Yuomo, a man approaching forty, lived with his mother and stepfather in a modest house filled with memories accumulated over the years. After spending a year and a half fruitlessly searching for work, he had learned to find solace in small comforts: the warmth of his dog Kila as she rested at his feet, and the mischievous caresses of Chop, his cat, who always seemed to be watching him from some corner of the room.
Yuomo was a computer and technology engineer, but the career that he once imagined would be his great opportunity had become a source of frustration. He accepted any job he could find, though none lasted more than two years. Technical problems, long hours, and constant burnout had led him to realize this wasn't the life he wanted. But what other options did he have? He felt powerless as he watched his parents shoulder the household expenses while he continued his futile search for work related to his degree. For someone his age, with limited experience, the doors of companies slammed shut one after another. They preferred to hire young graduates or university students, whom they could pay meager wages and exploit to the limit. Yuomo knew the system was broken, but there was nothing he could do about it.
He even tried seeking employment in the public sector, but soon remembered the harsh reality: you could only get in if you had a recommendation or were related to someone influential. With no viable options, he sank into a deep sadness, compounded by family troubles. His older sister, who had borrowed money from him long ago, still hadn't repaid the debt, leaving their parents to bear that burden instead. Yuomo felt a mix of anger and helplessness. He attempted to look for work outside his field, but his mother insisted: "You must keep looking in your area of expertise. That's why we sacrificed so much for you to finish your degree." Resigned, he returned to his room, turned on his computer, and continued sending out resumes, enrolling in free online courses, and trying to keep hope alive.
One day, while scrolling through social media, Yuomo stumbled upon images of cartoons and superheroes—two of his greatest passions since childhood. He recalled those days when he dreamed of becoming an artist, creating worlds full of magic and adventure. He picked up a pencil and a sheet of paper lying nearby and began to draw. His hands trembled slightly, but he sketched with enthusiasm, letting his imagination take over. He wasn't copying any particular image; he simply brought to life what emerged from his mind. However, his creativity seemed to have a will of its own. Every time he found a new reference or got distracted, the original idea in his head faded, and the final result often turned out chaotic, far from what he had envisioned. Still, he enjoyed the process, as if each stroke were a small rebellion against the monotony of his life.
Yuomo started sharing his drawings on social media. Some people appreciated his work; others showed little interest. Among his strongest supporters were his parents, who always found words of encouragement, even when the results weren't perfect. One day, they suggested he enroll in drawing classes they had found online. His aunt, who had always been like a second mother to him, also offered to help financially. Encouraged by his family, Yuomo decided to take private lessons with a teacher who truly understood the craft.
At first, the classes were a challenge. Though he had natural talent, Yuomo realized he still lacked mastery of many fundamental techniques. However, little by little, he began to improve, though he knew there was still a long way to go. There were days when he felt useless, as if everything was futile, but he always found ways to face those moments: going for a run, attending free swimming lessons offered at his old university, or simply riding his bike to clear his mind. But over time, even that small outlet disappeared when he had to sell his bicycle to cover some family expenses.
Months passed, and the situation didn't improve. The doors of employment remained closed to him, and the idea of starting something on his own seemed impossible without capital. Once, he considered making cakes and pastries, but quickly dismissed the idea when he realized he lacked both the resources and the necessary experience. Meanwhile, his body began to show signs of exhaustion. Yuomo had gained weight, and his knees started to ache constantly. It wasn't age-related—he hadn't yet turned forty—but rather the result of years of physical wear and accumulated stress. Perhaps it was a silent illness, he thought, though he never had the courage to see a doctor and find out.
In his darkest moments, Yuomo often lost himself in somber thoughts. "Maybe it would be better if I weren't here anymore," he repeated to himself mentally. He imagined how, without him, the debts would disappear, and his parents could live peacefully, free from the burden his presence represented. But those thoughts never lasted long. He always found some reason to keep going, however small it might be.
One night, while walking under a starry sky, Yuomo decided to go buy special pencils and notebooks to continue with his drawings. The corner store didn't have what he was looking for, nor did the next one. Finally, he opted to head to a shop located in a dimly lit and nearly deserted neighborhood. He crossed the street carefully, patiently waiting for the traffic light to change. When he arrived, he noticed the shop's sign flickering faintly, as if it were about to go out. He went inside, examined the products carefully, and bought what he needed.
As he stepped outside, he felt a strange sensation that someone was watching him. He turned his head in both directions, but saw no one in the empty streets. Deciding to ignore it, he continued on his way. Suddenly, the air grew heavy and humid. It began to rain—a light but unexpected drizzle for that time of year. Yuomo looked up at the sky, confused. "Rain in summer…" he murmured to himself. "It never rains in this part of the world during this season." That inexplicable phenomenon filled him with a mix of curiosity and bewilderment, as if the universe were trying to tell him something.
Yuomo didn't give much thought to the rain and decided to quicken his pace, aware that he didn't have an umbrella with him. Soon, he reached what appeared to be a bus stop next to a dark alley. Fortunately, the structure had a roof, providing him some shelter. As he checked his belongings to make sure they hadn't gotten wet, he suddenly felt a threatening presence behind him. Before he could react, a strong, cold hand covered his mouth, while another firmly held his arms, immobilizing him completely.
Yuomo's heart began to race uncontrollably. He struggled with all his might, desperately trying to break free. He had nothing of value on him; his phone was the only thing of any worth. In a brief slip from his attacker, he managed to wrench himself free and, gasping for air, exclaimed, "I don't have anything! If you want, take my phone!" But the man didn't respond. He was completely covered by a red mask, adorned with sinister bird motifs whose eyes seemed to follow Yuomo from the shadows.
Determined to escape, Yuomo took a step forward, but before he could move further, the figure appeared in front of him as if materializing out of thin air. With a distorted, jagged voice that echoed like a macabre reverberation, he said, "You're going to die, Yuomo."
Hearing his name sent a chill down Yuomo's spine. How did this person know who he was? He had no time to think further. An intense, unbearable pain shot through him as something cold and sharp pierced his abdomen again and again. His trembling hands reached out toward the attacker, trying to rip off the mask, but his strength was quickly fading. Warm blood gushed from his wounds, soaking his clothes and dripping onto the ground. His eyes began to close, clouded by pain and weakness. In his mind, one question repeated endlessly, like an unending echo: Why?
The last thing he saw was the man leaning over him, calmly licking the bloodied knife with chilling composure. The mask still concealed his face, preventing Yuomo from knowing the identity of his killer. Then, everything went black. He collapsed to the ground, his body falling into a crimson pool that spread beneath the rain.
In the dimness enveloping him, Yuomo's thoughts continued, confused and tormented. Why is this happening to me? I don't have enemies; I've never hurt anyone. What will happen to Kila and Chop? His mind drifted between flashes of his daily life—his parents, his pets—until he finally accepted his fate. If he died, his parents would be free of debts and wouldn't have to worry about him anymore. That thought filled him with a strange sense of peace. Yielding to the darkness, he allowed it to consume him entirely, merging with it.
But just before everything faded away, a soft yet firm voice resonated in his mind: "Don't give up yet." A warm, radiant light enveloped him, pulling him from the clutches of the darkness. For a moment, Yuomo felt that perhaps there was still hope.