'If only I could load a save point in my life.'
The thought crossed the mind of a convenience store worker as he stared at the water-stained ceiling. Nearly thirty years of shit piling up into the garbage heap that was his existence.
"Excuse me, young man."
The shrill voice of an old lady yanked him out of his thoughts.
'Her again, like always.'
"Yes?"
"This deal says two-for-one on the rice, but I'm being charged full price."
He sighed and checked the receipt. The promotion had expired three days ago.
"Ma'am, the promotion ended on Tuesday."
"But the sign is still up!"
The woman pointed down the aisle with an accusing finger.
'Of course it's still up. Nobody bothers to take it down.'
"You're right. Let me apply the discount for you."
It wasn't worth arguing. It was a battle he'd never win.
The old lady left with a victorious smile while he returned to his stool behind the counter.
Six years earlier he had sent his manuscript to fifteen different publishers and all fifteen had rejected it. Some hadn't even bothered to reply. Later he tried publishing online and only got thirty-two views in three months. His mother had been twenty-eight of them.
'I should have studied engineering like Dad wanted.'
Instead he had chased his dreams.
Nine o'clock at night arrived as it always did: slow, heavy, and inevitable. His shift partner showed up fifteen minutes late. She was late every single day, but he never said anything.
"Good evening."
She muttered without looking him in the eye.
"Evening."
He grabbed his backpack and stepped out into the cold night. His apartment was a twenty-minute walk away, time he usually used to think about how pathetic he was—or better yet, to think about nothing at all.
The building where he lived smelled of old food and cheap disinfectant. He climbed the stairs to the third floor because the elevator had been broken for two months. He opened the door to his apartment: six square meters that barely contained a bed, a folding desk, and his computer.
'Home, sweet home.'
He peeled off his uniform and tossed it onto the pile of dirty clothes in the corner. He turned on the computer and opened his library of visual novels. He had played some of them five or six times. He knew every route, every ending, every choice that led to every outcome.
'At least here I get to choose.'
He selected "Eternal Summer," his favorite. A story where a high-school student had to avoid being killed by a bunch of yanderes.
'Man, I wish I had several girls chasing after me…'
He played until three in the morning. He slept four hours, then woke up, put on the same wrinkled uniform, and headed back to work.
The same cycle every single day.
'Maybe it'd be better to just speed things up.'
The thought wasn't new. It appeared more and more often, and he considered it with indifference.
The next day's shift was identical to the previous one. Old ladies complaining about deals, students buying snacks after class, workers grabbing beer and cigarettes. But nobody really looked at him. He was just part of the scenery, like the shelves or the drink cooler.
'Nine o'clock. Time to go.'
But his partner never showed up.
He checked his phone. No messages. He waited ten minutes, fifteen, twenty.
'Screw this.'
He was about to call the manager when he heard the back door open. His partner walked into the store. But something was different—her eyes were red and swollen.
"You okay?"
She didn't answer. She just walked toward him with slow, deliberate steps. That was when he saw the box cutter in her right hand, the kind they used in the stockroom.
"What…?"
He didn't finish the question. She lunged at him with a choked scream, tears streaming down her cheeks. The blade sank into his stomach before he could react.
The pain hit a second later.
"I'm sorry…"
She sobbed as she stabbed him again.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"
Takeshi collapsed to the floor. His hands instinctively went to the wound, but blood poured out between his fingers while she dropped the knife and fled the way she had come. Her sobs faded into the distance.
'Is this real? Am I dying?'
The fluorescent ceiling light flickered. It was one more thing that had never been fixed, like so many others.
'I don't want to die like this! Not like this… Not… without having done anything.'
The rejections from the publishers flooded back into his mind, along with the pitiful views on his blog, the endless shifts, the empty apartment, the visual novels—his entire life reduced to a string of failures and escapes.
'I should have tried harder… maybe written another novel… and moved out… I should have… I should have…'
His vision darkened at the edges and the cold spread from his stomach through the rest of his body.
'It's not fair… I want another chance… please… just one more…'
The darkness was almost complete now, and the pain began to fade, replaced by a numbness that was almost comforting.
'If I could go back… if I could load a saved game…'
His eyes closed, and then, in the absolute darkness, something bright appeared.
[LOADING SAVE]
The letters floated in front of him, white on black, like a game's title screen. A progress bar appeared below, filling slowly.
[10%... 30%... 50%...]
'What…?'
A voice echoed around him. It didn't come from any specific place.
"Let the show begin."
The bar reached 100% and everything turned white.