The garage was dimly lit, the overhead lights flickering slightly, and the familiar smell of gasoline and oil filled the space.
His father's sedan sat in its usual spot. He reached for the wall and grabbed the keys from their hook.
Keita stopped for half a second. He did not have a driver's license. More importantly, he did not actually know how to drive.
He knew the theory. He had seen enough videos and played enough games. He knew that was not the same as knowing, but still, that counted for something, right?
Behind him, faint but distinct, the sound of the footsteps was getting closer.
Keita did not think any further. He unlocked the car with slightly shaking hands, and the door opened. He got in, closed the door, and sat there for a brief second.
He looked around and checked the item one by one.
Okay, Key. Brake. Ignition. Gear. Gas.
Should be easy.
The order was the only thing that mattered. He turned the key and the engine roared, the sound bouncing off the garage walls, louder than he expected.
His hands tightened on the steering wheel. "Okay," he muttered under his breath. "This is fine. This is just a machine. People use this every day without dying."
That was, statistically, not entirely true.
He pressed the pedal, and the car lurched forward. Too fast for his own good, and unfortunately, Keita didn't have time to adjust.
Keita's head snapped back as the vehicle surged forward, and for a split second, he realized he had missed a step.
The garage door was still closed.
"Shit," he cursed.
The car did not slow down, and a second later there was a loud crash as metal met metal. The door bent and tore, scattering pieces of aluminum across the driveway as the sedan burst into the street.
Keita's head snapped forward slightly, then back, his grip tightening instinctively. He couldn't stop. He didn't know how.
The car shot into the open road. The sudden space made the speed feel dangerously deadly. He turned the steering, the tires screeching as the car swerved slightly to one side, then the other.
"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck."
He tried to reduce the pressure at the pedal, in an attempt to slow it down. But the car disagreed.
What happened next was worse.
The vehicle veered, tires screeching briefly against the asphalt as law of physics carried it sideways.
There was a pole. He saw it, but he failed to avoid it.
The impact came a second later. Not as loud as the garage crash, but heavy enough to jolt the entire car and bring it to a sudden, unwilling stop. The airbag deployed, slamming into his face as white smoke began to curl from the crumpled front of the car.
Apparently driving required practice and this had been a poor time to learn.
Voices rose from the nearby houses. Doors opened, revealing surprised neighbors and people were coming to investigate the wreck.
Keita blinked. Witnesses were a problem in his situation.
But the samurai was a bigger one.
After a brief, confused struggle with the deflating airbag, he pushed the door open and stepped out of the car. His legs felt unsteady again, but functional enough.
He heard someone shout something, but he did not process the words. He turned and ran as fast as his legs allowed him to.
He ran until his lungs felt like they were getting smaller. He took random turns, weaving through side streets and narrow alleys. Gradually, the pressure in the air lessened. The heavy, rhythmic footsteps were gone.
That would have to be enough. He slowed down. He reached the bus stop without remembering the exact route he had taken.
A bus pulled up. He didn't bother to check the number and just stepped on, tapped his phone against the sensor, and collapsed into a seat near the back.
Only then did his body start to catch up with everything that had just happened. His breathing was uneven and too fast, his chest rising and falling in shallow bursts as he leaned back against the seat. His hands were still slightly shaking, though he noticed it only when he tried to grip his phone again.
"What the hell was that?"
Was this transmigration? Did he finally do it?
He considered the possibility at first, then immediately found problems with the theory.
He was still in his city. He was still in his unremarkable body.
There was no system, no transparent interface appearing in front of his eyes to explain his situation in convenient, categorized terms.
Nothing had activated. No rank. No abilities, not even a tutorial.
Which raised a different question.
Then what was that?
Because men in samurai armor did not normally appear in a housing neighborhood and attempt to kill people while introducing themselves formally.
That was not a known social phenomenon.
Keita took out his phone and opened the chat. He typed frantically.
IseKeita: are you online?
KuroUsagi07 was still grey. Offline. Keita stared at the screen, then typed again, slower this time.
IseKeita: if you get this, I'm in trouble
IseKeita: someone just tried to kill me
His thumb hovered for a second before he added the last line.
IseKeita: did you transmigrate?
For a brief second, he also had considered that possibility. The rabbit suddenly managed to activate the portal, and was transmigrated himself. That's why he was out of reach.
He sent the messages and leaned his head against the vibrating glass of the window.