Chapter 1: The Glimpse
The sea stretched endlessly into the horizon.
Ren sat on a bench perched at the cliff's edge, staring into the mist that blurred the line between sky and water. The air was sharp and cold, carrying the faint taste of salt. He shivered, though he couldn't tell if it was from the wind or something deeper.
Something about the place felt wrong.
The waves below rose and fell in silence. No crashing foam. No sound except the faint hiss of the wind against his ears.
Ren rubbed his arms, uneasy.
Then, without warning, the dream shifted. suddenly he wasn't on the bench anymore. His vision tilted, swaying. His feet balanced on a chair. A rope brushed against his skin as it tightened around his throat. His lungs seized. His fingers clawed desperately at the knot.
The chair tipped.
Darkness swallowed everything.
Ren's breath caught. His chest burned. His own throat felt crushed as though the noose had found him instead.
And then—
He jolted awake.
The world lurched around him, the dream dissolving into rattling steel and bright light. He sucked in air like a drowning man. His hand was still at his throat, trembling.
A voice cut through the haze.
"Yo, you alive in there?"
Ren blinked. Beside him, Daichi leaned forward with a grin, one hand shaking his shoulder. The crowded train hummed with chatter, footsteps, and the sound of the brakes as it slowed into the next station.
"You okay bro? You looked like you were fighting a ghost."
Ren forced himself to unclench his throat. Still trying to shake off the phantom pain.
"Yeah… just a dream."
Daichi's grin widened. "Dreams again? Lemme guess—someone was chasing you?"
Ren managed a weak laugh. "Not… exactly."
Daichi chuckled, patting him on the back before slumping against his seat. He always laughed too easily, his voice carrying like a bell in crowded places. Where Ren tended to fade into the background, Daichi filled every space without even trying.
And yet, as the train screeched into the station and they pushed through the tide of people together, Ren couldn't shake the phantom ache in his throat.
They spent the evening the way they always did.
Street vendors lined the shopping district, neon lights flickering against the pavement. Daichi insisted on buying skewers from every other stall, piling food into Ren's hands until he could barely keep up. They argued over which one was best—the grilled chicken dripping with sauce, or the salty beef that burned the tongue.
"Obviously the beef wins," Daichi declared between bites, jabbing his skewer in Ren's direction.
"You just like anything that makes you sweat," Ren shot back.
"Hey, spice builds character."
"You've got plenty of character already."
Daichi smirked. "Guess that's why people like me better."
Ren rolled his eyes but smiled faintly. That was Daichi—loud, cocky, impossible to dislike.
For a while, Ren almost forgot the dream. The noise of the crowd, the flickering lights, the warmth of food—all of it felt grounding. Normal. Safe.
Almost.
Because sometimes, when Daichi laughed, Ren's vision blurred. For a heartbeat, he felt that suffocating pressure around his throat again. The creak of a rope whispered in his ears.
By the time they split ways at the station, the streets had grown quieter. Daichi waved lazily before vanishing into the crowd.
Ren walked home alone. The night air was sharp. His thoughts looped like a broken record.
It was just a dream.
Just a dream.
So why did it feel so real?
When he finally lay in bed, sleep came faster than he expected. But it didn't bring peace.
The cliff awaited him again. The same bench. The same silence.
Only now, the sky had darkened. Heavy clouds swallowed the horizon, it felt like a weight pressing against his chest. The air thickened, suffocating.
His vision shifted again. He was back in that body—standing on the chair, rope biting into his skin. The panic clawed at his lungs. His legs kicked uselessly as the chair toppled away.
The world swung sideways. His vision blurred, then went black.
Ren tore awake, gasping. His shirt clung to him, drenched in sweat. His hand clutched his throat before he even realized it.
Something was wrong.
He grabbed his phone, blinking against the glow of the screen. His thumb hovered only a second before he dialed Daichi's number.
The tone buzzed once. Twice. No answer.
He called again. Nothing.
Ren's chest tightened. The vision replayed vividly in his mind, each detail sharper than reality itself.
He didn't think. He just moved.
Pulling on his coat, running through the quiet streets. His lungs burning as he sprinted. Streetlights blurred past.
Daichi's apartment wasn't far, but every second felt unbearable. The silence of the city pressed down on him, thick and unnatural, like the silence of the cliff.
When he reached the building, he pounded on the door with both fists.
"Daichi! Open up!"
No sound. No footsteps.
"Daichi!"
He hit the door again, harder, shoulder slamming against the frame until the wood cracked. With one final shove, it burst open.
The smell hit him immediately—stale, suffocating.
Ren's stomach twisted. His vision adjusted to the dimness of the room.
And there he was.
Daichi hung from the ceiling, body limp, rope biting into his neck. His head tilted at a grotesque angle, mouth half-open as though trying to form words he would never say again.
Ren staggered back, hands gripping his throat. The phantom rope constricted, choking him with invisible force. His knees trembled.
The dream… it wasn't just a dream.
It was this.
The vision he saw—it was Daichi's final moments.
The room spun around him, the silence roaring louder than any sound.
And as he stared at the lifeless body of his friend, one thought seared itself into his mind—
This... was no coincidence.