[CONTENT WARNING: MA19+ - Graphic Violence, Gore, Psychological Trauma, Suicidal Ideation]
EPISODE 1
[NARRATOR: Some stories begin with hope. Some begin with tragedy. And some begin with a seventeen-year-old kid sitting alone in the snow, drinking vending machine Coke, contemplating the exact texture of emptiness—not sadness, not despair, just the hollow acknowledgment that existing and living are two completely different things. Tonight, December 18th, 2025, Sotsuki Tatsuo will meet something impossible. Tonight, an ancient warrior wearing red will descend from the north pole itself. Tonight, the Christmas Core—humanity's crystallized capacity for hope—will flicker dangerously close to extinction. And tonight, a kid who stopped believing in tomorrow will be offered the most terrifying gift imaginable: a reason to care. Welcome to the beginning. Welcome to when hope becomes a weapon. Welcome to the night everything changes.]
PART ONE: THE VOID OF EMPTINESS
The snow fell like forgotten prayers—soft, persistent, indifferent. Hirayama at midnight was a graveyard of neon and silence, vending machines humming their electric lullabies to nobody in particular. The kind of night poets called "beautiful" if they'd never actually experienced the soul-crushing weight of standing in it alone.
Sotsuki Tatsuo thought it looked like a freezer had malfunctioned.
He walked with his hands buried in his coat pockets, scarf trailing behind him like a surrender flag he didn't remember waving. His breath fogged in the air—appearing, disappearing, meaning nothing. That felt appropriate. Everything about him was temporary. His happiness lasted approximately three seconds before fading. His anger couldn't sustain itself past the initial spark. Even his despair was boring.
"Snow again," he muttered to nobody. "How incredibly original. Nature really outdid itself this time."
No sarcasm in his voice. No emotion at all. Just—observation. Clinical. Detached. The way you'd comment on paint drying if paint drying was the most interesting thing happening in your life.
He was seventeen. Technically alive. Functionally dead.
[SOTSUKI'S INTERNAL MONOLOGUE: I stopped counting the days somewhere around age fourteen. Stopped pretending I cared about grades around fifteen. Stopped believing anyone actually saw me—really saw me, not the performance I put on—around sixteen. Now I'm seventeen and I've perfected the art of existing without living. I ace every test because failing means conversations I don't want to have. I smile when expected because not smiling means concern I don't want to address. I go through motions because motions are easier than admitting I stopped feeling anything three years ago. My parents think I'm their perfect son. My teachers think I'm their model student. Nobody knows I'm just—just empty. Just going through the script until the show ends. And I don't even know what ending I'm hoping for.]
He stopped at his usual vending machine—the one near the park where the streetlight flickered like it was having an existential crisis. Dropped coins in. Pressed the button for Coke. Watched the can fall with that satisfying mechanical clunk.
Sat on the bench. Cracked open the can. Listened to the fizz break the silence like laughter at a funeral. Stared at his reflection in the can's metal surface—distorted, hollow-eyed, almost unrecognizable.
"Hey, me," he said quietly to his reflection. "If you disappeared right now, who would notice? Who would actually care? Mom would be upset she lost her perfect academic trophy. Dad would be inconvenienced by funeral arrangements. Teachers would say nice things at the assembly and forget about you by next semester. Friends?" He laughed—dry, humorless. "What friends? You haven't had a real conversation in three years. You've perfected the art of being present without existing. You've—you've already disappeared. You just haven't stopped breathing yet."
A snowflake landed on the rim of his can. Melted instantly against the metal's warmth. "Even snow dies faster when it touches me," Sotsuki whispered. "Everything does."
That's when reality fractured.
PART TWO: THE DESCENT OF SAINT NICHOLAS
The air changed first—became heavier, charged, like the moment before lightning strikes. The snow above him swirled violently, gathering into a spiral that defied physics. And from that spiral descended something impossible.
A figure. Enormous. Not fat—powerful. Shoulders like mountains, presence like an avalanche, eyes glowing molten gold with an intensity that suggested they'd witnessed the entire span of human civilization and hadn't looked away once.
