I pulled my wallet from my back pocket, handed over a crisp ten thousand yen bill, and accepted my change. The clerk dropped the items into a plastic shopping bag. The bag crinkled loudly as I grabbed the handles.
My pulse raced because I had the book. I had the figure. Now I just needed to get home, lock my bedroom door, and read until my eyes burned.
I pushed through the glass doors and broke into a heavy jog. The evening air had cooled down slightly, but my lungs burned with the effort.
The streetlights flickered on above me. They cast long, erratic shadows across the concrete. I hugged the plastic shopping bag tightly to my chest to keep the book from bouncing around.
The crosswalk signal glowed green a few meters ahead. I didn't check the intersection. I just ran forward, my mind already halfway into the first chapter of the novel.
The screech of tires ripped through the quiet street.
It was a terrible, tearing sound. Rubber burning violently against the asphalt. I turned my head to the right. A huge commercial delivery truck was skidding sideways across the intersection.
The driver was fighting the steering wheel desperately, his face pale and contorted behind the dirty windshield. He had lost control and the heavy metal chassis tilted dangerously.
There was no time to step back. There was no time to drop the bag.
The big chrome grill of the truck filled my entire field of vision. The harsh stench of diesel exhaust and burning rubber choked my throat.
BOOM.
The world shattered. A blinding flash of white light erased the street, the truck, and the evening sky.
Then came the dark. A cold silence swallowed me whole.
My eyes snapped open.
A dull, rhythmic ache throbbed at the base of my skull. I blinked against the harsh morning sunlight streaming through a small window to my right. This wasn't the street and this wasn't a hospital room.
I stared straight up. The ceiling was made of unfamiliar wooden planks. They were stained a dark, rustic brown. A simple, round light fixture hung from the center of the wood, casting a weak yellowish glow that fought a losing battle against the daylight.
I tried to sit up. The blankets pooled around my waist felt thick and heavy.
Where am I?
The smell of the room was wrong. It smelled like old wood polish and toasted bread. It didn't smell like the sterile bleach of an emergency room or the stale air of my cramped apartment.
"Onii-chan!"
A sharp, high-pitched voice broke the silence of the room.
I froze.
The wooden door to the bedroom had burst open.
A small girl with messy Dark Green (Forest Green) hair and Pale Gold eyes stood in the doorway. She was wearing a slightly oversized yellow t-shirt and holding a wooden spatula in her right hand. She looked to be about eight years old.
I stared at her. She stared back, a bright smile plastered across her face.
Is she talking to me?
Onii-chan?
I don't remember having a little sister. I was an only child and I lived alone.
"Onii-chan, let's go!" the girl called out again and waved the wooden spatula impatiently in the air. "Breakfast is ready!"
I looked down at my hands. They rested on the heavy quilt. They felt smaller. The skin was pale, completely devoid of the familiar small scars on my knuckles from my part-time job.
I swallowed hard and my throat felt dry. I swung my legs over the edge of the mattress. My bare feet hit the cold wooden floorboards with a soft thud.
That's when everything started.