Jason morgan reached his home a little after seven.
The apartment door closed behind him with a dull click. He kicked his shoes off near the entrance, not bothering to straighten them, and loosened his tie as he walked in. The living room lights came on automatically. Two rooms branched off the narrow hallway—one bedroom, one unused, its door always shut. He passed both without looking.
The bathroom mirror was fogged by the time he stepped out of the shower. Water dripped from his hair onto the mat as he wiped his face with a towel and glanced at his reflection
He then took a moment and stood still looking at himself
Nothing unusual stared back at him. No bruises. No cuts. Just the same tired look he carried home every weekday.
He dressed and moved to the kitchen.
The television was already on, muted. A news channel played in the background—footage of traffic, a scrolling ticker, an anchor speaking with practiced seriousness. He didn't pay attention to the words, only the movement.
He opened the fridge, stared inside for a moment, then closed it again.
From the drawer, he took out a knife. It was clean, heavier than the others. He rested it against the cutting board, testing its balance in his hand. The blade caught the overhead light, thin and bright.
"Knives are useful," he said aloud, to no one in particular. "Cooking, cutting things."
He paused, then added, almost casually, "Killing."
The word hung there, unchallenged.
He let out a short breath, half a laugh, and shook his head.
*As if I'd ever kill anyone.*
The thought came easily, without weight. It wasn't defensive. It was obvious. He set the knife down and reached for an onion.
The news volume rose suddenly—an automatic adjustment. He glanced at the screen as the anchor's expression shifted. The footage changed to a lake. Police tape fluttered weakly in the wind. A blurred figure stood near the shore, surrounded by uniforms.
He turned the volume up a little.
"…authorities have confirmed the body of a missing man was recovered earlier this morning…"
He sighed
"Someone always ends up dead"
He went to the dining table, served himself and sat down to eat while scrolling through his phone.
**High School Reunion — Cancelled.**
Jason frowned slightly and tapped it. The message expanded, text blurring for a second before settling into focus.
The reason followed beneath.
One of the attendees had passed away.
Cause: under investigation.
He scrolled.
More details loaded—unofficial reports, fragments pulled from group chats and forwarded messages.
*Recovered this morning.*
*Mysterious circumstances.*
*Twenty-eight separate cuts across the body.*
Jason stopped scrolling.
The room felt quieter than it should have, as if the walls had leaned in to listen.
He read the name again.
"Miyaran kyota"