At around 10:30 AM, the silence in the apartment started to feel a bit too loud.
"Alright, enough this bs," Haizumi muttered, pushing himself away from the table.
He took his sad little breakfast setup to the sink. He washed the saucer, the nearly empty jar of blueberry jam, and the spoon with mechanical efficiency. Clink. Splash. Dry.
Time to touch grass. Or at least, touch the linoleum of the grocery store aisle.
He patted his pockets—phone check, wallet check. He opened the kitchen cabinet and grabbed his reusable eco-bag, stuffing the folded fabric into his pocket. It was a mundane routine, but hey, survival is 90% logistics.
He stepped out, locking the door behind him with a heavy thud.
The descent down the stairs was less of a walk and more of a tactical obstacle course. Haizumi moved like he was dodging landmines.
"Excuse me," he mumbled, sidestepping a guy who was practically making out with his screen.
"Uh-huh," the guy grunted, not even looking up as he doomscrolled through a feed of 15-second dance videos.
Haizumi dodged another neighbor who was typing furiously with both thumbs, completely blind to the fact that stairs generally require visual attention. It was like a low-budget zombie apocalypse, but instead of brains, everyone was hungry for notifications.
He finally reached the exit, bursting out onto the sidewalk.
The city of Canway was buzzing. Haizumi gripped his folded eco-bag tighter, his eyes darting around. He was hyper-alert, scanning his surroundings like a radar.
It was a weird mix out here.
He passed a group of girls walking arm-in-arm, laughing about something loud and private. Besties, probably. Haizumi looked away, focusing on the pavement. Must be nice.
Then there were the others—the Solo Leveling players of real life. People walking alone, heads down, glued to their phones, dodging traffic by sheer luck and peripheral vision.
Thump-thump-thump.
A guy jogged past him, sweating in a neon windbreaker, massive headphones clamped over his ears.
Haizumi checked his watch. "What? Jogging at around 10:30 AM?" he thought, raising an eyebrow. "Weirdo."
Who has the energy to run before lunch on a Saturday?
He shivered slightly. The weather wasn't actually that bad—no scorching sun today—but the air had a bite to it. He checked the temperature on his mental dashboard. About 6°C.
"Chilly," Haizumi whispered, pulling his jacket tighter. "Almost as cold as those people's insides."
He kept his head down, minding his own business, treating the vibrant city around him like background noise he couldn't turn off. He didn't give any business to the surroundings—no eye contact, no smiling at strangers. Just a ghost passing through the machine.
Up ahead, the neon sign of the convenience store flickered, a beacon of essential goods. Finally.
He entered the store. The automatic doors slid open with a soft whoosh.
It wasn't huge—not a hypermarket—but not a cramped hole-in-the-wall either. It had that specific "we sell vegetables but also processed sadness" vibe. It was modest enough to be stocked with the essentials: fresh-ish fruits, vegetables, and shelves of snacks.
Haizumi scanned the aisles. Obstacles everywhere.
He saw some people standing directly in front of the shelves, blocking the way. They were typing furiously on their phones—probably asking the group chat which brand of soy sauce was trending or waiting for Mom to reply with the shopping list.
"Ugh, move," Haizumi thought, steering around them.
Further down, another shopper was having a full-blown video call next to the dairy section. Loud. No headphones. Just broadcasting his entire life to the milk cartons.
"Yeah, bro, can you hear me? The connection is trash here!" the guy shouted at his screen.
Haizumi rolled his eyes. Main character energy.
He glanced at the counter. Even the staff wasn't safe. The woman behind the register was slumped over, giggling at a meme video on her phone, totally ignoring the fact that she was arguably at work.
Haizumi let out a long, heavy sigh.
"Cellphone society," he muttered to himself, the cynicism dripping from his voice. "The world is actually so pissed off right now."
It was hopeless. Everyone was plugged in, tuned out, and buffering.
He shook his head and grabbed a yellow plastic basket from the stack near the counter. Snap.
Time to get the goods and get out.
He headed straight for the bread and pastry shelves. He needed something to replace those dry slices of sadness he had this morning. He grabbed a loaf of bread.
"$8.75?" Haizumi squinted at the tag. "Sheesh. Is this bread made of gold or something?"
He tossed it in the basket anyway. Gotta eat.
Next stop, the dairy section. He had to maneuver around the guy who was still screaming at his video call about "trash connection."
He reached for a 2-liter gallon of milk. The price stared back at him: $12.60.
"Owh, my wallet is crying," he thought, shaking his head. "Are the cows wearing designer brands now? Whatever."
He grabbed it, along with a stick of unsalted butter ($4.30). At least the butter wasn't trying to rob him.
Then came the rest of the haul. He loaded up on canned foods—modern survival rations—and grabbed a new jar of blueberry jam to replace the empty one back home.
