The train gave a soft shudder and came to a stop. The doors hissed open, releasing the smell of metal, hot asphalt, and other people's lives.
Genzo stepped onto the platform of Tokyo Station and immediately felt the city crash down on him with its full weight. There was none of the calm hum of provincial stations here this was a roar, a pulse, an endless stream of people moving as if they already knew exactly where they needed to go, and no one was about to yield to some kid from Osaka.
He adjusted the strap of his backpack, which suddenly felt heavy, as though it didn't contain just clothes and textbooks, but something far more dangerous. Fifteen years old the age when you still believe you can disappear into a crowd if you really want to. Genzō really wanted to.
Above his head, huge displays glowed. Announcements in Japanese and English blended into white noise:
"Yamano-te Line train, platform 14… Ginza Line subway transfer… Please mind the closing doors…"
He moved toward the escalators leading down into the subway depths. The crowd carried him like a river don't resist, or you'll drown. Someone slammed hard into his shoulder; Genzō nearly lost his balance but caught himself. He turned around the man in the dark coat had already vanished into the flow. Only a black back and the scent of expensive cologne mixed with something metallic lingered for a second.
Genzō shook his head. Paranoia after a long trip, nothing more.
He descended to the Yamano-te Line level. It was even more crowded, even louder. Advertising screens flashed bright commercials: girls in school uniforms smiled too widely, new iPhones gleamed in someone's hands, a voice promised "the perfect life with one click."
Genzō pulled out his phone and opened the map. Shibuya was just a few stops away. His mom had texted that morning: "Can't meet you, Dad's stuck at work. You'll manage on your own you're old enough." He'd only snorted back then. Old enough. Sure.
He stood behind the yellow line, waiting for the train. In the reflection of the carriage window he saw his own face pale, with dark circles under his eyes from a sleepless night on the train. Hair sticking out in every direction, school shirt collar crumpled. Just an ordinary guy. No one would ever guess that…
…that under the textbooks and spare clothes in his backpack lay a small folding knife. The one his father had given him "just in case" when they went hiking in the mountains. Genzō had laughed back then. Not funny anymore.
The train arrived. Doors opened. Genzō stepped inside and pressed his back against the handrail. The carriage was packed schoolkids, office workers, tourists with huge suitcases. The smell of sweat, perfume, convenience-store bento.
He stared into the tunnel window black glass reflecting only lights and faces. Sometimes it seemed like someone familiar flickered among those reflections. Someone he'd never met, but whose face somehow felt important.
At Yurakucho station a man entered the carriage. Tall, thin, wearing a long black coat despite the heat. Face hidden behind a mask and the brim of a cap. He stood directly opposite Genzō too close for such a crush. Genzō tensed but pretended to look at his phone.
The man spoke quietly, almost a whisper:
"You're Takeda, right?"
Genzō flinched. Raised his eyes. The man was looking straight at him dark eyes, calm like still water in an old well.
"How do you"
"Doesn't matter," the man leaned in slightly. "Just answer one thing. Have you ever heard the name… Asakawa?"
Genzō felt a cold shiver run down his spine. That name. He had heard it. Once. Long ago. In his parents' nighttime conversation when they thought he was asleep. A word spoken in whispers, as if saying it aloud could make it real.
"No," Genzō lied on reflex.
The man smiled under the mask the corners of his eyes crinkled.
"You're a bad liar. But that's okay. You'll have plenty of time to learn."
The train jerked, doors opened at the next station. The man turned and stepped out without looking back. Genzō stayed where he was, gripping the handrail so hard his knuckles turned white.
He didn't know who that was.
He didn't know why that name triggered such a strange echo in his chest a mix of fear and something almost like… thirst.
But one thing he knew for certain:
Tokyo had just swallowed him.
And it had no intention of spitting him back out.
To be continued…