In a nondescript modern city, lived a young man whose ambition had evaporated long ago. At twenty-seven, three years post-graduation, Mori was the definition of "drifting." He had no job, no prospects, and still lived in his childhood bedroom in his parents' modest home.
His stagnant existence was a source of constant, palpable frustration for his parents. To keep him from turning into a complete fixture of the couch, his mother often invented chores to occupy his time.
"Mori!" she called out, thrusting a heavy cardboard box of forgotten clutter into his arms. "Take this to the old family warehouse. Now."
Mori groaned, the weight of the box shifting against his chest. "Why? Why do I have to go to that damp, creepy old place?"
His mother fixed him with a sharp glare. "Don't be ridiculous. It might be old and dark, but you're not a child afraid of the boogeyman. Go. And don't come back until it's done."
"Ugh, fine. Thanks for the lucky break, Mom," he muttered, shuffling toward the door.
He grabbed a flickering flashlight and made his way to the forgotten warehouse. The air inside was thick with dust and the smell of mildew. After dumping the box in a corner, his flashlight beam swept across the cluttered space, stopping abruptly at the back.
Something was there. A strange, soot-stained jar with a sealed mouth, nestled in a cobwebbed corner. Curiosity, the only thing still vibrant in him, flared up. He approached, excited by the prospect of finding a forgotten relic. He carefully cracked the seal and peered inside.
Nothing. Just an empty, dark void. Disappointment, heavy and familiar, hit him. He slammed the jar down and marched back home, cursing his wasted afternoon.
Hours later, his parents were preparing to leave.
"Where are you guys going?" Mori asked, emerging from his room.
"We have errands to run," his father said, not making eye contact.
" Errands? At this hour?" Mori's brow furrowed. "Are you guys going... without me?"
"Well, you're not busy," his mother said with a dismissive wave. "Stay home and guard the house. We won't be long."
Watching his family leave him behind, Mori felt a familiar pang of dejection. Dismissed again. But as the taillights of their car faded, a different thought took hold. Wait... this is actually a golden opportunity.
He ran back up to his room, locking the door. For the first time in ages, he could play his favorite MMORPG without interruption. He sank into his chair, the glow of the screen erasing the warehouse, the disappointment, and his parents' frustration. He played, completely immersed, until long after midnight.
Thump.
A distinct noise from the backyard pierced through his noise-canceling headphones. Mori froze. He imagined a burglar, emboldened by the silent house. Fear, cold and sharp, replace the game's adrenaline.
His eyes darted around the room. He needed a weapon. His gaze landed on the wall of his father's room. A decorative sword—an old family heirloom that had never seen a sharpeners' stone—hung on the wall. He grabbed it, the cold metal grip grounding him.
He stepped out into the dark backyard. Everything seemed normal. Just an animal, he reasoned, his heart still pounding. Don't be a coward.
He turned to go back inside, a breath of relief halfway out of his lungs.
That's when he saw it.
Standing right behind him.
The silhouette of a monster, formed from shifting shadows, looming in the moonlight.