Later that evening, as the sky darkened and the faint hum of crickets filled the air, Ren was back home, sprawled in front of his gaming console. The glow from the screen bathed his messy room, the controller firm in his hands as he focused intensely on the online multiplayer ranked match.
The tension in the game was palpable, his teammates barking commands through his headset. Ren's brow furrowed in concentration. "Play the objective, you noobs!" he snapped, his voice dripping with frustration as the action heated up.
"Ren?" His mother's voice called from the doorway.
"Not now!" Ren shouted without turning, his hands gripping the controller tightly as his character dodged an incoming attack.
She stepped inside, wearing a light sweater over a simple skirt with an apron tied at her waist. She carried the scent of freshly made dinner with her, soft and motherly despite her son's tone. "Dinner's almost ready," she said gently, her voice cutting through the sounds of gunfire from the game.
Ren groaned loudly. "I'm in the middle of a ranked match! I can't pause this!" His voice was sharp, frustration clear.
"But it's your favorite—teriyaki, with extra sauce," she offered, her tone warm but hesitant. "Just the way you like it."
"I'll eat in my room later!" Ren snapped, glancing briefly at her. "Just leave it there, okay?"
She frowned but didn't press further. Stepping closer, she brushed a stray lock of hair out of his face, her fingers hesitant. "Ren, we'd love it if you'd join us tonight. Your father's already at the table. We hardly get to sit together as a family anymore."
Ren ducked away from her hand, his eyes flicking back to the screen. "Yeah, yeah, I'll eat later."
Her smile faltered, but she straightened, adjusting her apron. "Alright, I'll leave a plate for you. Just… don't let it go cold, okay?"
"Okay," Ren muttered, barely acknowledging her.
She left quietly, the sound of her slippers fading down the hallway. Ren returned to the game, but his focus wavered for a moment, his frustration bubbling over as the enemy team gained the upper hand.
"Damn it, no! Push left! What the hell are you guys doing?" he shouted into his headset. But it was too late—his team lost the match.
Ren slammed the controller onto the desk, letting out an angry growl. "Ugh! Are you kidding me?! Thanks, Mom!" he yelled at the now-empty doorway, blaming her interruption for his loss.
He sat there, fuming, the controller abandoned on the desk. His phone buzzed on the coffee table, pulling his attention away. Snatching it roughly, he unlocked it to find a flood of unread messages from one of the school group chats.
He scrolled through the chat, irritation bubbling up as he read:
YukiShine✨: Ren, could you cover me for math homework tomorrow? I'll owe you one!
😌👍: Hey Ren, can you bring your notes? I missed the last two classes.
Ren's lips curled into a sneer. "Yeah, right," he muttered, arching an eyebrow.
"They never ask how I'm doing or what I want. It's always just: Hey, help me out with this. Do that. I'm not their personal assistant." He thought bitterly. "I bet they don't even remember my name."
With a sharp flick, he muted the chat and tossed his phone aside, letting out a heavy sigh. He grabbed his plate of food, plopped down on the couch, and opened YouTube, scrolling aimlessly for something to watch. He settled on a gaming stream and dug into his food.
The streamer's voice filled the room, but it couldn't drown out the nagging noise from down the hall. His parents' laughter echoed faintly, warm and unbothered. Ren rolled his eyes, irritation bubbling up.
"Do they always have to be so loud? Can't they take their happy little chats somewhere else?" he thought bitterly. "I get it—you're the perfect couple. Now shut up already."
He set his plate down, wiping his hands on his pants, and grabbed his phone. Scrolling through social media, he paused on a post.
[LIMITED-TIME OFFLINE EVENT — GACHA: ETHER SOULS - MEGACITY TOKYO LOCATION]
Date: TOMORROW, 9 AM - FIRST COME, FIRST SERVE!
His eyes widened.
"No way…" he breathed, leaning forward like the news might vanish if he blinked. His fingers flew across the trackpad, scrolling through the comment thread below. Screenshots of exclusive merch, in-game rewards, and early beta character trials flooded the feed.
A pang of urgency jabbed at his chest.
If he wanted to go—really go—he'd need to move fast.
He glanced at the clock.
01:12 AM.
"Damn," he muttered. "That's happening tomorrow?"
For a moment, he froze. Then he yawned, stretching like a cat too lazy to care despite the chaos. His knuckles cracked. His back popped. He shut his laptop with a low thunk, the screen fading to black and casting the room in dim LED shadows.
The pile of unwashed laundry in the corner of his room might as well have been a mountain. The desk was a disaster zone—half-crushed cans of melon soda, torn-up gacha codes, and instant ramen wrappers formed a little ecosystem of neglect.
But Ren didn't care.
"Shit," he mumbled, voice muffled by the pillow he flopped face-first into.
The phone he tossed onto the chair buzzed once, showing a reminder to "Charge your pass for train fare."
Ignored.
He let out a final groan, burrowing into his bed like the world outside no longer mattered. Within moments, his breath steadied. The hum of the city outside melted into the white noise of a sleepless Tokyo night.
Tomorrow could wait.
But Ether Souls couldn't.
The next morning, sunlight streamed through the kitchen window, casting golden ribbons of light across the pale wood counters and the polished floor. The table was already set: a bowl of steaming miso soup, gently swaying with the rise of heat, sat beside a small plate of perfectly cut toast and a soft-boiled egg. The air smelled faintly of soy and seaweed, familiar and comforting.
"Ren," his mother called gently from where she stood by the stove, still in her apron. "Eat your breakfast before you go."
