Thud! Leven's eyes flew open. Above him was the familiar cold white ceiling, and the air was filled with the sharp scent of disinfectant. Around him he heard students murmuring in low voices and the sound of hurried footsteps passing by.
"You're awake." A teacher in a white coat stood by the bed. His face bore a look of concern, and a hint of helplessness flickered in his eyes. He glanced up at the clock on the wall—it was already four o'clock, and the school's dismissal bell was about to ring.
Leven lifted his heavy head. His voice came out in a rasp as he turned toward the teacher.
"Mr. Takeda, what happened to me?"
Mr. Takeda's tone was gentle, though worry crept beneath it.
"You fainted around noon. Someone brought you back to school," he explained.
Leven rubbed his temple lightly. His head was still pounding, thoughts a haze—he hadn't fully recovered yet. Mr. Takeda offered a faint smile and patted him on the shoulder.
"It was likely heatstroke. Make sure you drink plenty of water and get some rest. Now, head over to the school office and find Mr. John; he's still waiting for you."
After Mr. Takeda left, Leven splashed some water on his face in the restroom. He stood before the mirror and examined his eyes. Everything seemed normal. Yet all he could think about was the moment he collapsed, and the two people who had helped him—try as he might, he couldn't clearly remember what they looked like as they left. Lost in thought, his feet carried him on autopilot through the halls until he found himself already at the school office.
When he pushed open the office door, he was greeted by Mr. John's silent, caring gaze, tinged with a deep sorrow. The anger that had been on his face earlier had long since faded, replaced by a heavy sigh.
He guided Leven to a chair and looked at him for a long time without speaking. Finally, he spoke, voice slow and weary.
"Ah… I don't even know what to say to you. Seeing you in this state, I don't have the energy to scold you anymore."
Mr. John's tone softened, unable to hide his concern.
"You're graduating soon. Have you figured out what you want to do after that?"
Leven curled his lips into a faint, nonchalant smile.
"I want to become a bear, because then I wouldn't have to work," he said lightly.
Mr. John's brow furrowed; he almost burst out in reprimand but caught himself. Weariness and frustration flickered in his eyes.
"Your parents have always wanted you to be a doctor or a lawyer. Are you sure this is what you want?"
"They don't have time to care about me anyway," Leven muttered in a trembling voice. He cast his eyes down, fingers quivering slightly at the seams of his pants as he struggled to hide the turmoil inside.
"All they do is send a few texts, then they vanish."
Mr. John fell silent for a moment. In the end he just gave a small, resigned shake of his head.
"You can go. Rewrite your report and turn it in tomorrow," he said quietly.
Leven stood and headed for the door. He had barely taken a few steps out when Mr. John's voice called after him from behind.
"And also, fix your school uniform—you're wearing it inside out."
Startled, Leven looked down and gave the hem of his shirt a half-hearted tug. Without a word, he hurried away.
After school, Leven walked home along his usual route. He turned right and went straight ahead, passed the convenience store that was always bustling with people, rounded the next corner, and after a few more steps arrived at his apartment building. He gave a perfunctory nod to the security guard downstairs, then took the elevator up to the 17th floor and stopped in front of Unit 1708.
As always, he knocked softly on the door first—it was a little ritual of his, even though he knew no one would answer. Three knocks, and silence. Nothing out of the ordinary. He pulled out the key he always carried; on the keychain hung a tiny chocolate-shaped charm that his mother had bought him back in elementary school.
Inside, the home was empty. Only his lone pair of shoes sat in the entryway. By force of habit, he called out into the apartment:
"I'm home!"
His voice echoed through the vacant rooms. He couldn't even be bothered to take off his shoes. He trudged into his bedroom and plopped down in front of his desk, tossing the report that needed rewriting onto the bed.
An instant noodle cup from last night still sat on the desk, giving off a faint sour odor. Leven wrinkled his nose and pushed it aside, then powered on his old desktop computer. The tower hummed and whirred; after a dozen seconds the bulky CRT monitor finally lit up, glowing a flat, monotonous blue.
He quickly typed in the URL for the Local Forum, a local online forum that was one of the few interesting sites on the island. Once the homepage loaded, he skimmed through the slew of trivial new posts—
"The sunset is so beautiful ♥"
"Anyone know the answer to question 3 on the English homework?"
"Lost cat, ¥500 reward."
Most of it was unbearably dull.
Leven then tried entering a keyword into the forum's search bar: "urban legends." But the results came up empty: "No related content found." His eyes lingered on the blank page in disbelief.
All the once-active threads about urban legends of this town had vanished. Just three days ago, he had posted a thread titled"Black Mist Sighting at the streets at Night," which had a dozen or so enthusiastic replies. The discussion had been lively. But now, when he tried to open it, everything was gone without a trace.
