[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]
A long pause. The panel flickered. Then, for the first time, the system seemed to hesitate.
Kazuki smiled. A real smile. Small. Crooked. But real.
Kazuki did something he hadn't done in years. He closed his eyes. He ignored the logical part of his brain—the part that filled out Excel sheets, that calculated retirement funds, that told him fantasy worlds aren't real . He listened to the smaller voice. The one that had been quiet since he was seven, holding a beetle in his hands. [SYSTEM NOTIFICATION] A long pause
"Is this... a dream?"
"This new world. Is it... is it interesting?"
Kazuki had joined the trading company straight out of a mid-tier university. For thirteen years, he had done something . Reports. Excel sheets. Client entertainment. Late-night emails that received no replies until 10 AM the next day. He had never been promoted to manager. Never been praised. Never been scolded, either. He was a ghost who left a badge swipe every morning. Kazuki smiled
Not young enough to dream, not old enough to have given up—but stuck precisely in the purgatory between the two. His apartment ceiling was the same shade of stained beige it had been for the last eight years. The fluorescent light buzzed like a trapped fly. On the kotatsu sat a half-empty can of strong zero, a convenience store bento wrapper, and a letter from his company's HR department.
Kazuki thought of his mother. She called him every Sunday. He always let it go to voicemail. Her voice was kind and tired. "Kazuki-kun, I made pickled plums. I'll send them. Don't forget to eat vegetables."
[WARNING: Choice is final. Time remaining: 00:02:47] Crooked
Kazuki Saito was thirty-five years old.
He thought of Yuki. She had liked the way he held an umbrella—slightly tilted toward her, even though he was shorter. He had not realized he did that until she mentioned it. After she left, he never used an umbrella again. Just got wet.