At the doorway, Ren paused only to adjust the strap of his bag over one shoulder, fingers brushing impatiently against the buckle. His eyes didn't even glance at the food.
"Not hungry," he muttered, already reaching for the handle.
His mother took half a step toward him, voice rising with concern. "At least take—"
Click.
The door shut.
A long silence followed, thick as the scent of soup that still hung in the air.
She stood still for a moment, eyes fixed on the space he had occupied, fingers curling tight around the edge of the counter. Her voice cracked under the weight of it all, barely above a whisper.
"I don't know what to do with him anymore… He barely speaks to us these days. It's like he's shutting us out."
Across the room, Ren's father sat behind the newspaper, his face hidden until he slowly lowered the crisp pages and folded them with careful precision. He set it down on the table beside his untouched tea, then reached up to adjust his tie, the motion as practiced as it was slow.
"He's at that age now," he said, voice measured, emotionless. "He'll grow out of it."
His wife turned toward him, frustration flashing in her eyes. "But what if he doesn't? What if this isn't just a phase? Can't you at least go talk to him?"
He inhaled deeply, then exhaled through his nose—sharp and deliberate. For a brief moment, he rubbed at his temples like the weight of the morning was finally starting to press against him. Then, quietly, he pushed himself to his feet.
"Alright…" he said. "I'll try and talk to him later."
Silence settled back into the room like dust, undisturbed and lingering. The morning light was still there—streaming softly through the window—but it did nothing to ease the cold tension that hung between the walls of that house.
Ren walked in silence, hands shoved into his pockets, his bag slung over one shoulder. The crisp morning air bit at his skin, but he barely noticed. Around him, clusters of students headed in the same direction, their chatter a dull, rhythmic murmur that faded into the background.
A pair of girls in the same uniform walked just ahead of him, skirts swaying in rhythm with their steps. Their voices carried softly through the morning stillness.
"Did you hear about what happened to Daichi and Yuto?" one asked, her tone somber, edged with something like disbelief.
Ren's feet faltered—just slightly.
"Daichi. Yuto."
The names echoed, sharp and unwelcome, dragging yesterday's scene into his mind like a rusted hook: Kaito on the floor, bloodied and pleading… Ren, walking away.
He shut his eyes for a beat too long, forcing his expression blank. His mind pulled down the shutters.
"Not my problem."
He didn't hear whatever the girls said after that. Their voices drifted like fog, meaningless noise. His thoughts were already sealing the memory in a dark, locked drawer he didn't plan to open.
He reached the station and slipped into the crowd. The train to Ōme was waiting, doors yawning open like a mouth ready to swallow routine.
But Ren didn't plan to go to school today.
As the train rolled along its route, winding through the quiet mountain line, Ren stared blankly out the window until the familiar station passed him by without pause.
"No turning back now."
At the next stop, he rose from his seat, blending into the morning crowd. Navigating through the connecting platforms, he ducked into a restroom and locked himself in a stall. His motions were swift, practiced.
Blazer off. Shirt unbuttoned. The cold stall echoed as fabric rustled and his school uniform disappeared into his bag. In its place: a plain black hoodie and worn jeans. He tugged the zipper up, then pulled a cap low over his eyes.
He emerged and paused at the mirror. A quick glance.
"Good enough."
Minutes later, he boarded a different train—this one bound for Tokyo. The further they traveled from the quiet mountains, the more the energy shifted. The train buzzed with anticipation, chatter rising in excitement.
By the time the skyline came into view, glass and steel gleaming against the morning sun, Ren's pulse had started to pick up—not from guilt, but from something else.
When he stepped out into Akihabara, the city swallowed him.
Bright signs blinked with animated mascots, holograms floated from store displays, and vendors lined the streets shouting over each other with practiced enthusiasm.
"Limited-edition figures, only available today!" one cried, holding up a box still warm from the delivery truck.
Cosplayers crowded the streets, striking poses for photos. Some wore elaborate outfits that looked straight out of an anime, while others repped characters from the gacha game Ren played.
'This is insane."
He made his way through the crowd, soaking in the atmosphere. Every booth he passed had something tempting—posters, acrylic stands, keychains, all featuring characters he recognized. The special event banners fluttered in the wind, showcasing exclusive in-game bonuses for attendees.
At one of the demo booths, a group had gathered around a screen, watching a live showcase. Ren slipped in among them. The developers were introducing a new event character, and the audience let out a collective gasp as the 3D model rotated on-screen.
"She looks broken," someone muttered.
"I'm pulling for her no matter what," another person said.
Ren crossed his arms, eyes glued to the screen. The animation was crisp, the special moves flashy.
"Yeah, I need her."
After watching for a while, he drifted to another stall selling limited-edition merch. A keychain caught his eye—his favorite character, rendered in high quality.
Only a few left.
'If I don't get it now, it'll be gone."
Without hesitation, he grabbed one and paid for it, tucking it safely into his bag.
Hours passed in a blur. He tested out new game mechanics, snapped photos of cosplayers, and even grabbed a drink from a themed café pop-up. The entire experience was surreal—like stepping into a world he usually only saw through a screen.
For the first time in a while, he felt... free.
But as the sun began its descent, reality crept back in.
He checked his phone.
"Shit. I need to get back."
Quickly mapping out his route, he boarded a train back to Haijima. As he neared the station, he ducked back into the restroom, switching into his school uniform once again. He adjusted the blazer, making sure nothing looked out of place.
When he finally stepped onto the train home, he blended in seamlessly with the exhausted students returning from their normal, uneventful day.
As he sat down, his fingers brushed against the keychain in his pocket.
A small, satisfied smirk played on his lips. "Worth it."