10.5.2018.
place-kamagasaki,osaka,japan.
it's a good place for people who wanna stay low and doesn't wanna interact with people a lot.
the rent is cheap but it was a dangerous neighbourhood mainly because yakuza gang is quite active there.
there.
there are many places like this in japan famous for a practice called Jōhatsu which is basically not leaving any digital footprints like bank records or anything that can trace their actual identity ofcourse the government can easily track them if they have done some crime and are now living there but it's a good thing for people who wanna stay alone.
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in a small but clean room a person can be seen looking out of the window. it's January and snow could be seen outside.
there's a person lying on the bed looking on the roof his eyes have dark circles under them he get's up and goes to the closest convenience store.
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The convenience store bell chimed softly as he stepped inside.
Warm air hit his face, carrying the familiar smell of plastic packaging and broth powder. He walked straight to the noodles aisle, movements practiced, unhurried. His hand paused only once before taking the same brand he always did.
He didn't check the price.
At the counter, the cashier glanced up.
She had seen him before. Many times, actually.
Again, she thought. Cup noodles and bread.
Two months. Always the same things. Always alone.
She forced a small smile.
"Noodles aren't very good for your health," she said lightly, raising her hands and crossing her fingers into an awkward X.
The man didn't react.
No smile. No irritation. No embarrassment.
Just a blink.
For a second, she felt like she had spoken into an empty room.
Why did I say that?
She looked away,she didn't know him. Didn't know anything about him.
"That'll be three hundred yen," she said, returning to her job.
He placed the coins down. Exact change, as always.
"Thank you."
He nodded once and turned away.
As the door closed behind him, she watched his reflection disappear in the glass. The store felt quieter after that, though nothing had changed.
Outside, the snow had started falling again.
He walked without urgency, the cup noodles warm against his palm. The streets were familiar in a way that didn't require memory. He turned down a narrow path and slowed when he saw the shrine.
It was small. Old. Almost hidden between concrete walls.
he stopped.
People came here to pray for things they wanted.
He didn't have anything left to ask for.
Still, he stepped inside.
The bell above the offering box was silent. He didn't pull the rope. He just stood there, looking at the shrine, at the faded wood darkened by years of weather and neglect.
it was now a habit to come here as it was between the way of his appartment and the store.
Once, he had believed effort always led somewhere.
Now, he wasn't so sure.
Snow settled quietly on his shoulders.
After a moment, he bowed—not out of faith, but habit—and turned away returning to his room.
The room was quiet when he returned.
The heater hummed softly, doing its best against the January cold. He set the cup noodles on the small table and didn't open them right away. Instead, he sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the wall, as if waiting for it to say something first.
It didn't.
His phone vibrated.
The sound felt intrusive in a place like this.
He looked at the screen for a moment before answering.
"Mr. Alex."
The voice on the other end was careful. Professional.
Yes," he said.
There was a pause, brief but heavy.
"We've been holding things steady," the assistant continued. "The board is asking when you plan to return."
Alex leaned back, eyes drifting to the ceiling. The faint stain above the light fixture looked like it had been there longer than he had.
"I don't know," he said.
Another pause. Longer this time.
You came to Japan to take some time," the assistant said. "After your parents passed… we understood. But they're getting restless."
Alex closed his eyes.
Snow brushed against the window, a soft, persistent sound.
"I'll tell you when I'm ready," he said. His voice didn't rise. It didn't need to.
"…Understood, sir," the assistant replied.
The call ended without goodbyes.
Alex placed the phone face down beside him.
The room felt smaller at night.
Alex rinsed the empty cup and set it upside down by the sink. He wiped his hands on a towel that had gone thin from too many washes, then sat back on the bed.
The phone lay where he'd left it.
He didn't pick it up again.
His parents were the reason he told people. The reason that fit neatly into conversations. It was true—but it wasn't the whole truth.
Osaka hadn't been random.
Brandon was here.
At least, he had been.
Years ago, Brandon had sent him a message out of nowhere. Short. Casual.
Moved to Osaka. Needed a change.
That was it.
Back then, Alex had been busy. Always busy. Deals closing, schedules tightening, life accelerating in a direction that didn't leave room for pauses. He'd replied late. Sometimes not at all.
Brandon hadn't complained.
He never did.
When Alex finally came to Japan, he tried to find him. Not immediately. He told himself there was time.
There wasn't.
No address.
No active number.
No digital trail that led anywhere meaningful.
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It was as if Brandon had stepped sideways out of the world.
Jōhatsu, someone had said online. People who disappeared without a scene. Without witnesses.
Alex stared at the ceiling.
Brandon had always been like that. Present, but quiet. Observing more than participating. While Alex learned how to talk people into corners, Brandon learned how to watch them unravel on paper.
A novelist.
Not a famous one. Not successful in the way Alex understood success.
but he knew brandon has found something that he actually likes doing unlike Alex who was successful in business but he was jealous of brandon too because when they were children they both were very much interested in mangas and novels and both were actually working on a novel but alex eventually left that idea but brandon was still on it.
The book lay on the small shelf by the window.
A thin paperback, edges worn. Brandon had given it to him years ago, long after they'd stopped talking regularly. No note. No explanation. Just the book.
Alex hadn't read it right away.
He reached for it now.
The cover was simple- Too simple.
he picked up that book and started reading it.