The last train of the night rattled through the sleeping city.

Yuto Naruse leaned against the cold window, his tie hanging loose around his neck. His eyelids were heavy, but sleep refused to come.

The digital clock above the train doors read 11:48 PM.

Another day.

Another missed dinner.

Another fourteen-hour shift.

The carriage was nearly empty, occupied only by a few exhausted office workers who looked no different from him. No one spoke. No one even bothered looking up from the floor.

When the train finally arrived, Yuto shuffled onto the platform with the rest of the silent crowd.

His phone vibrated.

He didn't have to look to know who it was.

>> Manager

|| Be in my office by 10:00 tomorrow. We have another deadline. ||

He stared at the message.

Then typed the same reply he had sent hundreds of times before.

|| Understood. ||

No complaint.

No question.

No refusal.

The message was marked as read almost instantly.

He slipped the phone back into his pocket and continued walking.

The convenience store near the station was still open.

Warm fluorescent lights spilled onto the empty sidewalk.

The automatic doors slid open with a cheerful chime.

"Welcome."

Yuto wandered through the aisles without thinking.

His stomach growled.

He reached for a lunch box.

Then quietly checked the price.

" ... " His hand stopped.

He returned it to the shelf.

Instead, he picked up two discounted bread rolls that would expire tomorrow morning.

The cashier scanned them.

" That'll be two hundred and eighty yen. "

Yuto paid in silence.

As he turned to leave, the young cashier smiled politely.

" Have a good evening. " He managed a small nod.

" You too. "

She would probably be home before midnight.

He wouldn't.

— — —

Outside, his phone rang.

Unknown number.

His footsteps slowed.

He already knew.

The hospital had been calling since the tests two days ago.

" Hello? " He answered.

" Mr. Naruse? "

" Yes. "

" This is Central General Hospital. " A pause.

" Your test results have come back. "

Yuto closed his eyes.

" We'd like you to come in tomorrow morning. "

" ...I understand. "

" Please don't miss the appointment. "

" I won't. "

The call ended.

No explanation.

None was necessary.

The next morning, the doctor didn't waste time.

" I'm sorry. "

Those two words told Yuto everything.

A rare degenerative disease.

Progressive.

No known cure.

Medication could only delay the symptoms.

Estimated life expectancy...

Around one year.

Perhaps less.

The doctor's lips kept moving.

One year.

He was only twenty-eight.

He reported to work that afternoon.

Not because anyone asked him to.

Because he thought it was the responsible thing to do.

Human Resources thanked him for informing them.

His department manager offered a few practiced words of sympathy.

" We hope you'll focus on your recovery. "

" We appreciate everything you've done. "

" We'll make the transition as smooth as possible. "

By lunchtime, another employee was already sitting at his desk.

His computer had been reassigned.

His company email was deactivated.

A family photo now sat where his small cactus had been.

Six years.

Gone before sunset.

He packed his belongings into a cardboard box.

A chipped coffee mug.

Three notebooks.

A worn-out mechanical pencil.

The dying cactus.

That was all six years of overtime had left him.

No farewell party.

No speeches.

No one walked him to the elevator.

Most people were too busy working.

Just as he always had been.

The evening air felt strangely cold.

For the first time in years...

He had nowhere to be tomorrow.

No deadlines.

No meetings.

No overtime.

He should have felt relieved.

Instead, he felt empty.

— — —

His apartment greeted him with silence.

He placed the cardboard box beside the kitchen table.

The room was exactly as he'd left it.

A sink full of dishes.

Instant noodles stacked in one corner.

Wrinkled dress shirts hanging from a clothes rack.

Medicine bottles scattered across the table.

He looked around the apartment before slowly sitting on the floor.

No messages.

No missed calls.

No family.

No friends.

He rested his head against the wall.

" ...So this is it. "

His voice sounded unfamiliar in the quiet room.

He let out a quiet laugh.

Not because anything was funny.

Because there was nothing else he could do.

" Twenty-eight years... "

" I don't think I ever actually lived. "

The words echoed through the apartment.

Then... the lights flickered.

Once.

Twice.

Yuto frowned.

" ...A blackout? "

No. The electricity hadn't gone out.

Instead, he heard something.

A soft electronic chime.

Ding.

His heart skipped.

He knew that sound.

The sound every convenience store made when someone entered.

But... there wasn't a convenience store outside his apartment.

His unit was on the third floor.

The hallway beyond his front door should have been dimly lit and empty.

The chime came again.

Ding.

Slowly, Yuto stood.

His legs felt weak.

He stared at the front door for several long seconds before reaching for the handle.

" ... "

With a hesitant breath, he turned it.

The door creaked open.

Beyond the threshold... the apartment hallway was gone.

Warm fluorescent lights stretched into the distance.

Neatly arranged shelves stood in perfect rows.

Refrigerators hummed softly.

Fresh coffee filled the air.

Everything was spotless.

Peaceful.

Impossible.

As if an ordinary convenience store had been folded into a place where it could never exist.

The automatic glass doors at the far end slid open by themselves.

A gentle melody played.

" Welcome. "

Yuto stood frozen at the entrance.

For the first time in his life... he didn't know what waited for him on the other side of the door.

— Jyzciel