The soft hum of the train heading toward Tokyo was both soothing and unnerving to Ren.
The route was nearly empty. People didn't often travel from the sticks to the city, not unless they had to. He rested back in his seat, his bag settled on his lap, the rhythmic motion lulling him faster than he expected.
Sleep came easily.
Ren felt like he was floating. He was fully aware he was dreaming—yet something was wrong. He couldn't feel the weight of his bag anymore. The sound of the train was gone.
It was quiet.
Very quiet.
I thought this was a lucid dream, he realized. But I don't have control. And you don't think this clearly in dreams
.
"You are correct."
Ren was startled.
He blinked rapidly, heart hammering, trying to confirm what he was seeing.
A boy stood in front of him, about his age. Blue hair. A white shirt tucked neatly into blue slacks. Headphones hung loosely around his neck. His tired blue eyes bored into Ren with an intensity that felt less like scrutiny and more like recognition.
Can he read my thoughts?
"No," the boy said calmly. "You have it written all over your face."
Ren swallowed. "Why… why am I here?"
The boy tilted his head slightly, studying him. "Your soul is strange," he muttered. "Part of it belongs here."
"What?" Ren asked, his voice coming out thinner than he wanted.
The boy didn't elaborate. Instead, he spoke as if concluding something already decided.
"Take care of my sister," he said. "Go back to sleep. And remember—sometimes a voice is all the hint you need. Take responsibility for your actions."
Before Ren could respond, the world lurched.
He jolted awake as the train pulled into Tokyo Station.
His breath came fast. His hands clenched in his lap.
What the hell was that?
He shook his head as he stepped off the train, joining the flow of passengers. The station was loud, crowded, alive—too alive compared to the stillness he'd just left behind.
Probably just nerves, he told himself. The city's overwhelming compared to Iwatodai.
Outside, Shibuya swallowed him whole. Screens blazed overhead. People moved in every direction at once. Ren glanced down at his phone, grateful for something familiar.
Mr. Sakura lives in Yongen-Jaya, he thought. Which line do I take from here?
That's when he noticed it.
An app he didn't remember downloading.
A red eye icon stared back at him from the screen.
Ren frowned. Yeah… let's just delete this.
As he pressed and held the icon, the sound around him vanished.
He looked up.
Everyone stood frozen—mid-step, mid-sentence, mid-blink. The crowd had become a lifeless photograph. Even the air felt wrong, tight and pressurized.
Something flickered at the edge of his vision.
Ren turned toward the center of the crossing.
Blue flame erupted without heat or sound. From it emerged the silhouette of a humanoid figure—tall, vaguely demonic, its presence unmistakable. It looked at him and laughed.
The sound was low, yet somehow deafening. Genuine. Amused. Dangerous.
Then—
Everything snapped back.
Noise crashed over him. People surged forward as if nothing had happened.
Ren staggered slightly, heart racing.
I hope I'm not going insane, he thought while shaking his head.
Deleting the strange app, he boarded the train bound for Yongen-Jaya.