[Volume 1: For Daily Bread]
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Roy had been slumped on the floor for nearly twenty minutes.
He still couldn't shake off that soul-rending sensation of disconnection. The throbbing in his head was slowly fading, but his confusion only grew.
He vaguely remembered scrolling on his phone while in the bathroom... but now his hands were empty. The phone and tissue had vanished, along with the cigarette he'd just lit and taken a few puffs from.
He sniffed instinctively—no trace of that pungent hangover stench from beer, liquor, and barbecue churning in his stomach overnight.
Something miraculous had happened: he was no longer in the bathroom.
Equally miraculous... the overwhelming urge that had jolted him from sleep was gone.
Roy shifted his gaze, slowly scanning the utterly unfamiliar apartment.
It was cramped, with signs of tidying but still cluttered—a futon spread on the floor, magazines and a small radio nearby, an open black laptop farther off. Sticky notes covered the cabinet, and clothes were draped haphazardly over the chair back.
From these details alone, Roy could picture the owner's routine: lounging on the futon, listening to the radio while on the computer, then covering his face with a half-read magazine when sleep hit.
As he pondered, the haze from the pain and disorientation lifted, and his senses—touch, hearing, vision—returned to normal.
It felt like emerging from a dream.
Or rather, finally accepting that this wasn't some hallucination or reverie.
"Damn..."
He muttered after a long pause.
Sunlight pierced through the curtain gaps, dust motes dancing in the beams. The clock's second hand ticked steadily, and distant car engines hummed outside.
No dream could be this vividly detailed.
Right in front of him sat a bowl of instant ramen pinned under a book, with an uncapped bottle of mineral water beside it. The laptop screen was paused on some variety show clip. It was as if "he" had just poured hot water and was about to dig in. And now, Roy's stomach growled right on cue. Everything connected seamlessly.
Except he was certain he'd been in the bathroom moments ago.
Bewilderment surged over him like a tide, threatening to drown him.
His mouth felt dry. He reached for the water instinctively—not a familiar brand, with an unfamiliar logo.
Squinting, it looked like Japanese text?
Roy fell silent, then turned his eyes back to the magazines, notes, and laptop.
Handwritten scrawls, printed pages, stylized hiragana and katakana filled his view.
He'd been set for a relaxing day off, followed by a promotion and raise. Now, he was utterly stunned.