The rain fell relentlessly over Tokyo. The city was busy every day, but today felt different, mostly because of the rain. Its sharp edges softened beneath the downpour, turning everything distant and dreamlike, almost unusual.
But for Bob Kimura, it was just another regular day. He rarely cared about real-life situations unless they involved him personally. Today was Tuesday, October 2014. Life felt kind of mundane to him, and he didn't really complain about it. No, he liked it that way, plain and simple.
Bob was a fourth-year high school student trying to survive life in the middle of Japan. His backpack hung heavy on his narrow shoulders stuffed with textbooks, notes, and the crushing weight of expectations. He huddled beneath the narrow awning of the school gate, watching rain bounce off the metal fence. The rhythm was steady, almost hypnotic, but it only made the minutes crawl slower.
Like many of his classmates, Bob belonged more to digital worlds than to the real one. Anime was his escape a place where every story found meaning, and every problem could be solved in twenty-four minutes.
A buzz in his pocket broke through the rain. He fished out his phone and saw a text from Tomo, his best friend and fellow anime addict.
Tomo: "Don't forget Parasyte tonight!"
Bob smiled, warmth cutting through the damp chill.
Bob: "Already downloaded Episode 2! (≧▽≦)🍿 You bringing the snacks? (・∀・)"
The reply came almost instantly.
Tomo: "Of course! 🍫 Chocolate flavor! My mom even made onigiri 🍙✨ Full anime night, bro! (｀・ω・´)🔥"
Bob chuckled and typed back.
Bob: "Nice! Can't wait (￣▽￣)♪ 🎬"
When the bus pulled up, its metal frame gleaming with rain, Bob waited for the crowd to board before stepping in last. His soaked sneakers squeaked against the rubber floor as he made his way to the back. The cold vinyl seat pressed against his jeans when he sank down with a sigh.
He slipped on his earphones. The synth-pop of Perfume filled his ears, cocooning him from the chatter and the low rumble of the engine. Outside, the city blurred into moving.
He scrolled through social media, ignoring the thought of tomorrow's math test. A thread about anime conventions caught his eye, and soon he was daydreaming about cosplay. He sent Tomo a photo of an absurdly detailed mecha pilot costume, glowing LEDs and all. Tomo replied with a chain of laughing emojis.
Then, the world shifted.
A sharp turn and a violent, gut-twisting jolt that threw him forward. The bus lurched. Gasps erupted around him, followed by a single, high scream.
The tires screeched. His headphones flew free. Bob's head snapped up just in time to see the terrified face of a woman across the aisle, her hand frozen halfway to her mouth.
Then came the crash.
Metal screech. Glass shattered. The world folded in on itself a blur of chaos, motion, and sudden silence.
Bob had lived his life through stories of heroes, of impossible rescues and second chances. But this, this was real. There were no heroes here, only the brutal collision of steel and flesh.
He was weightless for an instant, then slammed into something hard. Pain exploded through him, bright and electric. His bag burst open, textbooks, papers, and pens scattering across the wet asphalt. The pages soaked into the rain, his daily struggles dissolving into nothing.
Everything became fragments, sound, color, sensation. Pain radiated from his chest, his limbs numb. Rain or maybe blood soaked his skin. Then, slowly, even the pain began to fade. The world narrowed into a tunnel of distant noise and flickering light.
Through it all, a whisper pierced the haze.
"Not like this."
The voice was familiar, too close. It wasn't spoken aloud, but inside him, clear and sharp.
His fading thoughts stirred. He tried to call out for help, but his throat wouldn't work. Only a weak gurgle escaped.
The whisper came again, softer, closer.
"There was supposed to be more."
More what? he wondered faintly.
The cold deepened. His breath came shallow and slow. The rain pressed harder, needling his skin as the edges of his vision dimmed.
The voice lingered one last time.
"There was supposed to be more."
Ah… it was just his own voice. That's why it sounded so familiar.
The words echoed through the void inside him strange, final.
And then, silence.
.
.
.
.
.
.
The rain continued to fall, relentless and indifferent. Soon, people arrived, calling for an ambulance. Some raised their phones to take quick photos of the tragedy. Others ignored the commotion and walked on, knowing they would see it later on the news. Nothing new.
And in time, even this tragedy would be forgotten.