A new day began in Aoshima—grey, wet, and deceptively calm.
Rain drummed against rooftops in a steady rhythm, washing the city streets clean of last night's shadows. Umbrellas bloomed like dark flowers across the sidewalks as people resumed their daily routines. Morning always felt safer; everyone pretended it was safer.
A pair of footsteps splashed against the pavement, one step sinking slightly as a shoe met a shallow puddle. The water rippled outward, disturbed only for a moment before returning to its quiet rest.
Among the crowd moved a teenage boy with denim hair, headphones snug over his ears and his attention glued to the phone in his hand. His expression was blank, yet focused. The city's latest tragedy—the horror on Track C-14—was everywhere.
Every screen in Aoshima blared the same broadcast: storefront monitors, building displays, subway panels, café televisions… even radios crackled with the same somber tone.
A reporter's voice carried through the speakers, her tone composed but strained beneath the surface.
"Good morning, citizens of Aoshima. We are bringing updated information regarding last night's devastating incident on Line 7. Authorities have confirmed that the late-night train derailed several kilometers outside the city limits under circumstances still being investigated. Emergency responders arrived to a catastrophic scene, and as of this morning… no survivors have been reported."
Her voice wavered just slightly before she continued.
"Officials are urging everyone to comply with the reinforced curfew and to avoid all late-night travel. Until the root cause of the ongoing disturbances is identified, all night transport lines will remain suspended. We ask the public to remain calm as investigations continue."
The boy lowered his phone slightly, watching the rain drip from the corner of a nearby billboard as the broadcast looped again. Around him, citizens murmured in passing—some worried, some numb, most pretending not to be afraid.
Daylight gave them courage.
But the memory of last night lingered in the city's bones.
A sudden gust swept through the street, brushing the boy's dark blue hair across his sky-colored eyes. He blinked, releasing a quiet breath as he tucked a strand behind his ear. His thumb glided over his phone screen, scrolling through article after article until the weight of the headlines slowed him down.
He paused his upbeat POP–Hip-Hop track with a single tap, letting the cheerful melody fade into silence. With another slide of his finger, he raised the volume of the news broadcast. The reporter's voice became clearer, sharper—uncomfortably real.
"For those just tuning in," the woman continued, her expression tight with controlled professionalism, "last night's tragedy on Line 7 has left the city of Aoshima shaken. The train was discovered derailed in a remote region between Sector 4 and Sector 5. Emergency response teams arrived shortly before dawn, only to find the carriages overturned and severely damaged."
The boy slowed his steps.
"Authorities are reporting extensive structural destruction," she went on. "Multiple carriages appear to have been struck by an unidentified external force prior to derailment. No survivors have been located at the scene so far, and due to the severity of the wreckage, identification of victims may take time."
Pedestrians around him continued walking, pretending not to hear the broadcast echoing from nearby storefront screens.
"At this moment," the reporter added, voice dipping, "investigators cannot confirm whether this is related to the series of disappearances associated with The Project Zero. However, officials urge residents to remain cautious, especially during nighttime hours. Additional patrols will be deployed along all transport lines."
Her eyes flickered briefly—fear, or sympathy, or something caught between.
"We will provide more updates as soon as they become available. Our thoughts are with the families affected by this tragedy."
The broadcast looped once more.
The boy stood still in the rain, droplets sliding off his hair and jacket, the city's noise fading behind the weight of the words on his screen.
He finally spoke, his voice barely rising above the soft patter of rain. As the broadcast faded into the background noise of the city, he slipped one headphone out of his ear and let it rest against his collar. His free hand disappeared into his jacket pocket while the other slid his phone securely into the back pocket of his jeans.
He lifted his gaze toward the large public screen mounted above the street—still looping the same grim footage, the same shaken reporter, the same smoking wreckage.
"Forty-three deaths in a single night… that's never happened before," he murmured, almost as if speaking to himself. His tone was calm, soft, steady—the kind of voice that rarely cracked, even when the world around him did. "The worst we ever had was seventeen… and that took three days. But now?" He exhaled slowly. "The longer this goes on, the more it's spiraling. Even with all the warnings… all the rules… people still end up outside after midnight. Who would've thought one delayed train could turn into something like that?"
His words carried no panic, no urgency.
Just quiet observation—measured, composed, unnervingly at ease.
The boy released a small sigh, letting his shoulders relax as he continued walking. He stepped toward the crosswalk and stopped at the edge, waiting for the signal to change. Cars sped past in fast, rhythmic intervals, splashing rainwater as they carved through the wet streets.
He watched them with a distant expression—somewhere between thoughtful and detached—as the city continued on, oblivious to the danger that had unfolded just hours earlier.
"Name's Kisaragi Takumi. Seventeen. Second year at Aoshima High. If you've lived in Aoshima long enough, you've heard the rumors—things that move around after midnight. Things that don't make sound unless they want to. Things that take people and leave nothing behind except wreckage and fear."
Takumi waited at the crosswalk, watching raindrops bounce off his sneakers.
"People call them shadows, ghosts, night-stalkers… whatever fits the horror story they believe in that week. Officially, the city pretends they don't exist. Unofficially? The curfews, the shutdowns, all the "stay-indoors-or-else" rules didn't come from nowhere."
