New Awakening
The first thing Naoki felt was a dryness in his throat—a parched emptiness that reached deeper than thirst. He opened his eyes slowly, his lids heavy with disuse. The world that came into focus was blinding, unfamiliar, sterile. The ceiling above him was white, trimmed with soft gold, and the faint scent of antiseptic hung in the air.
He blinked again.
Then again.
He was alive.
But something inside him felt dead.
His limbs were sluggish, but they moved. His body had become thinner, his hands looked bony, as if time had fed on him while his mind had slumbered. There were wires and a monitor, humming faintly with his vitals. But no pain. Just silence. Just space.
And loneliness.
He didn't know how long he'd been gone. It could've been days. Months. Years.
Naoki sat up slowly. No one was around. No nurses, no visitors, no signs of celebration at his awakening. The walls were marble-white with elegant decor, and the chair near his bed looked like something out of a five-star hotel lobby.
"Where... am I?" he whispered to himself, but his voice cracked. Dry. Dusty. Fragile.
His throat stung.
He needed air.
His feet met the cold floor. He wobbled but managed to balance himself. His hospital gown rustled softly as he moved. He didn't know why he was drawn out of the room, why his body knew to keep walking, but his legs led him.
Down the long hallway.
Past sleeping rooms.
Past the hum of machines.
Until he found a stairway door.
It wasn't locked.
Step after step, he climbed. Slowly. Laboriously. But with purpose. He didn't even know what he was searching for—was it the sky? The wind? The proof that he was still here?
And then he arrived.
The rooftop.
The doors creaked open, and the cool breeze kissed his face. Night had fallen. The city lights below sparkled like fallen stars that refused to die. He stumbled forward, standing at the edge of the roof, hands gripping the metal railing.
It was high.
So high.
He breathed in.
The air felt different.
Free.
His eyes scanned the world, his heart feeling strangely calm. The pain, the torment, the spiral of all that had consumed him before—was it still there?
Why did he feel like he no longer belonged?
He didn't hear the door open behind him. Or the faint footsteps.
But suddenly—
Woosh.
A hand.
A small but determined hand pulled him harshly back from the edge.
He stumbled.
He turned around to see a girl standing in front of him, breathing heavily. Her face was pale, her eyes sharp, her presence defiant.
And then—
Silence.
To be continued...