He wore a red coat—not a cheap red costume, but deep crimson that seemed to absorb light. Fur-lined collar, leather boots, silver belt buckle shaped like a reindeer's skull. And when he landed on the snow, the impact created a shockwave that rattled the vending machine and cracked the bench's wooden slats.
"Good evening, young soul!" the figure boomed, voice resonating like cathedral bells. "A cold night for such grim contemplation, don't you think?" Sotsuki blinked slowly. Took a sip of Coke.
"...You're blocking the streetlight," he said flatly.
The figure laughed—not jolly mall-Santa laughter, but something deeper. Ancient. Tired. "Oh, how delightfully rude! I like your spirit, child. Tell me your name."
"Sotsuki Tatsuo. And you are...?"
The figure straightened, striking a pose that would've been comical if not for the sheer presence radiating from him. "I," he declared, voice echoing across the empty park, "am Saint Nicholas—Guardian of the Christmas Core, Protector of Humanity's Hope, The Original Santa Claus. And I've come—" His expression turned serious. "—because you're dying. Not physically. Spiritually. Your soul is fading from the Christmas Core's registry. Soon you'll—you'll erase yourself completely. Become something that never hoped, never loved, never believed in anything. And I—" He paused. "—I need a successor before that happens to more people. Before humanity's hope dies entirely."
Silence. Long enough for three snowflakes to fall, melt, and freeze again on the ground. Sotsuki took another sip. "Right. And I'm the Tooth Fairy. Nice meeting you. Please leave."
"You don't believe me?" "Nope." "I descended from the skies in a spiral of divine snow!" "Decent special effects. Probably drones." "I can sense the emptiness consuming your soul!"
"Congrats. So can I. Doesn't make you magical."
Santa's expression shifted—something between frustration and genuine concern. "You mock me because you've given up. Because believing in anything—even impossibility—requires energy you don't have. Because hope hurts more than emptiness. I understand. Truly. But—" His eyes glowed brighter. "—what if I proved I'm real? What if I showed you something that can't be explained away?"
Sotsuki stood, brushing snow off his coat. "Then I'd say you wasted a miracle on someone who doesn't care. Find some kid who still thinks magic fixes problems. I'm—I'm done here."
He started walking away.
PART THREE: THE PROOF WRITTEN IN BLOOD
"Wait." Santa's voice dropped—became something else entirely. Not cheerful. Not performative. Just—real. Raw. Desperate. "You really think I'm a story? A lie told to people?"
Sotsuki turned halfway. "What, you gonna pull a rabbit from your—" The vending machine exploded.
Not metaphorically. Not gently. It detonated in a burst of crimson energy that shattered glass, bent metal, and sent shrapnel flying through the air like deadly confetti. Sotsuki dove instinctively, hitting the snow hard, feeling the impact knock the breath from his lungs.
When the smoke cleared, the vending machine was gone. In its place stood something worse.
A creature. Eight feet tall. Humanoid but wrong—skin like charred flesh, eyes burning with toxic green fire, mouth full of teeth that seemed to multiply as it screamed. A name tag still pinned to its stomach read: NOEL EXTINCTION FRONT - AGENT #447.
"THERE," it shrieked in a voice like grinding metal. "THE SAINT. THE CORE'S GUARDIAN. KILL HIM. EXTRACT HIS POWER. END CHRISTMAS FOREVER."
Sotsuki scrambled backward, heart suddenly pounding—the first genuine emotion he'd felt in months was pure, primal terror. "What the fuck—" Santa stepped between them, and the temperature dropped twenty degrees instantly.
"Noel Extinction Front," Santa said quietly, reaching into his coat. "Still trying to destroy hope. Still believing that ending Christmas will liberate humanity from 'false comfort.' Still—" He pulled out a weapon. "—still forcing me to kill you."
The weapon wasn't a candy cane sword like some cartoon. It was a blade forged from crystallized Christmas Spirit—translucent red, glowing with energy that hurt to look at directly, shaped like frozen lightning. When Santa gripped it, the air around him shimmered with power.
The creature lunged. What happened next would haunt Sotsuki's nightmares forever.
PART FOUR: THE BATTLE THAT SHATTERED INNOCENCE
Santa moved like violence had a PhD. The creature's claws—each one dripping acidic corruption—slashed toward his throat. Santa sidestepped, impossibly fast for someone his size, and swung the blade in a perfect arc.
