the gas pedal as soon as the road ahead cleared. Urgency propelled us forward, the hospital now our sole focus.
"What's different about it if it still happens all over the world! It's still considered a pandemic! You saw what happened to that guy! He was cut in half—HALF!" Ichijou's voice carried an edge, his frustration boiling over.
Silent and contemplative, I focused solely on the road ahead, grappling with the need for answers amidst the unfolding chaos. Our destination was IUHW Mita Hospital, where routine checkups suddenly felt anything but ordinary. With the pixelations creeping ever closer—now marring my neck and spreading across Ichijou's chest and stomach—we couldn't afford to waste another second.
With no time to spare, I parked the car directly in front of the hospital's main entrance, ignoring the honks and shouts from other drivers. Swiftly, I helped Ichijou out of the car, his movements increasingly restricted by the fragile state of his body. Together, we rushed inside, seeking assistance from the nurses and doctors who greeted us with wide-eyed alarm.
Soon, we found ourselves under the watchful eyes of medical staff in the ICU. Monitors beeped around us, their rhythmic sounds offering little comfort. For now, all we could do was wait—and hope that someone, somewhere, could explain the inexplicable before it was too late.Ichijou and I were placed in the same ward as other patients exhibiting the same eerie abnormalities. Stripped of our clothes and personal belongings, we were left vulnerable—both physically and emotionally. The sterile environment of the hospital felt suffocating, each passing moment stretching into an eternity. Time blurred within those walls, disconnecting us from the outside world and the people who surely worried for us. Misaki must have been frantic with concern.
As the sky outside darkened, the relentless ticking of the clock only heightened my sense of confinement and desperation. Every beep of a monitor, every shuffle of footsteps in the hallway, seemed to echo louder than it should. My mind raced with thoughts of her—of how she'd react when she finally heard what was happening to me.
Shortly after, the doctor arrived with news that offered a sliver of relief: the phenomenon wasn't contagious. With that declaration, we were permitted to reclaim our clothes and personal effects. Without wasting a second, I grabbed my phone, eager to reach out to Misaki. Unlocking the screen, I was greeted by a staggering 65 missed calls—all from her. Her name lit up the display like a beacon, a reminder of the love and worry waiting on the other end.
Dialing her number, I pressed the phone to my ear, desperate to hear her voice. It rang twice before she answered, her tone cracking under the weight of anxiety.
"Kiseki! Where have you been? I've been trying to reach you!" she exclaimed, her words tumbling over one another.
"Mom, I... I'm okay, for now," I managed to reply, though my voice betrayed the storm of emotions swirling inside me.
"For now? What do you mean, honey?" Her concern deepened, her voice trembling with unspoken fears.
"I've developed symptoms of Pixelation too, Mom," I confessed, bracing myself for her reaction.
There was a long pause, broken only by the sound of stifled sobs. When she finally spoke, her voice was fragile, barely holding together. "Where are you?"
"I'm at IUHW, Mom," I confirmed, hoping the information would bring her some measure of comfort amidst the chaos.
"I'll head there in a few minutes. Text me your location in the hospital and your room number," she instructed, her voice steadying slightly as she took charge of the situation. Before I could respond, the line went dead.
I stared at the phone, the weight of her worry pressing down on me. Ichijou's voice broke through my thoughts. "Hey, Kiseki, do you mind calling my dad for me?" he asked, gesturing toward his now-pixelated arms. They shimmered faintly, cracks spreading ominously across their surface.
"...Sure, I'll let him know you're here," I replied, dialing the number he provided. As I relayed the message to Ichijou's father, I couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt—for dragging him into this nightmare, for being unable to offer any real answers.
An hour passed in tense silence before Misaki finally arrived. I dreaded seeing her face, knowing the sight of me in this state would break her heart. But I was powerless to shield her from it. Unable to move, my body entirely consumed by pixelation, I feared I would crumble under her gaze.
When she entered the room, her eyes immediately filled with tears. She rushed to my side, sitting beside me as her sobs shook her frame. I reached out to gently wipe away her tears, offering what little comfort I could.
"I'm sorry for troubling you all this time. You don't have to cry anymore. I'll be fine. I promised," I whispered, trying to soothe her pain.
Her response was a poignant stare, her sadness evident as she struggled to contain her emotions. "You didn't trouble me even a bit, Dear. Not even once... Don't say things like that." She grabbed my hand, holding it tightly as if afraid I might slip away.
"Thank you, Misaki, for always treating me as your own. I'm truly fortunate to have a mother like you."
She embraced me tightly, her tears flowing even more freely. It wasn't my intention for things to unravel like this—to leave her behind, to cause her so much pain. But fate had other plans.
"You'll always be my child. I love you, honey," she murmured between sobs.
I nodded gently, attempting to offer her a smile, but the encroaching pixelation rendered it impossible. Sensing the distortion spreading to the last part of my body, I knew my time was running out. Turning my gaze to Ichijou, I watched as the pixelation consumed him entirely, his form dissolving into nothingness. It was my final glimpse of the world before darkness engulfed me, drowning out the sound of my mother's sobs until only silence remained.
"Is this what death feels like? It's terrifying," I pondered aloud, my life flashing before my eyes. Memories of cherished moments with Misaki and Ichijou flooded my mind—stark reminders of what truly mattered.
"Damn, my life really was pathetic, isn't it? My only memories were just with two of the most precious people in my life. Nothing else in it. I wish I could do better in my next life, if there's even one." I mused to myself, longing for a chance to make amends in another life, if such a possibility existed.
Suddenly, I felt the sensation of landing on a hard surface. Though shrouded in darkness, I attempted to move my arm, feeling the rough texture beneath me. Was it brick? Pavement? Something else entirely?
"Kiseki..."
Was that a voice? No, I must be imagining things. I thought I was already dead. Yet, as my senses slowly returned, I detected movement in the distance and felt the icy chill of the air against my skin. But what about my sight?
"Wait, am I still alive right now?" I questioned aloud, the sound of my own voice echoing back to me. It was a puzzling revelation—I was indeed still alive. How bizarre.
I can hear my own voice echoing. I'm really very much still alive. That's bizarre.
"Kiseki... wake up, you petty human..."
Startled, I opened my eyes, searching for the source of the voice. There, in the distance, sat a woman, her presence both mysterious and captivating. Her figure was familiar, yet alien—a haunting blend of beauty and enigma. As she rose to her feet, her piercing gaze locked onto mine. My breath caught in my throat. This wasn't over. Whatever this was, it was far from finished.