Ren woke to the sound of his stomach growling.
For a moment he didn't recognize where he was—the dim shape of the ceiling, the faint hum of the refrigerator, the smell of rain still drifting in from the cracked window. Then memory returned: he had come home from work, fallen face-first onto the bed, and passed out without even eating.
He groaned softly and rubbed his eyes. The clock on the wall read 12:07 a.m. His body felt stiff, his head heavy with the dull ache that came from oversleeping at the wrong hour.
"Great," he muttered. "Perfect schedule, Ren."
He pushed himself upright and shuffled toward the kitchenette, flipping on the small counter light. The yellow glow filled the cramped space—sink full of dishes, a half-empty instant-noodle cup, and a single frying pan hanging from the wall. He reached into the fridge and found leftover rice, two eggs, and a few vegetables that were already starting to wilt. Good enough.
The sizzle of oil filled the silence as he stirred everything together. Outside, the city seemed muted, as if the rainclouds had swallowed even the traffic. He liked it that way. The quiet helped him think, even if the thoughts weren't pleasant.
By the time he sat on the couch with his plate, it was nearly half past midnight. The first bite burned his tongue, but it tasted better than he expected. He ate quickly, staring blankly at the muted TV screen across the room.
Sleep didn't come back. His mind was too awake now, caught between exhaustion and that strange late-night clarity that made everything feel unreal. He wiped the plate clean, stood, and muttered, "Might as well watch something."
He scrolled through the streaming app until he landed on an old thriller he'd meant to finish. Something about the opening music—the low hum of strings—pulled him in right away. Half an hour later, he was curled into the couch cushions with a half-bag of chips and a can of cheap soda, the room lit only by the shifting colors of the television.
The world outside might as well have disappeared.
His phone buzzed once on the coffee table. He barely noticed it. On screen, the film's protagonist was cornered in an alley, and Ren leaned forward, eyes fixed.
Another buzz. Then silence.
Five minutes later, a third vibration rattled the can beside the phone, leaving a faint ring of condensation on the wood. Ren ignored it again. Whoever it was could wait.
He told himself it couldn't be anything urgent. His parents were gone—had been for years. His younger sister was living with a foster family somewhere across the country. The few friends he'd once had had drifted away, busy with internships or relationships. Only Luke still messaged him once in a while, and Luke never texted this late; the guy was probably buried in another finance paper.
No, whoever was texting could wait.
He popped another chip into his mouth and let the film swallow him whole.
The credits had just started to roll when the phone lit up again—this time with a shrill ringtone that cut through the room like an alarm. Ren flinched, grabbed the device, and squinted at the screen.
Unknown Number.
He hit "decline." The call ended.
A moment later, it rang again.
He swore under his breath and silenced it. The phone buzzed once more. Then again. By the fifth call, his patience snapped.
He jabbed the green button and raised the phone. "Do you not see the time? It's one in the morning!"
A pause. Then a female voice, smooth and slightly amused:
"So… you're already growing wings now?"
Ren froze. That tone—light, teasing, and irritatingly familiar.
"Lauren," he breathed.
"Wow. Took you long enough," she said. "I was starting to think you'd blocked me."
"I didn't even know it was you," he said quickly. "I don't have your number saved."
"Obviously." There was the faintest hint of laughter in her voice. "And yet you ignored three texts and five calls. Very brave."
He scratched the back of his neck, suddenly more awake than he wanted to be. "I—sorry. I didn't realize. If I'd known it was you, I would've answered the first time."
"So you were awake," she said. "I could hear your TV in the background. Watching movies instead of answering me, huh?"
Ren hesitated. "Yeah… I guess I was."
"Well, I was going to ask you something," she said, her tone turning cooler. "But never mind. You've already failed your first test."
"Test?"
"Mm-hmm. Think of it as punishment. You'll see tomorrow."
He sighed. "Lauren—"
"Be at school early," she interrupted. "Very early. Don't make me call again."
The line went dead.
Ren stared at the dark screen for a long time, the quiet of the apartment suddenly heavier than before.
He opened his messages. True enough, there were three unread texts from an unknown number.
[1:05 a.m.]
[This is Lauren, in case you're too dense to know.]
[1:07 a.m.]
[Still ignoring me?]
[1:10 a.m.]
[Here's a reminder. Don't forget what I'm holding.]
Attached was a "view-once" video. He tapped it. The clip from earlier that day appeared for a second—the awkward bow, his mumbled apology, her triumphant smirk behind the camera. The video disappeared immediately after playback.
He exhaled slowly. "She really doesn't get tired of this."
Another message followed:
[1:12 a.m.]
[Come pick me up at the station. Now.]
He blinked at the timestamp. That was before her call.
"At the station? In the middle of the night?" he muttered. "She's insane."
He tossed the phone onto the couch cushion beside him.
Since she'd already said it wasn't important, there was no reason to go anywhere. He wasn't her chauffeur.
Ren leaned back, the tension in his shoulders returning like a weight. The glow of the TV screen had dimmed into the post-credits black, reflecting his faint outline in the glass.
He considered archiving her messages—out of sight, out of mind—but stopped himself. Not yet. She'd only take it as another reason to bother him.
He rubbed his temples.
Why do I always end up surrounded by women like this?
He thought of Professor Sato and her cutting remarks, Lauren and her smug smile, Mrs. Arai and her unpredictable temper. Three different faces, three different kinds of frustration, all tangled together in his head. Every one of them seemed to look down on him, to treat him as someone small and insignificant.
A humorless laugh escaped him.
"Guess that's just my luck," he said to the empty room.
He stood and walked to the window. The rain had stopped completely, leaving the streets below slick and silver under the streetlights. The city was quiet except for the occasional car in the distance.
For a moment, he let the cool air brush against his face. His reflection looked tired—dark circles under his eyes, hair a mess.
"I really need to deal with them somehow," he murmured. "Just once… put them in their place."
He leaned against the window frame and looked up at the patch of sky visible between the rooftops. A single streak of light crossed the darkness—a thin silver trail, brief and silent.
Ren didn't see it. His eyes were closed, his voice barely above a whisper.
"I wish," he said, the words slipping out before he could stop them, "I could deal with these women so they wouldn't have the nerve to talk down to me anymore."
The streak faded. The city fell still again.
Ren yawned, pushing himself away from the window. He turned off the television, dropped the empty chip bag into the trash, and shuffled back toward his bed.
The clock read 1:47 a.m.
Tomorrow would be another exhausting day.
He lay down, exhaling deeply, and let the darkness take him.
Outside, unseen, the faintest glimmer of light rippled across his phone screen—once, then vanished.rol is only an illusion")?