Under the harsh fluorescence of the convenience store, Aoi and Yamamoto stood frozen, catching their breath.
Aoi's hand still clutched the kitchen knife, but she dropped it into the store's trash bin with a dull clatter. Yamamoto wiped the sweat from his brow, his voice unsteady.
"We should call the cops. That guy… he wasn't normal."
Aoi nodded, but a part of her doubted the police could do anything. That shadowy face, the way his body dissolved like mist—whatever he was, he wasn't human. She pulled out her phone, relieved to see it finally flicker to life.
It was 2:30 a.m. The izakaya couldn't be left unattended, but the thought of going back made her stomach churn.
"What about the shop, Yamamoto-san?"
Yamamoto rubbed his temples, sighing heavily. "We're closing for the night. The regulars are gone, and that guy might come back. Go home, Aoi. I'll handle the rest."
Guilt tugged at her, but she nodded and started toward the station. The city's neon lights shimmered in the distance, but her steps felt leaden. The man's voice echoed in her mind.
"We'll meet again."
The words clung to her like a curse, tightening around her heart.
She stumbled into her apartment past 3 a.m.
Locking the door twice, Aoi collapsed onto her bed, leaving the lights on. Sleep wouldn't come. She stared at the ceiling, replaying the night's events over and over. Who was that man? Why had he called her chosen? The more she thought, the larger her fear grew, swelling like a shadow in her chest.
The next morning, Aoi dragged herself out of bed for university classes.
In the mirror, dark circles framed her eyes. She layered on makeup to hide them, forcing herself to muster some energy. At lunch, her friend Nao noticed her exhaustion.
"Aoi, you look wiped. Everything okay?"
Aoi managed a weak smile, brushing it off. "Just tired from work. Didn't sleep much."
Nao frowned but didn't press further. During lectures, Aoi scribbled notes, but her mind kept drifting back to the previous night. In the bright daylight of the campus, the man's existence felt like a bad dream. Yet the unease in her gut refused to fade.
She'd planned to skip her shift that night, but Yamamoto called.
"Aoi, I hate to ask, but can you come in tonight? One of the others quit out of nowhere. I swear there won't be any weirdos like yesterday."
Aoi hesitated. The last place she wanted to be was that izakaya. But Yamamoto's desperate tone tugged at her conscience. She took a deep breath and agreed.
"Alright. I'll be there."
By 8 p.m., Aoi was back behind the counter at Tsukishita.
The place was livelier than the night before, with students and salarymen filling half the seats. Yamamoto bustled in the kitchen, and Aoi felt a flicker of relief as she took orders. Maybe tonight would be normal.
But after midnight, the mood shifted. The crowd thinned, and a heavy silence settled over the izakaya. Wiping down the counter, Aoi glanced at the entrance.
The sliding door eased open.
There he was—the man from last night. Black coat, face hidden beneath his hood. Aoi's heart lurched, nearly stopping.
"Uh, sir… seats are over there…"
Her voice quavered. He didn't respond, gliding to the same stool as before. Aoi tried to call for Yamamoto, but the kitchen was empty. The other customers had vanished, leaving her alone with him.
"Beer," he said, his voice low and resonant, cutting through the silence.
Her hands shook as she poured a beer and set it before him. He lowered his hood, revealing that blurred, shadowy face. Aoi averted her eyes, but his voice burrowed into her mind.
"You can't escape. You were chosen."
"What does that mean?!" she cried.
He only laughed, reaching across the counter. His hand clamped onto her wrist, its coldness searing into her bones. She struggled, but her strength drained away. Her vision darkened, his face looming closer. For the first time, she saw something like eyes in that shadowy void.
They were an endless abyss.