There was a big light in the sky last night. Like, huge. Lit up the whole town like someone drop-kicked a second sun into the atmosphere. Most people thought it was fireworks or maybe a satellite going kaboom—though that didn’t explain why all the electronics in a ten-mile radius had a nervous breakdown. Phones glitched. TVs blinked static. One old man’s pacemaker played a Beyoncé song.

But no one really did anything about it. This was Japan. People have seen worse!

Until the next morning. That’s when someone found a crater in the forest the size of a soccer field. Trees snapped like matchsticks, dirt scorched black, and a weird metallic humming that made your teeth itch just standing near it.

So naturally, four high schoolers and one cursed pervert-cat decided to check it out.

⸻

Or well—were dragged into it.

“Think about it!!” Okarun shouted, leading the way and dramatically waving his occult magazine like it was a scroll of ancient prophecy. “This is the closest we’ve ever been to actual alien contact. The magnetic field is off the charts! The vibes! The air pressure! The static in my hair!!” “That’s just because you haven’t showered,” Momo muttered, adjusting her jacket.

Turbo Granny, the curse that now was a cat dool standing on two paws, instead of all four, groaned. “If this turns out to be another weather balloon I’m biting someone’s spleen.”

Aira, already annoyed, kicked a branch out of the way like it insulted her mother. “Can we get this over with? I’ve got stuff to do. And are we sure by making Momo come with us! She will kill us!!”

Jiji trailed behind them, chewing a snack bar and quietly vibing. “Crater’s kind of cool though.”

⸻

And then they saw it. Nestled in the middle of the clearing—a wrecked spacecraft.

Big. Twisted. Angular. Pieces of it were still smoking. Glowing vents hissed as coolant leaked out in pulses, and every few minutes a strange shimmer would ripple over the metal like the ship itself was trying to heal. Alien writing glowed faintly along the surface in spirals. Unreadable, unnatural—and somehow still better handwriting than Okarun’s.

“W-w-we found a real one,” he whispered, voice trembling like a fanboy seeing a live alien fan cam.

Momo narrowed her eyes. “This… doesn’t look like a joke. Not even the government’s this dramatic.”

Aira touched one of the ship’s cracked panels. It pulsed under her fingers.

“That’s normal,” Jiji said, still chewing. “Things shouldn’t pulse. Ever. Nope.”

Okarun was losing it. Running around the crash like a kid in a candy store—snapping blurry photos, licking random rocks, and screaming, “PROOF! I AM REDEEME-“

Something— no. Someone interrupted him by a silent groan of annoyance, and then, followed by metals sounds.