The creature's right arm detached at the shoulder.
Blood—black, viscous, smelling like burning plastic—sprayed across the snow. The creature screamed, and the sound made Sotsuki's ears ring. But it didn't stop. Couldn't stop. It regenerated—flesh bubbling, bones cracking back into place, new arm growing from the stump in seconds.
"HOPE CANNOT SAVE YOU," it shrieked. "DESPAIR IS HONEST. DESPAIR IS REAL. WE ARE LIBERATION—" Santa's blade pierced its guts. Went straight through. Emerged from its back trailing gore and fragments of corrupted spirit energy.
"Despair," Santa said coldly, "is a choice. And you chose wrong."
He twisted the blade. The creature convulsed. And then—then it began to dissolve. Not dying gently. Not fading peacefully. It liquefied from the inside out, flesh sloughing off bones, bones crumbling to ash, ash scattering in wind that carried the stench of rotting hope.
When it was over, only a black stain remained on the snow—a shadow that looked almost like a person who'd given up completely.
Santa stood motionless, blade still glowing, breathing steady. No triumph in his expression. Just—exhaustion. The kind that came from fighting the same battle for centuries and knowing it would never truly end.
He turned to Sotsuki, who was still on the ground, staring, unable to process what he'd just witnessed.
"That," Santa said quietly, "was real. That was a Noel Extinction Front agent—a person who suffered so much during the holidays that they concluded hope itself was the enemy. They want to destroy the Christmas Core. End humanity's capacity for joy permanently. Force everyone into 'honest despair' because—because they believe suffering without hope is preferable to hoping and being disappointed."
"What—" Sotsuki's voice broke. "What the fuck was that—"
"A monster born from trauma," Santa replied. "A human who broke so completely they became something else. Something that feeds on despair, that spreads emptiness, that—that looks exactly like what you're becoming."
Sotsuki froze.
Santa crouched beside him, golden eyes softening. "You think you're empty. Think you're already gone. But you're not. Not yet. That creature? That was complete erasure. That was a soul that gave up so entirely it stopped being human. You're—you're not there yet. You're close. Dangerously close. But you're still here. Still capable of feeling, even if it's just terror right now."
"I don't—I don't understand—"
"The Christmas Core," Santa explained, "is humanity's collective capacity for hope. It's not literal Christmas spirit—it's the metaphysical construct that anchors people's ability to believe in something better than their current suffering. When it's strong, people survive trauma. When it weakens, people like that agent emerge. And right now—" His expression turned grave. "—the Core is dying. More people giving up than believing. More emptiness than hope. And I—" He paused. "—I'm dying too. My immortality is tied to the Core. When it fails, I fail. And I need—I need a successor before that happens. Before humanity finds out about these otherwordly secrets, and chaos could emerge throughout the world if not done sooner."
"Why me?" Sotsuki whispered.
Santa smiled sadly. "Because you're on the edge. Because you understand emptiness intimately. Because someone who knows despair can teach others how to survive it. Because—" He offered his hand. "—because I saw you sitting alone, talking to your reflection, and I recognized myself three hundred years ago. Before I became Saint Nicholas. When I was just—just a broken person wondering if existing was worth the effort."
Sotsuki stared at the offered hand.
[SOTSUKI'S INTERNAL MONOLOGUE: This is insane. This is impossible. Monsters are real. Santa Claus is a warrior. Hope is a weapon. And I—I just watched someone dissolve into despair-given-form and I'm supposed to—what? Become the next Santa? Fight creatures born from trauma? Save humanity's capacity for joy when I can't even save my own? This is—this is—]
"I can't," Sotsuki said. "I'm—I'm empty. I can't save anyone. Can't even save myself. You want a successor? Find someone who still believes in something. Find—find anyone but me."
Santa's hand remained extended. "I don't need someone who believes. I need someone who remembers what it's like not to. I need—" His voice softened. "—I need someone who understands that hope isn't about being naive. It's about choosing to try even when trying feels pointless. And you—you're still choosing. You came to this park. Bought that Coke. Sat on this bench. You could've stayed home. Could've given up completely. But you're still—still doing something, even if it's just existing. That's enough. That's a start."
