The rain slammed against Kazu's window like an angry fist. Each drop hit the cracked glass with a dull thud, a rhythm that synced with the pounding in his head. He slouched on his sagging couch, the springs creaking under him, worn out from years of supporting his dead weight.
Thirty-four. Jobless. Virgin. That was his life in three words. A pathetic little haiku he'd never write down.
He stared at his laptop, its screen flickering like it was on life support. The battery was dying—10% left, maybe less. A paused episode of an old anime glowed faintly, the MCs smug face mocking him from the freeze-frame. Kazu hated that guy. Hated how he got a second shot at life, a new world to conquer.
Meanwhile, here he was. Stuck. Wasting away in a shoebox apartment in Tokyo, surrounded by trash he couldn't be bothered to throw out.
The room smelled like stale ramen and damp rot. Empty plastic cups cluttered the floor, their foil lids peeling back like dead skin. A half-empty bottle of cheap sake sat on the coffee table, its label stained with fingerprints. He'd been sipping it all night, chasing numbness.
It wasn't working. The alcohol just made everything sharper—every regret, every failure. He could taste the bitterness on his tongue, sour and thick.
Outside, the city hummed with a life he'd never been part of. Neon lights bled through the rain-streaked window, splashing pink and blue across the peeling walls. Tokyo didn't care about him. No one did.
He ran a hand through his hair. It was greasy, tangled, sticking to his fingers. He hadn't showered in days—maybe a week. What was the point? No one was coming to see him. No job interviews. No dates. Nothing.
His reflection flickered in the laptop's dark screen when it dimmed. Hollow cheeks. A scruffy beard he'd stopped shaving. Eyes sunken from too many sleepless nights. He looked like a ghost already.
Once, he'd had dreams. Big ones. He'd wanted to be a writer, spinning tales of magic and adventure. Or maybe a musician, strumming chords that made people feel something. Anything but this—this lump of a man rotting on a couch.
But every job application he'd sent had vanished into the void. Every story he'd started ended up crumpled in the trash or deleted from his hard drive. He didn't have the guts to keep going.
The rain got louder, a sudden gust shaking the window. He glanced at it, half-expecting the glass to shatter. Let the storm in. Flood this miserable place. Maybe that'd be poetic—nature finishing what he couldn't.
In the corner, a stack of old manga teetered against the wall. Vampires. Heroes. Dragons. As a kid, he'd devoured those pages, imagining himself as the dark, brooding figure with fangs and power. Untouchable. Eternal.
Now, the memory just made him laugh. A dry, ugly sound that scratched his throat. Power? He couldn't even pay his electric bill. The landlord had already left two voicemails about the rent. He hadn't listened to them.
He grabbed the sake bottle, tilting it to his lips. The burn slid down his throat, harsh and familiar. It didn't help, but it was something to do. Something to feel.
On the screen, the MC stared back, still paused mid-smirk. That bastard had it all—magic, women, a purpose. Kazu wanted to punch the screen, but the laptop was the only thing he owned worth a damn.
"What's the point?" he muttered. His voice was rough, rusty from disuse. He hadn't spoken to anyone in days. Maybe weeks. "Even if I died tomorrow, there's no second chance for me. No fantasy world. Just a coffin. Or an urn."
The laptop chirped—low battery. A red warning blinked in the corner. He slammed it shut, cutting off the MCs smug face. The room plunged into shadow, lit only by the flickering neon outside.
He leaned back, sinking deeper into the couch. The cushions smelled like mildew. His eyes drifted shut, the rain's steady beat filling his ears. It was almost soothing, like a lullaby for the damned.
Kazu didn't hear the world outside shifting. Didn't catch the faint squeal of tires on wet pavement, growing closer. He didn't know that fate was already moving—fast, loud, and unforgiving.
His apartment was a tomb, and he was its only occupant. The walls were stained with years of neglect—yellowed patches where the paint had peeled, dark spots where leaks had seeped through. A single bulb hung from the ceiling, unlit. The power company had sent a final notice last week. He hadn't opened it.
He shifted, his leg knocking over an empty ramen cup. It rolled across the floor, stopping against a pile of unwashed clothes. Laundry was another thing he'd given up on. Why bother when he never left the house?
The sake bottle dangled from his hand, nearly empty now. He took another swig, letting the last drops hit his tongue. It tasted like regret. Like every choice he hadn't made.
He'd had a job once. A part-time gig at a convenience store, scanning bentos and cigarettes for late-night drunks. It hadn't paid much, but it'd kept him afloat. Until he'd stopped showing up.
The manager had called for a while, then gave up. Kazu didn't blame him. Who'd waste time on a guy who couldn't even clock in?
His parents had stopped calling years ago. Last he'd heard, they'd moved to Osaka. Or maybe it was Nagoya. He couldn't remember. Didn't care. They'd written him off when he dropped out of college, and he hadn't fought to prove them wrong.
Friends? He'd had a few in high school. Guys he'd played games with, swapped manga with. But they'd drifted away—got jobs, got married, got lives. He hadn't kept up. Hadn't texted back. Now his phone sat dead on the table, its screen cracked from a fall he didn't recall.
The rain was a roar now, drowning out the faint hum of the city. He opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling. A water stain spread across it, shaped vaguely like a face. It looked like it was laughing at him.