By the time I got home, the sun had already started to rise, even if the sky was still painted in shades of blue-gray. The streets were empty. The world was quiet. You'd never guess that just a few hours ago, monsters were tearing through the night like it was a feast.
My boots hit the floor with a heavy thud as I stepped into the apartment. I didn't bother locking the door behind me. Not because I felt safe—but because anyone who tried to get in would regret it. Or, hell, maybe I was just too tired to care.
The place was a mess.
I kicked a pile of clothes out of the way as I made my way to the couch, dragging my sword case behind me. Empty ramen cups sat like tiny ghosts on the coffee table. My jacket fell off the armrest and joined the rest of the clutter on the floor.
Everything reeked of sweat, metal, and whatever that expired meat was I'd forgotten to throw out two days ago. I blinked slowly, staring at the ceiling. There was a cobweb in the corner above the light bulb. I think it was new. Maybe not. Hard to tell anymore.
I pulled out my phone and stared at the screen.
No new messages.
I tapped on Sayaka's name. The last text I sent was still unread.
I hit call.
The phone rang once… twice… three times… then voicemail.
I didn't leave one.
Just exhaled slowly and dropped the phone onto the couch beside me. It bounced and nearly slipped between the cushions. I didn't move to fix it.
She probably blocked me. Or muted me. Or just didn't want to deal with someone like me anymore.
Can't blame her.
I stood up, walked into the kitchen, and opened the fridge.
A pale light spilled out, revealing… disappointment.
A half-carton of milk, a bottle of hot sauce, some lettuce that had given up on life, and a single cracked egg. I grabbed the milk. It was cold at least. I unscrewed the cap and drank straight from the carton.
The taste hit me instantly.
"Ugh—god!"
I spat it back into the sink, coughing as the sour taste clung to the back of my tongue. My stomach twisted, growling loud enough to make me pause.
Right.
I hadn't eaten all day.
With a groan, I tossed the milk into the trash and rummaged through the cabinets. Most were empty or held expired cans. Finally, I found a pack of instant noodles.
Dinner—well, breakfast, technically—was saved.
I filled a small pot with water and set it on the stove. While it heated, I leaned against the counter, staring at nothing. Just the hum of the fridge and the ticking of the clock above the stove.
My life had become one long stretch of quiet moments like this—seconds stitched between bloodshed and loss. No dramatic music, no applause. Just an old, creaky apartment and a man with too many ghosts.
The water finally boiled. I dumped in the noodles, stirred half-heartedly, and waited. I added the seasoning packet—maybe too much. Probably too salty. Didn't matter.
When it was done, I poured it into a bowl and sat at the counter, eating with a bent fork I hadn't washed in days.
The first bite burned my tongue.
Still didn't care.
I ate in silence, letting the warmth settle into my empty stomach like an anchor. At least the noodles didn't taste like sour death.
When I was done, I dropped the bowl in the sink and didn't bother washing it.
I wandered back into the living room.
It smelled like stale sweat and old wood. The couch cushions were sunken in and one had a tear along the seam. I collapsed into it anyway, eyes half-shut.
I should've gone to bed.
But I couldn't.
Not yet.
I kept thinking about that thing from the warehouse. The hooded man who smiled at the camera.
The way he whispered my name.
The way it felt like he already knew me.
I turned on the TV just for noise. Static. Then a news anchor talking about a gas leak downtown. That's what they always said. "Gas leak." "Construction mishap." "Power grid failure."
Never "monster attack."
Never "supernatural outbreak."
The truth was always a shadow. Always a lie.
I got up after a few minutes and finally dragged myself toward the bathroom. I peeled off the blood-stained shirt and dropped it in the hallway. I'd clean it later. Maybe.
The mirror above the sink was cracked from a week ago—when I punched it after a failed mission.
I stared at my reflection.
Messy black hair, pale skin, tired eyes.
My knuckles were bruised, probably from tonight's fight.
I turned the shower knob. Cold at first. Then lukewarm.
I stepped in and let the water wash away the grime, the blood, the memories. I stood there longer than I needed to. Just existing. Letting the water run down my face like it could drown the noise in my head.
When I finally stepped out, I didn't even bother drying off fully. Just threw on an old shirt and sweats, collapsed onto the bed, and closed my eyes.
I didn't expect sleep to come.
But it did.
I dreamed.
Not of monsters this time.
But of Sayaka.
She stood at the edge of a street I didn't recognize, her back to me, wind in her hair. She was laughing. Light. Effortless.
Then the dream shifted.
The sky cracked open like glass.
And something crawled out.
I woke up gasping.
My phone buzzed.
It was 4:30 a.m.
Mira.
Of course.
I picked it up and answered, voice groggy. "Yeah?"
"You're awake."
"Unfortunately."
"There's something weird near the south docks. A report just came in. No confirmed beast yet, but—"
"Let me guess. Heat signatures. Shadow movement. Distorted voices."
"Exactly."
I sat up slowly, rubbing my face. "I'll check it out."
"You sure?"
"I'm already up."
I hung up and got dressed.
The sword leaned against the bedroom wall, always ready.
I strapped it to my back and looked around the apartment one last time before heading out again.
Same mess.
Same cold silence.
Same life.