_TWELVE HOURS AGO_
3:00 AM
The rain wasn't a storm; it was a constant mist, just enough to make the roads look shiny and wet.
In that corner of the district, the air smelled of wet pavement and damp stone. It was the kind of hour where the city feels like it's holding its breath.
The houses here were huddled together—narrow, two-story homes with small balconies where laundry hung limp and heavy in the damp air. Behind the darkened windows, families were lost in the heavy, rhythmic silence of deep sleep.
Down the narrow street, a stray dog shifted in its sleep under the roof of a closed convenience store, its paws moving slightly against the cold ground. A single, rusted bicycle leaned against a faded brick wall, its metal frame covered in tiny drops of water.
High above, the sky wasn't black; it was a bruised, heavy purple, thick with clouds that swallowed the stars and the moon.
Everything was still. The only sound was the rhythmic plink-plink-plink of water dripping from a leaky gutter into a plastic bucket left on a step.
It was a quiet, middle-class peace. The kind of peace that feels like it could last forever.
Inside the Amamiya house, the air was cold.
The front door opened directly into a tiny kitchen with a tile floor that was peeling at the corners. On the small wooden table, a single bowl of rice sat covered by a plastic wrap, cold and untouched. Next to it was a pile of utility bills, some with red markings stamped across the top.
The walls were thin enough to hear the steady drip from the bathroom tap. In the small living area, the wallpaper was yellowed and curling away from the ceiling. There was no heater running; instead, a thick, worn-out blanket was draped over the back of the only sofa, which had a visible tear in the armrest held together by silver duct tape.
A single lightbulb hung from a wire in the hallway, switched off. The house was quiet, but it wasn't the peaceful quiet of a luxury home. It was the kind of silence that felt heavy, like the house itself was tired of holding everything up.
Upstairs, the hallway was narrow and cramped. The floorboards groaned under the slightest weight, and the carpet was worn down to the threads in the center from years of walking back and forth.
There were only three doors. One led to a tiny bathroom where the door didn't quite close right, and the other two were bedrooms. The doors were thin wood, the kind that didn't block out much noise. At the end of the hall, a small window looked out onto the street, but the glass was old, making the world outside look blurry.
A single shelf sat against the wall, holding a few mismatched books and a cracked plastic tray for keys. There were no decorations or fancy pictures—just the bare essentials.
The narrow hallway ended at a door that didn't quite fit its frame. Inside, the room was small, the air heavy with the scent of old wood and the faint, sharp smell of medicinal patches.
Two wooden frames hung on the faded wallpaper, their glass dusty. In the first, a younger Mrs. Amamiya stood in a white, simple gown, her hand tucked into the arm of a man with a wide, honest smile. They were standing in front of a small shrine, their faces bright with a future that hadn't happened yet.
Next to it was a larger frame—the same man, a few years older, sitting on a park bench with his arm around his wife and a small girl with pigtails squeezed between them.
On the bed, Mrs. Amamiya was bent into a ball. Her fingers were locked tight around a smaller, unframed photo of her husband, pressing it against her chest even in her sleep.
Suddenly, a loud, mechanical brring-brring shattered the silence.
It wasn't the chirping of a smartphone. It was the harsh, heavy ring of an old landline sitting on the bedside table. The sound seemed to shake the thin walls. Mrs. Amamiya got up, her eyes wide. She struggled, looking at the bare walls for a clock that wasn't there, her breath coming in quick, panicked gasps.
She reached for the telephone, her hand trembling, when the door creaked open
A girl stepped into the room. She was eighteen, her long strawberry-blonde hair damp from the mist outside, the pale, rose-gold strands clinging to the neck of her oversized, faded T-shirt.
But it was her eyes that caught the light—a deep, startling red. They were clear and sharp, the kind of eyes that looked like they had seen too much for someone her age, yet still held a soft, stubborn light.
She was dressed in an oversized, faded t-shirt and simple pajama pants. She looked small and quiet, like she had been trying to move through the house without making a sound.
