The train swayed in its usual rhythm, metal grinding softly against metal as it cut through the city. It was crowded, like always. People packed together, shoulders brushing, breaths mixing in the stale air. No one really looked at anyone. That was just how things worked.
He stood among them.
One hand loosely held the overhead handle, his body moving slightly with each turn and stop. If someone tried to remember him later, they wouldn't be able to. There was nothing to remember.
No face. No presence. Just… someone.
Beside him, an old woman sat quietly, her thin fingers resting on her bag. A pair of glasses slid down her nose as she stared ahead, lost in her own thoughts. She didn't look at him. No one did.
Then, suddenly—
"Hey."
The voice didn't echo in the train. It didn't interrupt the noise. It slipped through, quiet, like it didn't belong to the same space.
He tilted his head slightly. Or maybe he didn't. It was hard to tell.
"If you're wondering who I am… or what I look like," the voice continued, calm and almost casual, "that's not really important."
A pause.
"I'm probably just… Mr. