The Tokyo summer night thrummed with a frenetic energy, a vibrant pulse of life at 8 PM. Crowds surged through the neon-lit streets, an intricate tapestry of hurried footsteps and hushed conversations. Salarymen loosened their ties after a long day, students chattered excitedly about upcoming summer festivals, and couples strolled hand-in-hand, their laughter echoing in the warm, humid air. The aroma of street food – takoyaki, ramen, yakitori – mingled with the exhaust fumes, creating the uniquely intoxicating scent of Tokyo.
Amidst this bustling symphony, Ryo stumbled. He was a shadow adrift in the bright landscape, his eyes blurred with the insidious haze of alcohol. The world swam around him, the vibrant lights distorted into streaks of color. He lurched forward, his body protesting with every unsteady step.
A man, middle-aged with a crisp white shirt and meticulously styled hair, was caught off guard. Ryo bumped into him, a clumsy, disorienting collision. The man recoiled, his face contorted with disgust.
"Are you blind, brat?" he snarled, his voice sharp and laced with disdain. "Can't you walk straight? Why did you push me?" He adjusted his tie, his movements jerky and irritated.
Ryo, barely comprehending, mumbled a slurred, "Sorry..." The word felt heavy on his tongue, a pathetic offering in the face of the man's anger.
The man spat on the ground, the gesture a final, contemptuous dismissal. He glared at Ryo's disheveled appearance - the rumpled clothes, the haunted eyes, the overall air of despair. "Filthy," he muttered under his breath before turning away, disappearing back into the throng of people.
Ryo stood there, the spittle a stark reminder of the world's disdain. The man's words, amplified by the alcohol and his own crippling sorrow, echoed in his head. He swayed, his feet unanchored to the ground.
He stumbled forward, taking a few shaky steps until he found himself in the middle of the road, a lonely figure silhouetted against the headlights. The city lights seemed to mock him, their brilliance amplifying the darkness within.
Even through the alcohol-induced haze, memories clawed at him, sharp and agonizing. He saw his mother's face, her warm smile, the comforting scent of her perfume. The memory was a cruel torment, a reminder of what he had lost. He remembered her promise, whispered on her deathbed, her hand weak but her gaze unwavering: "I will never leave you, Ryo. Never."
The promise was broken. Death had stolen her away, leaving him adrift in a world that felt cold and unforgiving. The pain was a physical ache, a crushing weight in his chest.
He murmured, the words barely audible above the city's hum, "I don't want to live..." His voice cracked with suppressed sobs. "I want to die... I hate this world..."
Tears streamed down his face, mingling with the sweat and grime. He lifted his gaze to the sky, a dark expanse punctuated by distant stars. "Mother... why did you leave me and go far away...? My dear mother... I'm coming to you..."
His voice rose in a desperate plea, cracking with raw anguish. "God, take me to my mother..."