He swung by the produce section for some vegetables and fruits, then the meat section for chicken and beef, and finally, he carefully balanced a carton of eggs on top of everything.
His basket was getting heavy, and his social battery was getting low.
He hauled his basket to the checkout zone. There were three counters in total. One was manned—well, "woman-ed"—by a staff member, and the other two were self-service kiosks.
Haizumi glanced at the staffed counter. The cashier was still at it. She was hunched over her phone, completely engrossed in some funny video, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. She didn't even look up to see if a customer existed.
"Yeah, nope," Haizumi thought. "Not interrupting that cinematic experience."
He steered straight for the self-service machines. Why talk to a human who doesn't want to talk to you when you can talk to a machine that just wants your money? It was safer.
He set his basket down. Beep. Beep. Beep.
He scanned everything—the overpriced milk, the bougie bread, the eggs. He tapped his card on the terminal.
Ping.
Payment approved.
He spent $103.49 for just basic groceries.
"Hsst, inflation. Thanks to these ignorant babies." Haizumi whispered while pulling a fresh printed receipt.
He grabbed his crumpled eco-bag from his pocket, shook it open, and started packing his loot. Heavy stuff at the bottom, eggs on top. Tetris skills coming in clutch.
Once he was done, he left the yellow plastic basket in the stack.
"Bye, society," he mumbled.
He stepped onto the sensor mat, and the automatic doors slid open again. He walked out of the store, back into the chilly morning air.
He trudged back along the sidewalk, retracing his steps to the apartment. The "NPCs" were still spawning.
He passed a couple on a bench who looked like they were bonding—if "bonding" meant sitting three feet apart and aggressively ignoring each other to scroll through their respective feeds. Modern romance, huh?
Then there were the loiterers, just chilling on the public benches, phones raised to eye level like they were offering prayers to the Wi-Fi gods.
Haizumi kept his head down, clutching his eco-bag like a shield.
He reached his building and started the climb. The 6th floor wasn't Everest, but with the human obstacles, it felt like it.
"Excuse me," he said again, squeezing past a teenager sitting directly on the stairs, blocking the way. The kid was deep in a game, thumbs flying, completely deaf to the world.
"Uh," the kid grunted, shifting his leg about an inch.
Haizumi dodged another neighbor on the 4th landing who was leaning against the railing, face illuminated by the blue glow of a screen, totally checked out. It was a minefield of zombies.
Finally, he reached his door. Click. Clack. Safe zone.
He stepped inside and locked the world out. The silence greeted him like an old friend.
He walked to the kitchen table and carefully lowered the heavy bag. Thump. He didn't want to crack those eggs.
"Mission accomplished," he sighed, the tension draining out of his shoulders.
He pulled a chair out and sat down heavily. And then, purely out of muscle memory, before he even took off his jacket or unpacked the milk, his hand went to his pocket.
He pulled out his phone.
He woke the screen, and the lock screen was already flooded. A tidal wave of red dots and banners.
"Ah, geez. Here we go," he mumbled, scrolling through the mess.
Most of it was just pure noise. Absolute nonsense.
LetsChat! City Chill Chat:@everyone!!! ANNOUNCEMENT: Server revamp coming soon! React with emoji to keep your roles!! — Ugh, just pure role mentions. Do they ever sleep?
Face It Off:You have 3 new friend requests. — Probably bots or people trying to sell him crypto.
Be Ready:New trending post in r/Memes: "When the wifi cuts out lol." — Groundbreaking content, truly.
You Watch It:Needle TV vlogs has uploaded a new video: "WE BOUGHT A ZOO?!" — Haizumi didn't even remember subscribing to that channel.
He was about to swipe it all away into the digital abyss when one notification stood out. It sat quietly among the screaming apps, dignified and precise.
[Anima-Tech Solutions]Subject: Order Update #H-001-SUBJECT-ALPHA - Delivery Status Change
Haizumi sat up straighter. "Eh? Already?"
He tapped the notification, bypassing the noise of the social apps. The email client opened.
Dear Mr. Haizumi,
Good news! Due to efficient logistical routing, your order status has been updated.
Previous Delivery: Sunday, October 22 (Tomorrow)
New Delivery: Saturday, October 21 (Today) @ 3:00 PM
Item: Social Engagement Replica (SER) - Series 5
Status: Out for Delivery
Driver: [Automated Courier 44]
"Whoa," Haizumi blinked at the screen. "3 PM today? That's... really fast."
He checked the time. It was almost 11:30 AM now. That meant in just a few hours, the apartment wouldn't be empty anymore.
He looked at the grocery bags on the table, then back at the phone. For the first time all day, the notification didn't annoy him. It actually felt like something real.
"Okay," he whispered, a weird feeling bubbling in his chest—something dangerously close to excitement. "Okay, then."