An old Kaishi proverb says, "The thread of a new destiny begins not with a step, but with a fall."
Rain pattered on cracked concrete.
It was a soft percussion that blended with the distant hum of an awakening city.
Riku Hayashi's eyes jerked open. A rusted metal gate screeched above him. The sound sliced through his shallow sleep.
Groggy and lost, he stared up at the gray dawn. His breath misted in the sharp air.
Every limb ached as if he'd slept through a hundred restless nights.
He sat up on a battered bench beneath a cracked overpass. The chill of the night still clung to his thin jacket.
He remembered wandering aimlessly through shadowy streets as evening fell. Exhaustion had finally overcome him.
This bench had been his only refuge—a meager shield from the rain and wind, nothing more.
.....
Around him, the city stirred relentlessly.
Footsteps echoed on wet pavement. A newspaper vendor shouted at a customer. A cyclist zoomed past, nearly missing a pedestrian.
Riku's mind spun. He tried to anchor itself in this strange place.
His eyes darted across the street. Old taxis—boxy and faded—lurched forward at an intersection. Businessmen in crumpled suits barked into payphones.
Nearby, a group of schoolchildren huddled together. They were swapping beepers adorned with anime stickers.
From a bakery's half-open window, an old pop ballad fluttered out into the morning air.
Riku reached into his jacket pocket. His fingers closed around the familiar weight of a velvet pouch and the rough edge of a business card. He pulled them out.
The card bore his name, "Riku Hayashi," and an unfamiliar address scrawled below.
The pouch was heavy with crisp bills—yen, but old and unfamiliar. Their edges were too sharp. The faces on them were not those of any politicians he remembered.
A blurred memory flickered. City lights seen from a taxi. A message left unsent.
Now, here he was. Alone.
.....
Suddenly, a gruff voice snapped him back to reality. "Hey! You can't sleep here all day! Some of us have work to do!"
The newspaper vendor glared at him. His eyes were tired but sharp.
Riku scrambled up. He mumbled an apology as his wet shoes slipped on the cracked pavement.
The vendor muttered something about newcomers before turning back to his papers.
Shaking off the chill and a creeping panic, Riku mustered his resolve.
He began walking. The directions on the card were his only guide.
Streets twisted into tight alleys. They were lined with shops boasting faded signboards and flickering neon.
He passed a dry cleaner. An old man wiping his glasses eyed him suspiciously.
"Lost, aren't you?" the man said, his voice gravelly.
Riku nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat.
The city's pulse was overwhelming. It was a place that made no room for hesitation.
As rain threatened to soak through his jacket, a burst of warm air from a nearby bakery drifted down the street. Hunger pushed him inside.
He fumbled nervously with his money. He accidentally offered double the price. The cashier's exasperated smile was kind as she returned the proper change.
"First time in Torai?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.
"Yeah, I guess," Riku admitted, his cheeks burning.
.....
He found a seat by the rain-streaked window. He peeled the steaming melon bun with shaky fingers.
His eyes darted to a tabloid headline left on the table: "The Internet Era Has Arrived!"
A jolt went through him. Technology here was on the cusp. It had yet to explode wildly as he knew it would years later.
Lost in thought, Riku barely noticed the conversations around him.
Businessmen debated stock prices. A couple discussed fax machines. The quiet hum of this transitional world wrapped around him, isolating yet oddly reassuring.
The bell above the bakery door jingled.
Two teens entered. Their rain-soaked uniforms clung to their knees as they argued about whether cassette tapes or CDs made for better gifts.
Riku smiled to himself. At least some things never changed.
He flipped the business card over in his hand. He read the single line written in English: Second chances are earned, not given.
The words settled on his chest. A quiet challenge he wasn't sure he was ready for.
Steeling himself, Riku left the bakery. He stepped back into the drizzle. He followed the card's directions to a modest brick building.
The faded sign above read "Watanabe & Sons: Importers and Consultancy."
Old advertising stickers peeled from the windowsill. Across the street, a payphone rang twice, unanswered.
Inside, past a cluttered wooden desk, a man glanced up from a ledger. His sharp eyes narrowed as he looked at Riku.
"You're early," the man said simply.
Riku held out the card. "My name's Riku Hayashi. I was told to come here."
The man gestured to a dilapidated chair. "Sit. Let's see what you've got."
.....
Riku eased himself down, his hands twisting in his lap.
A middle-aged woman with her hair in a paisley kerchief ducked her head into the office.
"Need anything, Mr. Watanabe?" she called.
Mr. Watanabe shook his head. His eyes never left Riku. "If this guy sticks around, maybe some proper coffee." A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Riku offered a shy smile in return.
"Tell me about yourself, Hayashi," Mr. Watanabe said. "Why'd you come to Torai?"
Riku hesitated. His heart was thudding. The truth—any truth—felt slippery. "I, uh, needed a fresh start."
"Don't we all?" Mr. Watanabe chuckled quietly. He leaned forward. "Can you type? You look smart enough. Know how to use a computer?"
Something inside Riku steadied. "Yes, sir. I can handle office work. Data, accounts, reports—I'll learn whatever you need."
A silence followed. It was broken only by the ticking of a faded wall clock.
Mr. Watanabe nodded. It was the look of a man who'd heard a thousand lies and decided this one was good enough for today.
"Alright. We'll see," he said. "The office opens at eight. Be back tomorrow—on time."
He paused. His gaze hardened just a little. "Don't make me regret this, kid."
Relief made Riku's knees weak. He stood. He thanked the man, bowed—even if his form was imperfect—and stepped out into the cool, late morning air.
The street was brighter now.
The clouds had parted. For just a moment, sunlight bathed the marketplace and shone off tram rails overhead.
Riku looked out over the city.
He allowed himself the first real smile of the day—a private promise that, whatever this strange world demanded, he would earn his second chance.