The rain came down in crooked lines.
It was not heavy, not light, just endless.
Tokyo's night streets looked washed-out, as if someone had taken an eraser to them.
Detective Kazuma walked with his shoulders hunched. He hated night shifts, but even more, he hated assignments about "strange deaths." He had been with the Tokyo Metropolitan Police for ten years, and every few months some rumor from the higher-ups would drop: bodies torn apart with no murder weapon, people vanishing in crowds, bones snapping with no struggle.
He had stopped asking for sense.
Now he just smoked, filed the paperwork, and went home.
Tonight, though, this case was different.
A woman was found in Shibuya Station. Dead.
Her body perfectly intact. No blood, no wounds.
But her colors were gone.
Her skin was the pale of paper, her lips dull, her hair a flat grey. Even her eyes, grey circles, no depth. Like the world had forgotten what shade she used to be.
Kazuma had looked at corpses before. But this one made his chest tighten. There was nothing gruesome about it. Nothing violent. Yet it was worse.
It was wrong.
"Detective, over here."
One of the younger officers waved him closer. They were standing near the platform, keeping commuters away. People whispered, phones half-raised but afraid to take pictures.
Kazuma crouched beside the body.
The woman looked asleep, except for the lack of color.
He touched her hand. Cold.
Then he saw it.
Her shadow was missing.
"Sir… look up there."
The younger officer pointed toward the escalator.
A man stood there.
No umbrella. No coat. The rain didn't seem to touch him.
He was tall, in plain white clothes. His hair and eyes looked drained, same as the corpse.
Kazuma felt something heavy crawl into his gut.
The man raised his hand, and the light above them flickered.
The fluorescent lamps buzzed.
The colors around the station began to dull, like ink washing away in water.
The advertisements on the walls lost their bright reds and blues, posters turning to black-and-white.
Then the uniforms of the officers dulled.
Then their skin.
One by one, officers screamed as their clothes lost color. They staggered, gripping their throats. One collapsed instantly, like a puppet cut loose. His face had gone flat-grey, lifeless.
"W-what the hell is happening?!" someone shouted.
Kazuma pulled out his gun, though he knew it was stupid. He pointed at the man on the escalator.
"Freeze! Hands up !"
The man tilted his head. His voice was soft, almost curious:
"Do you know what happens when color disappears?"
He raised his hand. Kazuma's gun became grey. It weighed nothing. It slipped from his fingers like a toy.
Kazuma gasped, stumbling backward. His arm, his veins, his uniform, they all drained into flat shades. His breath quickened, his heartbeat echoing in his ears. He couldn't feel the world properly anymore.
The man stepped closer, every footstep muted.
"You vanish," he whispered.
Then someone else appeared.
A boy.
Seventeen, maybe. Messy hair, cheap school uniform.
He slid down the railing of the escalator with a stupid grin, landing between the grey man and Kazuma.
"Yo! Haven't seen you in this district before."
The grey man blinked.
"You… can see me?"
The boy grinned wider. "Yeah. Unfortunately. Name's Riku. I don't like introductions, but you're making a scene. Can't let that happen."
Kazuma froze. "W-wait, kid! Get away from "
Riku ignored him. He stretched his hand forward.
And then he said the dumbest thing Kazuma had ever heard:
"My ability? I can make things slightly sticky."
The grey man's eyes narrowed. "…Sticky?"
"Yeah," Riku nodded seriously. "Sticky."
Silence.
Even Kazuma thought he misheard. What kind of joke was that? Sticky? Against this nightmare?
But then, Riku reached down and touched the floor. His hand lifted. The concrete clung to him like gum. He pulled, and a chunk of the floor came up with it, stretched, warped, snapping free with a crunch.
The grey man frowned.
Riku tossed the chunk of concrete like a ball. It landed beside the grey corpse of the woman. Instantly, the concrete glued itself to her side, sealing her in place.
Kazuma's stomach lurched. This was no joke.
Riku smirked. "Thing about sticky is… once it sticks, it doesn't let go. Not unless I say so. Doesn't matter what you drain or erase, if it's stuck, it's mine."
The grey man tilted his head. His pale eyes flickered. "Interesting."
The world warped again.
Color bled from the walls, from the tiles, from Riku's own shoes. His legs began to pale.
But Riku slammed his palm to the floor. The entire escalator screeched, then stuck solid, fused to the ground.
The grey man tried to step down, but his foot wouldn't lift.
He looked down. His sole was glued to the escalator step.
Riku cracked his knuckles.
