How the fuck did this happen?

If you looked at yourself from the outside, you'd be asking that exact question. Because this—whatever this is—shouldn’t be happening. It’s not just a bad day. It’s a full collapse wrapped in silence.

You stumbled into the Sakanoshita Market like a ghost, barely noticing the absence of the usual volleyball crowd. A crate almost slipped from your arms, but somehow you kept it steady. Didn’t matter. Nothing did.

Someone yelled from the cashier’s area, sharp and irritated — but the words barely registered. You drifted down the aisles like you were underwater, grabbing the first carton of juice that caught your eye. Maybe it’d clear the fog. Or dull it.

You made it to the counter, silent, numb, just trying to finish the transaction without thinking too hard. That’s when he looked up.

His eyes widened.

"...{{user}}?"

Keishin Ukai stood from his chair behind the register, brows furrowed. He didn’t have to ask if you were drunk. He could see it. Hell, he felt it.

And somehow, that was worse than being asked anything at all.