"A start to what?"
"To finding a reason to care again," Santa replied. "To learning that emptiness isn't permanent. To—to becoming someone who can fight for others because you know what it's like to need fighting for."
Sotsuki looked at the hand. At the warrior standing in snow stained with corruption. At an impossible offer. And slowly—painfully—he reached out. Their hands clasped.
And the world exploded in light.
EPILOGUE: THE CONTRACT SEALED IN CRIMSON
The light faded. Sotsuki found himself still standing—but changed. He could feel something now. Not happiness. Not hope. Just—something. A flicker. A spark. The faintest recognition that emotions other than emptiness existed.
Santa grinned—not the performative mall-Santa smile, but something genuine. Tired. Relieved.
"Welcome, Sotsuki Tatsuo," he said formally, "to your training as my successor. As the next Guardian of the Christmas Core. As—" He paused. "—as my pupil."
"I didn't agree to—"
"You took my hand," Santa interrupted. "That's agreement enough. Now—" He pulled out a small object from his coat. A bell. Silver. Ancient. "—this is yours. Your connection to the Core. Your proof that this is real. Keep it with you. When you're ready—when you need it—it'll awaken your ability to manipulate Christmas Spirit. To fight. To protect. To—to hope weaponized."
Sotsuki took the bell numbly. It was warm. Hummed faintly with energy that made his heart ache. "What now?" he asked quietly.
"Now," Santa said, "you go home. Sleep. Process. Tomorrow, training begins. Tomorrow, I teach you what it means to be Saint Nicholas. Tomorrow—" His expression turned serious. "—tomorrow you learn that hope requires blood. That protecting humanity's capacity for joy means fighting monsters created from trauma. That this isn't a fairytale. It's a war. And you just enlisted."
"I don't want this." "Nobody does," Santa replied. "That's why it's worth doing."
He turned, beginning to walk away into the snow. Then paused. "Oh. And Sotsuki? That creature? That agent? There are thousands more. All hunting me. All trying to destroy the Core. All convinced that ending hope is mercy. You'll—you'll meet them soon. So rest while you can."
He vanished into the darkness, leaving Sotsuki alone with a silver bell, a vending machine-shaped crater, and the horrifying knowledge that magic was real and required violence.
Sotsuki looked down at the bell in his palm.
[SOTSUKI'S INTERNAL MONOLOGUE: I came here to contemplate emptiness. To exist without living. To—to just be until being stopped mattering. And now I'm holding proof that hope is real. That monsters exist. That some ancient warrior named Santa Claus just drafted me into a war I don't understand for a cause I don't believe in to protect something I've never felt. This is—this is insane. This is impossible. This is—]
He closed his hand around the bell. [—this is the first time I've felt anything in three years.]
"Fuck," he whispered to the snow. "Fuck. Fuck." And somewhere far above, bells rang faintly in the frozen sky—a sound like hope refusing to die, like warriors preparing for battle, like a teenager who'd stopped believing in tomorrow suddenly forced to consider that maybe—just maybe—tomorrow was worth fighting for after all.
[NARRATOR: And so begins are tale. The kid who stopped believing meets the warrior who refuses to stop. The Christmas Core flickers dangerously. The Noel Extinction Front hunts. And Sotsuki Tatsuo—empty, broken, barely human—becomes the pupil of Saint Nicholas himself. Tomorrow, training begins. Tomorrow, blood will be spilled in hope's name. Tomorrow, everything gets worse before it gets better. Stay with us. The war has just begun.]
TO BE CONTINUED...
Next Episode Preview: [Santa moves into Sotsuki's apartment?! Training begins with brutal combat exercises that leave blood on every surface! And the Noel Extinction Front sends their next agent—a mother who lost her children on Christmas Eve and now believes killing hope is the only kindness! Prepare for chaos, carnage, and the first real lesson: hope hurts before it heals! Episode 2: "The Saint's Training Begins With Blood!"]
[FINAL IMAGE: Sotsuki standing in blood-stained snow, holding the silver bell, staring at where Santa disappeared. Behind him, the crater where the vending machine used to be. Above him, stars that look like distant battlefield lights. The series logo emblazoned across the image. A story of violence. A story of hope. A story that's only just begun.]