A car rushed past, splashing a sheet of cold water against the curb.
"Most folks just assume it's Project Zero messing with the world—some experiment gone wrong at the Aoshima Laboratory that unleashed… something. No one really knows what these creatures look like, or where they came from, or why they hunt when the sun goes down. People just know that once it's dark, being outside is a gamble you probably won't win."
He exhaled, brushing hair out of his eyes.
"Thing is… I've seen them. Not just the aftermath. Not news reports or rumors. I mean actually seen them—the way they crawl along rooftops, the weird ways their bodies twist, the way the air glitches around them like a broken video file."
"Apparently I'm the only one who can. Lucky me."
His hands slid deeper into his pockets as the rain continued tapping on his shoulders.
"I've tried figuring out why, but there's no pattern. No guidebook for "Congratulations, you see night monsters now." Just me dealing with it one day at a time."
He glanced up at the blinking crosswalk signal.
"That's why the city goes into lockdown at dusk. Curfews. Early shop closures. No late trains. After midnight, Aoshima turns into a graveyard with streetlights."
"And if you're out there? Well… the train incident answered that pretty clearly."
The light switched to green.
Takumi stepped forward, blending into the flow of people, all pretending the city wasn't falling apart one night at a time.
"The creepiest part about these things? Their faces. If you can even call them faces."
Takumi stepped over a puddle, his reflection rippling beneath him as he walked.
"They wear these mask-like shapes—looks kind of like bone, but… not. More like liquid bones. Dripping and reforming, shifting like they can't decide what shape to take. And no matter how sharp or brittle they look, they don't crack. Trust me, I've watched them crash into walls, scrape across rooftops, even slam into each other. Those masks never break. Not even a scratch."
He crossed between a cluster of pedestrians, weaving automatically through umbrellas without really seeing them.
"I've tried understanding what they are. What they want. Where they came from. Something—anything—that explains why I can see them when nobody else can."
He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets as he continued down the street.
"I've checked everything. Online forums. News archives. Old library shelves with dust so thick it looked like snow. I even tried interviewing people who claimed they knew the truth about Project Zero.
Every lead? Dead end.
Every theory? Just guesswork."
He passed a bookstore window, rain streaking down the glass, refracting the images of heaped newspapers inside—each one headlined with fear.
"Not a single answer anywhere. Not one piece of real information about these creatures or their masks or how they choose their victims. It's like the world is pretending they don't exist… while they hunt right under our noses."
Takumi kept walking, the steady tap of rain and distant traffic blending into a quiet background hum.
"I guess that's why I keep paying so much attention. If no one else can see them, someone has to figure this out… right?"
He lifted his eyes toward the sky—gray, heavy, suffocating—before looking forward again.
"And like it or not… that someone might have to be me."
Takumi could already see the school coming into view as he walked, its glass exterior catching the gray light of the rainy morning.
"Since everyone's supposed to be inside before midnight, schools started shifting their schedules like crazy. Now classes begin way earlier than they used to. Too early, honestly.
And with all the safety regulations, most of our classes barely last thirty minutes. Kinda feels pointless sometimes—show up, sit down, listen for half an hour, and then sprint to the next one."
He stepped around another puddle, glancing at a group of younger kids hurrying under umbrellas.
"Primary school students have it worse. Their classes are super short, but they stretch them across a couple hours just to fit everything in before the curfew. Not even close to the usual seven or eight-hour school day they used to have.
High school's different, though. They trust us more. Think we're mature enough to understand the dangers of staying out too late. Not that they're wrong, but it still feels weird living on a timer every day."
The building ahead rose into full view—a massive structure mostly made of reinforced glass panels that acted like walls.
"And yeah… our schools aren't messing around either. After a couple of lockdown scares last year, almost almost every school upgraded their defenses. Reinforced glass everywhere—thick stuff designed to keep those things out if something ever went wrong at night."
"The idea behind all those giant windows? Visibility. Teachers and guards can see threats coming long before they reach the building. And the glass itself is built to stop anything those creatures might try—smashing through, crawling inside, or slipping through cracks. It's all meant to buy time and keep people safe."
He eyed the tall windows as he approached.
"Thing is, no one's ever been attacked in broad daylight. Mornings, afternoons—completely safe. At least that's what we want to believe. But with everything going on, people don't take chances anymore.
Because no one knows when one of those creatures might decide daylight isn't off-limits."
Takumi adjusted his headphones and headed toward the entrance, the rain trailing behind him in soft patterns.
"So now you get the picture. The city, the creatures, the rules, the way everything flipped upside down after Project Zero… all of it.
It's the world I wake up to every day. The world I've gotten used to, even if I shouldn't have."
Takumi paused at the school gates, watching droplets of rain trail down the glass panels like thin silver lines. Students hurried past him, chatting, laughing, pretending life was normal. Pretending Aoshima wasn't sitting on top of a nightmare.
"And if you're still here—still following along—then I guess it's only fair I let you in on what comes next.
My life… the part of it that's about to change forever."
He lifted his head, eyes steady despite the storm above.
"Because everything that happened before today was just the buildup. The warm-up. The warning shot. But what's coming? That's the part I'll never forget. The part where things stop happening around me… and start happening to me."
To be continued...