The rain fell with no intention of cleansing anything.
It only made the city look filthier—streetlights reflecting off puddles, shop neons flickering weakly, the smell of wet asphalt mixing with trash no one had bothered to take care of. Villhaze walked beneath an umbrella that had been broken for far too long, letting water drip onto his shoulders without caring.
The clock on his phone showed it was nearly midnight.
He should have been home by now.
"Lumie is probably already asleep—or at least pretending to be, waiting for the sound of the door opening."
"That girl is always like that. Too mature for her age, too quiet for someone who should still be complaining about life."
Villhaze let out a breath and turned into a narrow alley, a shortcut he took often. The alley wasn't well lit, but it was faster. And so far, faster had always been reason enough.
The walls on both sides were covered in old graffiti. Some were failed political slogans, some illegal advertisements, the rest just meaningless scribbles. Water dripped from a leaking pipe above, creating a rhythmic sound that was oddly calming.
His footsteps echoed.
One.
Two.
He stopped.
A sudden sense of unease crept in. Light, but sharp. Like the moment you realize someone is watching you, even though you can't prove it. Villhaze glanced back.
Empty.
He frowned, mocking himself silently. Too many late nights, he thought. He continued walking.
Another footstep echoed.
Not his.
This time, the sound was far too clear to ignore.
Villhaze turned around.
A man stood at the far end of the alley, half swallowed by shadow. Black jacket, hood pulled low. The distance between them wasn't far—close enough for Villhaze to see the man's hand moving from inside his jacket.
Time seemed to slow.
Villhaze didn't panic right away. His mind felt strangely blank, as if refusing to accept what was clearly in front of him. Until the object was raised, its metal catching the dim glow of the streetlight.
A gun.
"Seriously?" Villhaze muttered softly, more to himself than to the man.
The man didn't respond.
No threats.
No shouting.
No drama.
Only a hollow stare from within the shadows.
Villhaze took a step back. His back hit the cold alley wall. His heart pounded too loudly, yet his thoughts remained eerily calm.
He briefly thought of Lumie.
Of the nearly empty refrigerator.
Of how annoying it was that life had just started to feel normal.
Then the gunshot exploded.
Heat slammed into his chest like a hammer. The air was forced out of his lungs in a harsh burst. His body collapsed, knees hitting the wet ground before his back struck the wall.
Villhaze's vision trembled.
The sounds of the city drifted away, as if being pulled down a long corridor. The streetlight above shattered into circles of light.
But before his consciousness completely faded, something strange happened.
The man didn't run.
He froze.
Villhaze could see his face now—not clearly, but clearly enough to catch an expression that had no place on someone who had just shot another person.
Confusion.
Not panic.
Not regret.
Pure confusion, as if what he was seeing didn't match the calculation in his head.
The man muttered under his breath. The words were unclear, but the tone… irritated.
Villhaze tried to breathe.
Failed.
His chest felt heavy, as if being crushed from the inside. The world began to collapse—but not in the way he had imagined.
There was no darkness.
There was no white light.
There was only the sensation of falling.
As if the floor of reality beneath him had suddenly vanished.
The alley distorted. The walls curved, the light stretched, the sound of rain twisted into a low hum that stabbed at the ears. Villhaze felt his body being dragged downward, slipping through something he could not see.
And in the midst of that chaos, a voice emerged.
Flat.
Cold.
Not human.
"That should not have happened."