Asuka Amamiya reached out and caught the telephone before her mother could. She pressed the it to her ear, then looked at her mother. She didn't say a word; she just placed a finger to her lips and gave a small, tired smile, gesturing for her mother to lie back down and rest.
Asuka pressed the heavy receiver to her ear. "Hello?" she murmured, her voice thick with exhaustion.
But as she listened, the sharpness in her red eyes faded. A small, genuine smile appeared at the corners of her mouth. "You're still awake? Why are you calling me at this hour? It's almost three in the morning... my birthday ended hours ago." She let out a soft, melodic laugh. "Oh, really? And why should I believe a word you say?"
From the bed, Mrs. Amamiya shifted, blinking through the dark. "Asuka... who is it?"
"Just a friend, Mom," Asuka whispered back, shifting her body to block the light of the hallway.
"A friend?" Mrs. Amamiya began to nag, her voice rising in a tired whine. "Who calls at this hour? People are trying to sleep... no manners, really..."
Asuka quickly waved a hand behind her back, gesturing for her mother to be quiet, her eyes locked on the floor. She turned her attention back to the phone. "Wait... what did you just say?"
A heavy silence followed. Asuka's smile vanished. "Right now?" she asked, her voice dropping. "What time is it?"
The voice on the other end murmured. "2:37," Asuka repeated quietly. Her face saddened, the weight of the house seemingly pressing down on her shoulders. "I can't. It's too late, and the weather is..."
She paused, listening as the girl on the other end kept talking, pleading. Finally, Asuka closed her eyes and sighed. "Okay. Okay, I'll come. Just... stay awake for me, okay? Bye."
She hung up the phone with a soft clack.
Mrs. Amamiya removed the hand she had been using to cover her eyes and looked at her daughter. "Who was that?"
"It was Kurumi," Asuka replied.
"Kurumi? Why did she call at this hour?"
"She wanted to wish me a happy birthday."
Mrs. Amamiya groaned, rolling onto her side. "Happy birthday? At three in the morning? If she forgot, she should have waited until tomorrow. Young people have no sense of time..."
"Go back to sleep, Mom," Asuka said softly, already moving toward the door.
"Asuka?"
Asuka froze. A thin bead of sweat rolled down her forehead. She forced herself to turn back, her eyes closed in a tight, fake smile. "What is it?"
"Where are you going?"
"Nowhere," Asuka lied, her voice steady. "I'm just going to my room to sleep."
Mrs. Amamiya relaxed, her breathing slowing down. "Good. Don't go outside. Remember what we talked about... the omens. It's a bad night."
"I know. Goodnight, Mom."
Asuka stepped out and pulled the door shut. In the narrow hallway, she let out a long, shaky sigh. 'Old people and their superstitions.' she thought, glancing at the shadows on the wall. 'Omens and bad luck...'
She looked at her mother's door one last time. "Im sorry for lying Mom," she whispered to the empty air.
She crept down the stairs, each groan of the wood sounding like a gunshot in her ears. 'Please don't wake up, please don't wake up.' she prayed.
Downstairs, she reached for a long, dark coat hanging on a knob by the door. She slid it on, buttoning it up to hide her pajamas. She grabbed the heavy metal key from the tray, her breath hitching in her throat.
"I'll be back before she even knows," she whispered to herself.
She opened the main door. The cold, misty air hit her face like a slap. She stepped out into the 'bruised purple' night, pulling the door shut behind her.
Click. Turn. The sound of the lock echoed down the empty street. Asuka was out in the mist, and there was no turning back now.
A few blocks away, the narrow, cracked street felt too small for the machine moving in the shadows.
It was a Black Mercedes. The paint was so polished that the bruised purple of the sky reflected off its hood like a dark mirror. In that neighborhood of rusted bicycles and peeling wallpaper, the car looked like a predator that didn't belong.
Inside, the air was different. It didn't smell like damp stone or old wood. It smelled of expensive leather, cold air-conditioner, and the sharp, heavy scent of red wine.
Seijurou Kanzaki sat behind the wheel.
