The night Shoda died was painfully ordinary.
Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as he stepped out of the convenience store, a plastic bag dangling from each hand. Instant noodles. Cheap snacks. Soda he didn't need.
His phone was wedged between his shoulder and ear.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm heading back," he muttered. "No, I didn't forget—"
Headlights.
Too bright.
Too close.
There wasn't even time to turn his head.
Metal screamed.
The world shattered.
---
Silence.
Not hospital white.
Not darkness.
Fog.
Thick, suffocating fog stretching endlessly in every direction.
Shoda lay on cold ground that felt neither solid nor liquid. His body didn't hurt. That frightened him more than pain would have.
"…Hello?"
His voice dissolved into nothing.
A wooden chair sat several meters away.
And on it—
A woman.
Long hair cascading like ink over her shoulders. Hands folded neatly in her lap. Perfect posture. Perfect stillness.
She tilted her head.
"Do you love me?"
Shoda blinked.
"…What?"
"I love you," she said gently. "Do you love me?"
His heart began to pound.
"Where am I?" he demanded. "What is this? Am I dead? Is this some kind of dream?"
No answer.
Only that same question.
"Do you love me?"
Her voice grew louder.
"Do you love me?"
The fog trembled.
Her face—
It began to change.
Skin stretched too tightly. Eyes widened too far. Her smile split unnaturally, glowing with a faint red aura that bled into the mist.
"Am I pretty?" she asked.
The air felt heavy. Wrong. Suffocating.
Shoda stumbled backward, panic rising in his chest.
"Nobody hears you here," she whispered.
Her voice layered over itself.
"Do you love me?"
He could scream.
He could run.
He could break down.
Instead—
He straightened.
Forced a smile.
"Well… I can't say I'm into girls who start conversations in murder fog," he said, voice shaking despite his attempt at enthusiasm. "But you are pretty. Strong aura. Very intense."
He bowed awkwardly.
"However… I don't know you. So I can't really love you. That's kind of how that works."
A pause.
The red aura flickered.
"I'm Iwamoto Shoda. From Tokyo. I was on my way home. So if this is some afterlife orientation thing… can you send me back?"
The woman's expression softened.
Too quickly.
"My name is Anastasia."
She stood.
The fog recoiled from her feet.
"And I am in love with you."
Her fingers snapped.
---
Mud filled his lungs.
Shoda choked, coughing violently as freezing air tore into his throat.
He was lying face-first in wet earth.
No city lights.
No traffic.
No buildings.
Only a muddy road stretching between dark trees under a foreign sky.
His plastic bags were gone.
His phone was gone.
Tokyo was gone.
Shoda slowly pushed himself upright, trembling.
"…That wasn't a dream."
The wind carried the distant sound of something unfamiliar.
Not cars.
Not people.
Something older.
And somewhere, far beyond the forest—
A pair of unseen eyes watched.