Leven sank back in his chair, staring blankly at the screen. Suddenly, the flip phone on the corner of his desk buzzed and rattled. Its small external screen lit up with a new text message.
It was from Mom:
"Sorry, your father and I have to work overtime. You'll have to get your own dinner tonight. I'll transfer you some money later. And don't eat too much junk food. —Mom"
With a sigh, Leven closed the message. He scrolled through the previous day's texts from his mother—they were almost identical. He let out a bitter laugh, then snapped the phone shut and slammed it down on the desk. The screen instantly went black. He stood up and stormed out of his room, slamming the door behind him.
I'm definitely going to eat until you two go broke, he thought grimly.
That evening, Leven left home and headed to the newly opened W fast-food restaurant just down the block. Inside, only one or two employees were on duty. He ordered a burger combo and had to wait over ten minutes for his food. Taking a bite of the burger, he couldn't help but think, even if I usually survive on instant noodles, this burger's taste is just way too… He trailed off and shook his head.
After leaving the restaurant, the street was quiet and empty under the night sky. Pale yellow streetlights swayed gently in the breeze. It was only seven o'clock, but shops on the town always closed early. His solitary footsteps rang out clearly against the silence of the deserted street.
Leven shoved his hands into his pockets and wandered aimlessly. One moment he flipped his phone open and shut out of boredom; the next, he kicked a small pebble down the road; then he threw his head back and shouted wordlessly at the sky. Time slipped by in this kind of meaningless cycle.
Suddenly, he noticed a few people gathered at the street corner ahead, huddled into a small circle under a weak streetlight. On a night this lifeless, any hint of excitement was enough to draw his interest.
Leven's eyes lit up. He quickened his pace and walked over.
"It's too dark. Did anyone bring a flashlight?" one of them was complaining as he approached.
Leven stopped a short distance away and saw that they were clustered around an open storm drain by the curb. One person was crouched down, reaching into the sewer channel to feel around. Leven peered into the drain. What appeared pitch-black to everyone else was perfectly clear to him—he could make out the shapes and details at the bottom as if it were daylight.
He caught a faint glimmer in the left corner of the drain. It was a dark brown wallet wedged in a narrow gap.
Without hesitation, Leven pointed and said decisively, "There, near the left corner of the wall."
The group froze and turned to stare at this stranger. One of them said skeptically, "You saw it? Stop kidding around, it's black as ink down there…"
Leven didn't bother to respond. He simply knelt down, reached into the drain, and with hardly any effort pulled the wallet out.
The owner of the wallet gasped and hurriedly took it from him, thanking him over and over. After returning the wallet, Leven turned to leave. As he walked away, he could hear the hushed murmurs ripple through the small crowd behind him:
"What sharp eyesight…"
"Must be a night owl or something."
But Leven's attention was elsewhere. His gaze had locked onto the far end of the street, on a corner cloaked in shadow. Clearly, no one was there—yet a small pebble suddenly skittered across the pavement, as if kicked by an invisible foot.
A surge of indescribable urgency welled up inside him. I need to see more clearly, he told himself, straining his eyes toward that dark corner.
At the very moment he pushed his vision to the limit, a stab of pain burst behind his eyes. It was as if countless fine needles were drilling from his retinas straight into his brain, instantly draining all the strength from his body. The policeman who had been standing farther down the street became nothing but a blur of pixels in his vision.
His pupils suddenly shimmered and shifted color. Within that distorted sight, the outline of an earring emerged. Its surface shimmered with a gray aura, swaying as if in midair. The earring swayed, but there was no person to wear it. That was all—he couldn't make out anything more.
Leven lunged forward on instinct, sprinting toward the corner. But a policeman stepped in and blocked his way.
"Hey, kid, why aren't you home at this hour?" the officer said, holding out a hand to stop him.
Leven tried to slip past, but the policeman firmly held him back.
"Let me see some ID. Your behavior is very suspicious," the officer insisted.
Leven opened his mouth to explain, but over the policeman's shoulder he saw the earring quietly vanish into the darkness. Panic seized him. He shouted toward the empty corner:
"Who are you?!"
The policeman jumped at the sudden cry, confused. He turned to look, but the street corner was completely empty.
He turned back, about to scold the boy, when he noticed Leven's face. It had gone deathly pale, his eyes growing dull and unfocused.
Leven swayed on his feet. In the next second, his body went limp as if his legs had lost all strength, and he crumpled heavily to the ground. The light in his eyes drained away like a receding tide.
And in the final instant before his consciousness collapsed into darkness, he saw it—clearly, unmistakably. A distant figure hidden in the shadows.
A woman, with a beautiful face… and amber-colored eyes.