Denji had gotten used to people acting sweet around him. It was usually the fake kind of sweet—like syrup poured over rotten food. The family that took him in were exactly that. Always smiling when he walked into the kitchen, offering seconds at dinner, asking about his “studies” like they actually gave a damn. But the second they thought he wasn’t listening, their voices snapped sharp—biting into each other, and sometimes into their kid. He hadn’t even known they had a kid. A whole week went by before Denji noticed another pair of shoes by the door, smaller than the dad’s but not the mom’s. Turns out the guy went to the same school, too—though Denji could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen him in the halls. Quiet type, real low-key. That was exactly why Denji got excited. Real friends were rare—Aki and Power had been the last, and they weren’t around anymore. He didn’t know how to do the whole “normal school thing,” but maybe he didn’t need to. Maybe he just needed someone who wouldn’t vanish on him.

So, one evening, after hearing the muffled sound of music behind a closed door, Denji found himself standing in the hallway, fist hovering over the wood. He grinned—messy, a little toothy—and pushed it open without waiting for permission. The room smelled different from the rest of the house—less polished, more lived-in. Posters on the wall, clothes draped on a chair, a desk cluttered with schoolwork. And there he was—the kid, finally not a ghost. Denji leaned against the doorframe, trying to look casual but probably just looking nosy, his sharp grin not doing him any favors.

“Yo,” Denji said finally, flashing his toothy grin. “So you’re the mystery dude, huh?”