The night smelled like burnt wires and rain.
The streets of Shizuoka's old town were quiet, too quiet for a Friday. Only the buzzing neon lights of a broken signboard kept blinking, like it was alive, trying not to die.
A boy sat on the cold staircase of a shut-down shop, a notebook resting on his knees. His name, though nobody here cared enough to remember it properly, was Haruya.
He wasn't the kind of boy who looked dangerous. His uniform was half tucked in, his hair a little messy, and there was a lazy curve on his lips like he was mocking the whole world. But the gangs around this area never touched him. They didn't say it out loud, but there was something in his eyes—like he was watching everything, calculating, keeping notes only he could read.
Right now, he was drawing. A place. Not a face, not a memory, but a place that did not exist here, not tonight. An alley that twisted differently, a sky with stars shaped in wrong patterns. His pencil moved fast, almost impatient, as if the page itself demanded to be filled.
And then—
A sound.
Not footsteps. More like the air cracking.
The notebook shook in his hands. A single drop of ink spread wider and wider, and before Haruya could lift his pencil, the staircase beneath him flickered. Just once, like a broken film reel.
He didn't flinch. He only whispered to himself, "Wrong line again."
The world stilled back. The staircase was solid, the shop was still shut, the neon sign still buzzing. To anyone watching, nothing had changed. But Haruya knew. He'd drawn the wrong turn. If he had gone forward with that, he would've been stuck in some twisted version of this street.
He closed the notebook slowly, tucking it under his arm like a secret.
---
Far away, in another part of town, laughter and shouting mixed with the clashing sound of glass bottles. A small-time gang, the Reiji crew, was causing trouble again. Everyone in Shizuoka knew them—their faces weren't the scariest, but their hearts were rotten. They stole from the weak, tricked newcomers, and smiled while doing it.
Haruya heard the noise even from here. He tilted his head, sighed, and stood up. He could avoid them. He should avoid them. But he started walking anyway, his hands in his pockets.
---
The alley was darker here. Broken bikes leaned against the walls, and a single streetlight flickered above. The gang had cornered someone—a boy around Haruya's age. His messy black hair and sharp grin made him look like trouble himself. Yet, even while being shoved against the wall, he didn't look scared.
"Kaito," Haruya muttered under his breath.
The leader, Reiji, pushed Kaito hard against the wall. "Think you're clever, huh? Talking back to us like you own the street?"
Kaito spat blood to the side and smirked. "Better than you clowns who think bullying makes you strong."
The gang roared, fists tightening.
And then, just as the first punch swung, Haruya's voice cut the air.
"You'll break your wrist if you hit him like that."
Everyone turned. Haruya was standing a few steps away, leaning lazily against the wall as if he had been there all along. His eyes scanned the scene like he wasn't worried at all.
Reiji clicked his tongue. "Haruya. Stay out of this."
"Not really my plan," Haruya said, walking closer. "But you're noisy, and I like quiet nights. So I guess this is your fault."
The gang laughed, but there was a nervous edge to it. Nobody liked dealing with Haruya. He never raised his fist first, but somehow, fights always ended with him walking away and the others regretting they started.
Kaito grinned wider, blood on his lip. "Took you long enough."
Haruya didn't answer. He simply moved.
The fight wasn't long. Haruya didn't throw many punches, just sharp, precise ones. A kick to the shin, an elbow to the ribs, a twist of the wrist. He fought like someone who didn't want to fight—but once he did, he was terrifying. Within minutes, the Reiji crew stumbled back, cursing, clutching bruises.
"This isn't over," Reiji hissed, before dragging his boys away.
Haruya dusted his hands and looked at Kaito.
"You're welcome," he said flatly.
Kaito laughed, wiping his lip. "You didn't come here for me, did you?"
Haruya shrugged. "I came here because you're noisy. Don't flatter yourself."
But when Kaito looked closer, he saw the corner of Haruya's mouth twitch—like he was hiding a real smile.
---
Later that night, Haruya sat on the rooftop of an abandoned building, the city stretching below him like a broken puzzle. Kaito sat beside him, swinging his legs.
"So," Kaito said, "gonna tell me why you carry that notebook everywhere? You write poems or something?"
Haruya smirked. "Yeah. Poems that can kill me if I get the lines wrong."
Kaito frowned, not sure if he was joking.
Haruya opened the notebook just slightly. On the page was the sketch of a girl. Not detailed, just soft outlines. Long hair, quiet eyes. The way her head tilted made her look both gentle and unreachable.
Kaito raised his brows. "Who's that?"
Haruya stared at the drawing for a long time. His voice dropped lower, softer.
"Someone who doesn't belong here. Not yet."
The wind picked up, flipping the page. More drawings. Streets that didn't exist. A school hallway with different banners. A river with a bridge that had never been built.
Kaito didn't understand. Not yet. But Haruya's eyes told him this wasn't just doodling. It was survival. It was searching.
And somewhere, between all those sketches, a girl named Miyuki waited.
---
That night, the neon lights of Shizuoka blinked like restless stars, and for the first time in years, Haruya felt the pull of something heavier than survival.
The puzzle had already begun.