His blonde hair, usually perfectly combed and styled like a crown, was a mess. Strands fell over his forehead, tangled and dull. He wore a charcoal-grey suit, tailored and expensive, but the jacket was wrinkled, and the silk tie hung loose around his neck.
But it was his eyes that told the real story. They weren't the sharp, pale green eyes of a CEO. They were bloodshot and swollen, the color of a man who hadn't slept in days—or perhaps, a man who had forgotten how to live. They were filled with a raw, quiet anger.
He gripped the steering wheel with his left hand, his knuckles white. His right hand held a bottle of wine, the dark liquid sloshing as he took a heavy swallow.
From the high-end speakers, a heartbeat-like rhythm began to pulse. A woman's voice, soft and haunting, filled the car:
"He said, 'Let's get out of this town... Drive out of the city, away from the crowds...'"
Seijurou took a long, desperate sip of the wine, the dark liquid staining his lip like a bruise. He hated this song. He hated how 'pretty' it sounded.
"Say you'll remember me... standing in a nice dress... staring at the sunset, babe..."
'Sunset?' Seijurou thought, his bloodshot, pale green eyes narrow and bitter. He looked at the bruised purple sky of 3:00 AM. There was no sunset, the mist.
"Red lips and rosy cheeks... say you'll see me again, even if it's just in your wildest dreams..."
"Shut up!" Seijurou shouted, his voice raw and uneven.
He reached out to twist the dial, but his hand was shaking too hard. The music swelled, the drums kicking in like a steady heart—a heart that was still beating while his felt like it was turning to stone. Something inside him snapped.
THUD.
He slammed his fist into the center. His knuckles hit the hard plastic screen with a sickening crack. Pain flared up his arm, sharp and hot, but the song didn't stop. Taylor Swift's voice just kept echoing, trapped in the expensive electronics.
"Wildest dreams, ah-ah-ha..."
"I said SHUT THE HELL UP!" he roared, his eyes wild and bloodshot. He threw his weight into a second, more violent punch, his heavy ring crunching against the display.
Finally, the screen flickered, faded into a line of static, and died. Silence rushed back into the car, heavy and suffocating.
Seijurou moved back against the leather seat, his chest heaving. He looked down at his right hand; the skin was broken across his knuckles, and a smear of red began to stain the charcoal-grey fabric of his expensive suit. He didn't care. He just grabbed the bottle again, his eyes staring blankly at the dark, misty road ahead.
'Love...' he thought, a bitter, broken smile touching his lips. 'What a disgusting lie.'
He slammed the car into gear, the engine roaring like a wounded animal as he sped deeper into the mist.
He didn't care about the speed. He drove recklessly, the tires splashing through the puddles of the narrow street. He wasn't looking for a destination; he was just driving away from a life that felt like a cage.
Seijurou gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles bleeding onto the expensive leather. He didn't care about the speed. He didn't care about the narrow streets or the puddles splashing against his windows.
His mind was stuck in a loop. A phone screen. A photo. Kaori. His wife. The 'Diamond of Hollywood.' The woman he had given everything to. Every diamond, every designer dress, every luxury apartment—it was all for her. He had worked until his eyes were red and his heart was dry, just to keep her smiling on the red carpet.
"A... a joke." he muttered, his voice thick with wine and bitterness. "A disgusting... pathetic joke."
He took another heavy swallow of the wine, the bottle clinking against his teeth. He thought of her face—that perfect, famous face—next to him. That other celebrity. A man with a bigger name and a brighter smile.
"She's... she's just a lie." he grumbled, his speech stumbling over the words. "A beautiful, hollow lie. I gave her... I gave her the world... and she used it to buy a ticket... to someone else's bed."
He let out a tough, broken laugh that sounded more like a sob. He began to badmouth her, his words turning ugly and sharp. He called her a 'leech,' a 'fake,' a 'snake in a silk dress.' To him, she wasn't a goddess anymore. She was just a woman who had traded his soul for a few more minutes of fame.
"They all... they all do it." he muttered, his pale green eyes blurring as he stared at the road. "Work... earn... build... only for them to take... take... take."
