Tatsu had never expected his life to hit a point where he'd be walking down the street with a refrigerator tied to his back. Yet here he was—twenty-two years old, spine bent at a ninety-degree angle, and getting overtaken by pensioners with more stamina than he could ever dream of.
In a world where everyone awakened a superpower at fifteen, Tatsu had awakened something truly extraordinary:massive disappointment.If human potential had a battery indicator, his would be flickering at one percent with a "please charge soon" warning.
People on the sidewalk stared as he dragged the fridge along like a dying pack mule. A middle-aged man nudged his wife."Is that cosplay?""No," she whispered. "That's poverty."
Tatsu didn't even argue. They were right.
He'd bought the fridge from a scrapyard for 500 yen—a bargain, if he ignored the unsettling hum it made whenever he walked through a warm patch of road. A fridge was still a fridge. Refrigerators didn't mock him, didn't ask why he was twenty-two and still living in a rented shoebox, and didn't have expectations he'd fail to meet.
The same could not be said for people.
Two high-school girls walked by, whispering with the subtlety of fire sirens."Is he… moving that by himself?""Looks like the fridge is moving him."Tatsu wheezed, "If I pass out, just—just shove me inside. At least I'll die cold."
They kept walking.
He didn't blame them.
When he reached a crosswalk, someone brushed past him, spilling hot coffee down the fridge's metal side. Before he could apologize, the refrigerator reacted on its own—letting out a chilling gust so sharp the steam froze midair. The spilled coffee turned into a perfect iced sculpture before it hit the ground.
The woman stared at her frozen beverage in horror."…What…"Tatsu bowed frantically. "I'm so sorry! It's… temperature-sensitive!"
He hurried away before she could call the police—or an exorcist.
By the time he climbed the stairs to his apartment, his arms were numb, his back felt permanently shorter, and his dignity was somewhere back on the street. He untied the ropes with a groan and leaned the fridge against the wall.
"Alright, buddy," he muttered. "Please don't… explode. Or talk. Or breathe."
The fridge hummed.
Not a mechanical hum.A… responsive hum.
Tatsu froze. "Nope. No. I'm tired, dehydrated, probably hallucinating. Appliances don't judge and they definitely don't hum back."
The fridge hummed again, louder.
"…Okay, that's a lie," he whispered.
He exhaled shakily and forced himself to calm down. Maybe it was faulty wiring. Maybe his brain was melting from exhaustion. Maybe this was how poverty-induced psychosis started.
Either way, the fridge needed power.
He plugged it in.
The lights instantly flickered.The air thinned, creeping and unnatural spread across the room.
The fridge door rattled.Then slowly, slowly… opened.A shape moved within that darkness.
Tatsu stumbled backward, heart pounding. The figure inside leaned forward, breath fogging in the cold air as if the world were his freezer.
A pale hand gripped the frame.A man stepped out, tall, sharp eyed, and absolutely out of place in Tatsu's sad apartment.His voice was weak, exhausted, and oddly polite."Please… plug me in before I emotionally defrost."Tatsu blinked. "…What?"The man straightened, cleared his throat, and his entire demeanor shifted from dying houseplant to dramatic theatre actor.He pointed a finger at Tatsu with absolute authority.
"I AM FRIDGE-SAMA!" he declared. "BOW BEFORE ME, PITIFUL ROOM-TEMPERATURE HUMAN!"
Silence.
Tatsu stared.The man stared back.
Tatsu fainted.
The man caught him with a sigh."…Humans these days. No cold resistance at all."
In the humming darkness behind them, deep inside the fridge…something else stirred.