Rain battered Kazu's window, each drop smacking the cracked glass like a jab to his brain. He slouched on a creaky couch, springs groaning under his weight, the air thick with mold and stale beer. His head pounded, a rhythm locked to the storm's merciless beat.
An empty ramen cup stained the coffee table, soy sauce bleeding into the tatami mat. Kazu kicked it aside, the plastic skittering across the floor. "Tch," he rasped, voice drowned by the rain's roar. His laptop flickered, paused on an isekai anime—a hero reborn, smirking like he'd cracked life's code.
Idiot. Kazu rubbed his temples, hating the hero's smirk—everything he'd never be. At 34, he was a jobless wreck, his Tokyo apartment a coffin of stained walls and stale air. Days bled into weeks, maybe months, a haze of screens and gnawing hunger.
He snatched a beer can, its chill biting his palm. The bitter taste scorched his tongue, useless against the hollow gnawing in his chest. He'd been a programmer once, decent, coding late nights in a cubicle, coworkers chuckling at his dumb vampire puns. Now, he was a ghost, haunting a life that had chewed him up and spit him out.
"Finished," he muttered, tossing the can. It clattered onto a pile of manga, their creased pages taunting him with heroes and worlds he'd never touch. His stomach clawed, sharp and unyielding. No food left—not a single crumb. He'd have to brave the storm for a convenience store run.
"Damn it all." Kazu dragged a hand through greasy hair, strands sticking to his fingers. He stood, the couch creaking in relief, and shuffled to the window. Tokyo's neon lights bled through the downpour, a city that didn't care if he lived or rotted. Hunger didn't care either.
He lingered at the door, cursing the rain's howl, then shoved it open. The hallway's fluorescent lights buzzed, flickering over peeling wallpaper, the air heavy with mildew and cigarette smoke. The elevator was dead—always was—so he trudged down the stairs, each step groaning under his weight, the sound echoing like a funeral march.
Outside, the storm hit like a slap, soaking his faded jacket in seconds. Kazu hunched, hands in pockets, sneakers squelching through puddles. Headlights slashed the gray, cars honked, umbrellas bobbed like shadows. The city's noise hammered his ears, relentless, drowning his thoughts.
He passed a pawn shop, its window crammed with trinkets from lives cashed in—watches, rings, a cracked guitar. Kazu had sold his own stuff years ago: a laptop, a cheap watch, spray paint cans from his street art days. He'd kept one thing—a sketchbook, now buried under manga, its pages filled with fanged serpents and red-eyed beasts, the only piece of himself he couldn't sell.
A block later, a karaoke bar's neon sign flickered across the street, its red glow dragging up memories. Hiro's off-key singing, their late-night ramen runs, dreams of making it big—until that drunken night when Kazu's punch cracked Hiro's jaw, shattering their crew.
Kazu wiped rain from his eyes, wishing he could wipe away the guilt of leaving Hiro broken and alone. Shame had buried him, leaving him to dodge their calls and burn their old photos in a rusted trash can behind his building. He'd cut himself off, too broken to face their pity, too weak to claw his way back.
He trudged on, head down, rain dripping into his collar. A faded mural caught his gaze—some artist's work, not his. He'd painted fanged serpents once, their red eyes glowing under moonlight, as if they could drink his failures dry. Sometimes, he envied their hunger, their power to take what he'd never dared to claim.
Galleries had ignored him, their silence a blade sharper than the rain. His paint cans rusted in a corner, just like him. Kazu turned away, the convenience store's neon sign buzzing ahead, a beacon in the gray. Rain pounded harder, his socks sopping, sneakers slipping on slick pavement.
He crossed a narrow alley, the stench of garbage and wet concrete stinging his nose. A stray cat hissed from a dumpster, its eyes glinting like the serpents in his sketches. Kazu flinched, the sound pulling him back to nights spent tagging walls, paint fumes thick in his lungs, his heart racing with the thrill of creation. Those nights were gone, drowned in the same apathy that kept him locked in his apartment.
The convenience store loomed closer, its fluorescent glow cutting through the storm. Kazu's stomach growled again, a reminder of why he'd left his coffin of an apartment. He quickened his pace, rain stinging his face, each step a battle against the city's indifference.
A scream—sharp, desperate—sliced through the storm. Kazu's head snapped up, rain blinding his eyes. A girl stood frozen in the street, her pink raincoat a splash of color, wide eyes like coins locked on a truck screaming toward her. Its headlights glared, horn blaring, tires screeching on wet pavement.
"Move!" Kazu's shout vanished in the rain, but his legs surged. Sneakers skidded, heart slamming his ribs. The truck was too close, its bumper whipping toward them, a wall of steel and death.
He dove, tackling the girl, his shoulder crashing into her tiny frame. They rolled, her sobs muffled against his chest, tiny hands clutching his jacket as the truck's bumper roared past, close enough to graze his scalp. Kazu hit the pavement, his ribs shrieking like starved beasts, each breath a knife. Cold water flooded his lungs, vision blurring to gray.
The girl's wide eyes met his, trembling but alive. Kazu's lips twitched—a ghost of a smile, proud he'd done something right for once. Darkness swallowed him, her trembling eyes his last anchor as the rain faded to silence.