"See? Doesn't matter how scary your trick looks. If you can't move, you're screwed."
Kazuma's heart pounded. He couldn't tell if this boy was saving them, or if he was another kind of monster.
The grey man smiled faintly.
"You're… different.
Maybe… not useless."
The lights shattered.
And in that instant, the man vanished.
The colors in the station returned. Posters brightened, uniforms regained blue, skin regained warmth. The corpse remained drained, but the rest of the world sighed back into life.
Riku exhaled, scratching the back of his head.
"Man… that was close. If he got serious, I'd be paste."
Kazuma stared at him, still shaking. "…Who… what are you?"
Riku grinned, his eyes sharp despite his stupid smile.
"Me? Just another loser with a dumb power. But dumb powers save lives, too."
And that was the night Tokyo learned the truth:
The age of Wasted Curses had begun.
The station was quiet again.
Too quiet.
The commuters who had been trapped in the chaos were gone, evacuated by officers in a hurry. Only Kazuma, the other shaken policemen, and the boy remained.
The corpse still lay there, colorless, her shadow gone.
Kazuma lit a cigarette with trembling hands. His lungs felt tight, but he needed the smoke.
He stared at Riku.
The kid was crouched beside the body now, examining her like a doctor. His fingers touched the grey skin gently. He didn't look disgusted. He looked… thoughtful.
"Don't touch the body!" Kazuma snapped. "This is a crime scene!"
Riku glanced back, smirking. "Relax, old man. If this were a normal crime, you'd already have an answer. You saw what happened. That wasn't a knife or poison. That was something else."
Kazuma's teeth clenched. He hated it. The kid was right.
"…What the hell was he?" Kazuma muttered.
Riku stood. His shadow stretched against the wall, long and thin. He shoved his hands in his pockets.
"He's like me."
Kazuma froze. "…Like you?"
"Yeah," Riku said casually. "Someone born with a technique. A curse."
Kazuma's cigarette nearly slipped from his lips.
"Curse? You're saying this is all superstition?"
Riku chuckled. "Nope. Superstition doesn't break escalators or drain colors out of people. What you saw was real. You just call it superstition because humans don't like knowing the world hates them."
Kazuma stared. His instincts screamed this kid wasn't normal. His words carried the weight of something he'd seen too many times.
"Then explain," Kazuma growled. "What did that man do? What did you do?!"
Riku tilted his head. For a moment, he looked like he might refuse. Then he sighed and tapped the ground with his shoe.
"You saw my technique. I make things sticky. Dumb, right? Stupidest thing in the world. But I can't change what I got. So I use it."
Kazuma's eyes narrowed. "…And him?"
Riku's grin faded. His eyes sharpened.
"Him? He's worse. He erases colors. Doesn't sound bad until you realize, color is information. No color, no recognition. No recognition, no existence."
Kazuma felt his stomach twist.
"You mean.."
"That woman's not just dead," Riku interrupted. "She's forgotten. Even the world won't remember her shadow."
The silence stretched.
Rain tapped against the station windows.
Kazuma thought about his years of chasing criminals. Thieves, killers, liars. All of it felt small now.
This wasn't crime. This was something else.
"…Why are you here, boy?" Kazuma asked finally.
Riku smiled again, lazy and sharp. "Because if guys like him keep walking around, you'll all be erased before you even realize it. And somebody's gotta clean up the trash."
Kazuma ground his teeth. He hated it. He hated that the kid was right.
But he also hated the way Riku said it, like this was routine. Like he had seen far worse.
A phone buzzed.
Riku pulled his cheap flip phone from his pocket. The screen was cracked, the ringtone obnoxious. He answered casually.
"Yo. Yeah, yeah, I saw him.
…Whiteout. That's what they're calling him? Cute.
…No, I didn't kill him. He ran.
…Yeah, I saved a cop. No, don't chew me out for it, he was gonna die."
Kazuma glared, trying to catch every word.
Riku smirked, listening. "…Fine. I'll bring him in. But he looks like he's gonna pop a blood vessel if I tell him the truth."
He snapped the phone shut.
Kazuma growled. "Who was that?"
Riku slung his schoolbag over his shoulder. "Someone smarter than me. You'll meet them if you follow me."
Kazuma's cigarette ash fell onto his shoe. He stamped it out.
"…Why would I follow you?"
Riku's grin widened. His eyes glinted.
"Because, Detective, if you don't, you'll be erased next."
The corpse lay between them.
Colorless. Forgotten.
The night was just beginning.