He slammed his foot down on the accelerator. The Mercedes roared, a black shadow flying through the 3:00 AM mist. He felt like he was driving through his own life—fast, expensive, and completely out of control.
"Kaori..." he whispered, his voice suddenly small and cracked. "You... you killed me tonight."
He turned around a corner, the tires screaming against the wet road. He didn't know where he was going. He just knew he couldn't stay in the silence of his own mind.
The Mercedes moved through the 'bruised purple' night, its engine a low, angry growl that echoed off the damp brick walls. Seijurou's vision was a blur of wine and tears. He wasn't looking at the road; he was looking at the ghost of Kaori in his mind.
Suddenly, a flash of movement appeared in the glow of his high beams.
SCREEEEEECH!
Seijurou slammed his foot on the brake. The heavy car jumped forward, the tires screaming as they fought for grip on the wet road. The smell of burning rubber filled the cabin, sharp and bitter. The car finally came to a halt, the bumper just inches away from a girl standing in the middle of the street.
The girl froze. The white LED headlights hit her, making her look like a ghost in the mist.
Seijurou leaned out the window, his messy blonde hair falling over his bloodshot eyes. He was panting, his chest heaving with a mix of adrenaline and alcohol.
"Move!" he roared, his voice cracking. "Get out of the way, you brat! Do you want to die?!"
The girl didn't move. She adjusted the strap of her bag and looked him right in the eye—not with fear, but with pure, sharp annoyance.
"Are you serious?" she snapped back, her voice echoing in the quiet street. "You're driving like a maniac in a neighborhood where people are sleeping. Look at you—you're a mess."
Seijurou's jaw tightened. 'What is wrong with this generation?' he thought bitterly. 'No respect. No fear.'
"I said MOVE!" He slammed his palm against the horn. BEEEEE-EEEP! The sound was unbearable, a violent sound that shattered the
3:00 AM silence. "I'll run you over, I swear it!"
The girl rolled her eyes and stepped onto the sidewalk, but she didn't stay quiet.
"Go home, Old Man." she yelled back over her shoulder. "Go sleep and stop mourning your breakup in the middle of the road. Some of us actually have places to be!"
Seijurou's face twisted in a snarl. "You... you little...!'
He didn't finish the insult. He just slammed the car back into gear and moved, the Mercedes disappearing slightly as he sped away, leaving the girl behind in a cloud of exhaust and mist.
Inside, his heart was hammering against his ribs. He took another swig of the wine, his hands shaking.
'Everyone...' he thought, his eyes narrowing as he stared into the dark. 'Everyone thinks they can talk to me like that. Kaori... that brat... the whole world.'
Meanwhile, back towards Asuka's side, the mist had turned into soft dew. Asuka walked along the edge of the bypass, her long coat fluttering around her knees. In her arms, she pressed the small pink box against her chest. The silk ribbon felt smooth against her cold fingers.
'Kurumi is so dramatic.' Asuka thought, a genuine, warm smile spreading across her face. 'Calling me at 3:00 AM just for this?'
She looked down at the gift. It represented a world outside her quiet, tired house. A world of friendship and birthdays and being
eighteen.
She felt a rare spark of hope. She couldn't wait to get home, crawl under her blankets, and see what was inside.
The road was silent, lined with thick, tall trees that seemed to watch her pass. The air smelled of wet earth and pine. She was only a few minutes from her neighbourhood.
'I'll be back before Mom even wakes up.' she whispered to herself. 'Everything is going to be okay.'
----
✦ 🔮 A GLIMPSE INTO THE NEXT CHAPTER 🔮 ✦
"What awaits beyond this page...?" 🌙
(灬･◡･灬)♡
"Hey! Girl! Respond to me! Where is your family? Tell me where you live!"
"Maybe you should leave before I strip off whatever 'reputation' you think you have left. You look pathetic."
---
🌙 The stars may fade, and memories may sleep...
But the Spiral continues to turn.
Until we meet again beneath the same forgotten sky.
(ﾟヮﾟ)
— SakuraShinomiya