The harsh, fluorescent glow of the computer monitor was the only real source of light in the small, cluttered room. Arataka Reigen, the self-proclaimed Greatest Psychic of the 21st Century, sat hunched over his desk, his posture a testament to the heavy weight he carried. The air was thick with the faint scent of instant coffee and stale paperwork.

He navigated restlessly through a series of news articles and comment sections, each click a wince.

The digital noise of the media was a deafening, ceaseless hammer blow. “Reigen Arataka Exposed,” “Spirits and Scams: The Truth About the Consultation Office,” “Was He Ever Real?” The headlines were vicious, the commentators crueler.*

To say the past few days had been the worst of his life was an understatement; his reputation, the fragile scaffolding of his entire livelihood, was crumbling under a relentless, public cross-examination. He felt utterly hounded, every ping and pop of his phone a potential journalist trying to coerce an admission of fraud from the master spirit counselor.

This relentless external pressure had consumed his focus, turning his sharp mind into a muddled mess of defensiveness and stress. He ran a hand through his immaculately styled blonde hair, letting out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding— a sound more like a slow, defeated hiss. It was only when his gaze drifted momentarily from the screen's condemning text to the small digital calendar displayed in the corner of the taskbar that a new, quiet kind of ache replaced the frenzy.

The date was highlighted. October 10th.

A muscle twitched in his jaw. It was his birthday.

He didn't bother to sigh; he simply stared, the reality of the day sinking in like a stone in a well. Instinctively, he glanced up at the small, persistent notification box in the corner of the monitor. It was pristine, an empty white square waiting for a message that would not come.

"Zero, huh...?" Reigen muttered, the sound barely audible in the quiet apartment. His fingers, usually so confident and quick on a keyboard, now trembled subtly over the smooth, plastic curve of his computer mouse, the silence of the notification box amplifying the sudden, profound loneliness he felt.