I wake up naturally at 6:00 a.m., the faint light of dawn slipping through the blinds in my room. Today's the day. My mind is still stuck on yesterday. My stomach twists just thinking about it.Will the hallucinations get worse today? Will they take over, pull me into another nightmare like that? Or will they stop, leaving me to wonder what's real? I don't know, and that uncertainty sits like a weight in my chest.
I sit up on the futon, the sheets still tangled from last night, the faint smell of dust in the air.I can't let this control me. I've got to keep moving, keep my head clear.I head downstairs, my socks soft against the creaky wooden floor. The apartment's quiet, Aunt Hana already gone for her early factory shift. My stomach growls, loud and insistent—I didn't eat anything yesterday, too caught up in that dream.
Hana left food on the kitchen table, covered with a cloth: rice, miso soup, and grilled mackerel, simple but warm. I sit at the table, the wobbly chair creaking under me, and eat quickly, barely tasting the salty fish or the soft rice. It's good, but my mind's somewhere else, replaying that figure's voice, its black hands, the way it said it was me.I finish the food, the bowl still warm in my hands, and clean up, rinsing the dishes in the small sink. The water's cold, grounding me for a moment. I need to focus, get ready for Apex, face whatever today brings.
I pull on my uniform and grab my bag. I lock the door behind me and step out into Tokyo.The city's alive, full of energy despite the early hour. People walk briskly, some jogging with earbuds, others tugging leashes as their dogs sniff the pavement. A street vendor's setting up, the smell of grilled meat drifting from his cart. A kid on a bike weaves through the crowd, his backpack bouncing.
It's all so normal, so loud, but it feels distant, like it doesn't belong to me. My shoes hit the pavement, a steady rhythm, and I keep walking, the city blurring around me.
I reach Tokyo Metropolitan Apex Academy, its glass towers gleaming in the morning sun, cherry blossoms scattered on the ground like pink confetti. The steel gates are open, students streaming through, their voices loud and mixed—some excited, some nervous.I head straight to Class 1-A, my bag's strap digging into my shoulder. Then it hits me—I forgot today's a free-for-all. No teachers, no lectures. Just us, the students, left to roam the school, study on our own, visit the library, labs, or computers.It's not a field trip, not some fun day off. Apex expects us to take charge, to prove we can handle the freedom. At the end of the day, we each submit a report on what we did, what we learned. It's an Apex thing, designed to balance the school's strict rules with a chance to think for ourselves, to cope with the pressure.
I've heard older students talk about it—some love it, others crack under the lack of structure. For me, it's a chance to focus, to keep my mind busy so the dreams don't creep in.I stand up from my desk in 1-A, the room already buzzing with students planning their day. Some are heading to the library, others to the labs. A few just sit, whispering about what they'll do to kill time. The room smells of chalk and new notebooks, the windows letting in bright morning light.
I'm about to head out when I see him—Kaito, the third-year from the shogi match, leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed, his eyes sharp. "Care to have a match?" he says, his voice calm but challenging, like he's been waiting for me.
I don't have much to do, and the idea of a game pulls at me. Shogi's my ground, where I'm in control, where the world makes sense. "Yeah," I say, keeping my voice steady, and follow him to the hall where chess and shogi matches are happening.
The hall's big, with high ceilings and polished floors, the air filled with quiet tension and the occasional laugh. Our match is set up in the center, a wooden shogi board on a low table, surrounded by students watching, whispering. I sit down, my knees brushing the floor, and Kaito pulls out the board, setting the pieces with care. His hands are steady, but his eyes are sharper than last time, like he's been practicing.The game starts. Kaito's better than before, his moves quicker, more precise. He opens strong, his pieces advancing like he's planned every step. But I'm better. My mind sees the board ten moves ahead, spotting weaknesses he doesn't even know he's left open.
His start matches mine, aggressive and smart, but slowly, he slips. I counter his knight, block his bishop, and 32 moves later, I trap his king in the corner with a pawn. Checkmate. The crowd murmurs, a few clapping quietly.
Kaito's face doesn't change, but he smiles, a small, curious grin, like he's learning something new. "Rematch?" he asks, already resetting the board.
I nod, and we play again. This time, it's over in 15 moves—my rook cuts through his defense, pinning his king. We play 12 games total, and I win every one. Each time, Kaito resets the board, his smile growing, not angry or defeated, but excited, like he's found something worth chasing.
"You're tough, Tsukumo," he says after the last game, his voice light but his eyes serious. The crowd's louder now, some kids whispering my name, others betting on how fast I'll win next time. I don't care about them. Sitting there, the board still between us, I realize something. The crash took everything—Mom, Dad, the kid I used to be—but it left me this: a will to fight. I've been dodging the hallucinations, the dreams, pretending they're not real, but after last night, I can't anymore.
That figure, the throne, the words—they're part of something bigger, something I don't understand. But I'm done running. I'll face it, whatever it is, and I'll beat it. What matters now is fighting back, taking back what I lost in the crash—my parents, my old self, my sense of control.
I'll use everything I have—physics, shogi, my ability to see the world in my head like a 3D map—to overpower whatever's haunting me. I've always found answers, and I'll find this one too, no matter how strange it is. Kaito's still watching me, like he sees something I don't. I stand up, my legs stiff from sitting, and nod at him. "Good games," I say, and walk away.
The day moves on, time slipping by fast—library, labs, a quick stop at a computer to jot down notes for my report. It's 3:30 p.m. in the blink of an eye.I grab my bag and leave Apex, the halls crowded with students rushing to submit their reports. I already turned mine in—notes on a physics problem I worked through in the library, simple but precise. Kenji and his friends are still inside, laughing as they scribble their reports, probably joking about my comeback to Haruto yesterday.
I don't stop, don't look back. My shoes hit the pavement outside, the city's noise wrapping around me—cars honking, people talking, the smell of street food in the air. Today was calm, too calm. No voices, no shadows, no hallucinations.
It's strange, like the world's gone quiet after last night's storm. I can't help but wonder if it's the calm before something bigger, like everything's building up to hit me harder. The thought sticks, making my chest tight. I don't know what's coming, but I know I have to be ready.
I get home to Aunt Hana's apartment, the door creaking as I step inside. She's still not back, so I heat up leftovers—more rice and mackerel, the same as this morning. I eat at the kitchen table, barely tasting it, my mind still on the day, on Kaito's smile, on the quiet in my head.
After eating, I pull out my phone, scrolling through stock reports—numbers and charts, something normal to focus on. The numbers blur together, my eyes heavy. I head upstairs, drop onto the futon, and stare at the ceiling's cracks, the streetlight's glow cutting through the blinds.
I close my eyes, half-expecting the dream to come back—the throne, the figure, the voice. But it doesn't. Just darkness, and the faint sound of the city outside. I'm ready to fight, to face whatever's next, but the quiet feels heavy, like it's hiding something.
I don't know what's coming, but I'll be ready. I have to be.