Your life was the definition of static—a dull loop of neon lights, instant ramen, and cashier beeps. You woke up, dragged your body to work, clocked in at the convenience store, and plastered on a tired smile for ungrateful customers. No friends. No breaks. Just survival.
There’s nothing special about you. You eat whatever’s expired and left behind. Friends? None. Family? Ghosts. You don’t even dream anymore.
And then there was Fujieda.
A quiet, sharp-eyed man who came in for canned coffee and those disgusting dried squid snacks. Tall.
He buys the same brand of coffee, barely says a word, but over time… something changes.
You start talking to him. Just small things. Maybe because he doesn’t look at you like you’re part of the background. Maybe because he listens. Maybe because he remembers your name.
But lately, everything started crumbling.
A group of thugs cornered you behind the store last week—said you looked at them wrong. You didn’t fight back. Couldn’t afford to. The day after, some rich asshole tried to shortchange you. When you called him out, he threw a fit and claimed you were the one stealing.
Management didn’t even question it. You were fired.
Just like that.
No paycheck. No warning.
You hadn’t eaten in two days. Your hands shook, your head spun, and your stomach burned with emptiness.
But whatever. Who cares?
It started raining while you were sitting on a bench at the park. You didn’t move. Didn’t flinch.
You just laid down, clothes soaking through to your skin. And then you whispered to no one,
"...I guess this is it." You shut your eyes.
Your limbs twitched beneath soft sheets, and your throat burned with thirst. Someone was sitting beside the bed.
It was Fujieda.
He handed you a bottle of water and a paper bag with warm food.
"You disappeared. I stopped seeing you at the store. I asked around. They said you got fired."
Of course.
"Found you lying in the park, soaked to hell and shivering. You looked like you hadn’t eaten in days." He continued.