Night Time — 1:32 AM
The night was unnervingly quiet—too quiet.Not the comforting kind of silence, but the unnatural, suffocating kind, like the world itself had gone deaf.
Lying in bed, I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to relax. Sleep had been slipping through my fingers for months now, and tonight was no different.But something felt off—a new unease coiling in my stomach.
I drifted to the center of my bed.
Then suddenly—Something was wrong.
A weight pressed against my chest. My limbs—heavy, unmovable. It felt like invisible hands were pinning me down.Why can't I move?
My pulse pounded in my ears. I willed my fingers to twitch, my legs to jerk—anything—but my body stayed frozen.
Then, a voice.
"Jinrai! NOOO!"
The cry cut through the darkness—raw and desperate.
Who is Jinrai?
The name meant nothing to me, but it echoed in my skull like a forgotten memory clawing to surface.
Panic flared in my gut. I fought harder, my breath quickening, ribs tightening as if something unseen was squeezing the air from my lungs.
Then, the room—No, the world—shifted.
The walls trembled. The bed quivered beneath me, just like it had at the museum earlier.
Was it him?
Was he… here?
I wasn't alone.
A presence loomed—dark, heavy, ancient.It curled around me, suffocating, unseen but undeniably there.
The hairs on my arms rose. The air itself thickened, charged with something unnatural.
Then—Red eyes.
Glowing. Piercing.Right in front of me.
A ragged gasp tore from my throat as my body finally broke free.
I shot upright, lungs heaving, sweat dripping down my face. My hands trembled violently, fingers gripping the sheets like they were my only anchor.
The room was still. Empty.
But my heart knew better.
And then, I saw it.
In my shaking hands lay a torn, crumbling map—inked with symbols I couldn't read… yet somehow, I knew it was meant for me.
5:00 AM — The Day of the Mission
I decided to start early.The sun wasn't even up yet—it was still sleeping.
But I couldn't.I woke up with a numb heaviness in my chest. In my heart, to be more precise.
I was about to do something out of this world. Something unimaginable.
Something I never believed was possible:
Saving my mom from death.
I scratched my head, wondering what would happen if I failed.
The doubts started running a marathon in my mind, loud like a drummer hitting mismatched beats.
Staring down at my feet, I tried to visualize what was waiting for me out there…In that ancient forest.
"Huh… What was I thinking…"
Walking toward the bathroom, I picked up my toothbrush and caught my reflection in our cracked mirror.
The fissures were in the upper right corner, and they reminded me of the day my mom cut her palm while trying to tape that exact spot.
I reached toward it.
I wanted to touch it.
I wanted to feel what she felt.
All the suffering she went through, the pain she hid behind her eyes… I wanted to carry it too.She had always done everything she could to protect me.
I stared intensely into the mirror.
I wanted to cut myself.
And there it was—The same cut on my palm.Just like hers.
A quiet fire burned in my eyes.
Yes. I know now. I'm doing this for her.
It scared me, honestly—seeing my own gaze that intense.
6:00 AM
It was freezing.
The cold wind slipped through my black zip-up jacket. Underneath, I wore a plain white T-shirt and black pants. I didn't have much, but at least I had my mother's necklace, which I'd turned into a bracelet.
Dead leaves swirled across the streets, carried by the wind like it was doing its morning chores.
I looked at my watch.
6:00 am sharp.
We agreed to meet at 6:15 in front of the old bus stop, near our old childhood playground.
The voices in my head, which had been quiet for ten seconds, rose again.Should I really bring her?What if something happens to her? Why—
Then, in the middle of my thoughts… I sensed her.
Coming from afar.
Wearing a BIG orange hoodie.
Seriously?
She strolled up in black leggings that mold all her growing forms, jean shorts layered on top, and that loud orange crop-top hoodie. Just a banana sling bag hanging off her side. And her sneakers—high-tops laced all the way up to her ankles.
She looked ready to star in her own fantasy anime.
I blinked.
She waved.
"Why are you staring at me like that? Do I have something on my face?"
"Hello to you too."
"Sorry!—hey, Ikiryo."
"You're seriously wearing that? You look like you're trying to out-orange an orange."
Yumi burst out laughing—a sound so bright it could wake the whole island.
"Says the guy geared up like he's moving into the woods permanently! Oversized backpack , to much?"
"It's called being prepared."
Then she tilted her head. "And to answer your question: it's just… orange is a friendly color! We're going into a mystical forest—why dress in black and have all this stuff?"
"Because Yumi. It's real. Real danger. I need to be prepared, not... stylish."
"This isn't a manga, Ikiryo. Travel light, move fast!"
"Yes this isn't a manga, Yumi. Or a book. It's real life now. Being prepared is non-negotiable."
"Hey, I was just—"
"No, Yumi."
I cut her off and stepped closer.
"I need you to take this seriously."
She froze, eyes wide, taken aback.
"I was just trying to lighten the mood…"
"We have more to lose than to gain here," I said, locking eyes with her."I can't risk failing. I can't risk losing my mom."
Silence.
Then, softly—"…Okay. I get it."