Chapter 1: "First Day in a New City"
The train slowed to a gentle stop with a long, satisfied sigh of brakes. Ryugenn adjusted the single strap of his black backpack and stepped onto the platform of Aozora Station. The air smelled faintly of rain that hadn't fallen yet and the sweet steam drifting from a nearby taiyaki stall.
He was eighteen.
He had exactly one large suitcase, one backpack, one phone with 47% battery, and zero people waiting for him.
That suited him perfectly.
The college acceptance letter had arrived three months ago in a plain white envelope—no fanfare, no dramatic family dinner announcement. Just Ryugenn reading it alone at his desk at 2:17 a.m., then quietly folding it back into thirds and placing it between the pages of a dog-eared copy of Norwegian Wood. The next morning he'd started packing.
Now here he was: Aozora City, population just under eight hundred thousand, famous for nothing in particular except maybe the unreasonably blue sky that appeared on every tourism poster.
He checked the map app one last time. The dormitory was seventeen minutes away on foot. Google Maps showed a cheerful blue route that zigzagged through narrow shopping streets and past a small river. Ryugenn liked routes that zigzagged. Straight lines felt impatient.
He started walking.
The city moved around him like background music—office workers in light spring jackets, high-school girls laughing too loudly outside a konbini, an elderly man watering potted flowers on his tiny balcony three stories up. Everything felt soft at the edges, slightly over-saturated, the way memories look when you're not quite sure if they're real yet.
At the crosswalk near the river, he paused even though the light was green. A small white dog wearing a yellow raincoat trotted past with its owner, paws making tiny confident clicks against the pavement. Ryugenn watched until they disappeared around the corner.
He smiled—just the tiniest lift at the corners of his mouth—then kept walking.
The dormitory building was called Sakura Heights, even though the nearest cherry trees were a twenty-minute bus ride away. It was a clean, modern six-story block with pale wood accents and floor-to-ceiling windows that reflected the afternoon clouds. A sign at the entrance read:
Welcome, new residents. Quiet hours: 22:00–07:00.
No pets. No parties. No exceptions.
Ryugenn approved.
Inside the lobby, a bored third-year named Kaito handed him the keycard and a welcome packet without looking up from his phone.
"Room 404. Elevator's that way. You're sharing with a guy named Haruto—he's probably still asleep. Don't slam the door."
Ryugenn nodded once. "Thank you."
Kaito glanced up for the first time, blinked, then went back to scrolling.
Room 404 smelled faintly of instant ramen and new carpet. One side was already claimed: messy bed, gaming chair, three different hoodies draped over the desk like shed skins. The other side was pristine—empty desk, neatly made single bed, one small potted succulent sitting in the exact center like it was waiting to be judged.
Ryugenn set his suitcase down carefully, opened it, and began unpacking in perfect silence.
Clothes folded into thirds.
Books lined up by height.
One framed photo of an empty beach at dusk—he placed it facedown for now.
When the last sock was tucked away, he sat on the edge of the bed, hands resting lightly on his knees, and listened.
Outside the window: distant bicycle bells, someone practicing violin three floors down, the soft mechanical click of the hallway vending machine being kicked by an impatient freshman.
Inside the room: Haruto's gentle snoring from the other bed.
Ryugenn exhaled through his nose, a sound that might have been the beginning of a laugh if anyone had been there to hear it.
He stood, walked to the window, and pushed it open.
The breeze smelled like spring and possibility and faintly like someone downstairs was frying tonkatsu.
He leaned his forearms on the sill and looked out at the rooftops stretching toward the horizon.
Somewhere in this city was the rest of his life.
He didn't feel excited, exactly.
He didn't feel nervous, either.
He just felt… present.
And for Ryugenn, that was more than enough for day one.
He closed the window, turned back to the empty half of the room, and said quietly to no one in particular:
"Alright."
Then he picked up his student handbook, sat cross-legged on the floor, and began reading the orientation schedule with the same calm focus most people reserve for reading mystery novels.
Tomorrow, classes would start.
Tomorrow, the rest of the story would begin.
But today?
Today was still his.
And the city outside the window kept breathing softly, waiting for whatever came next.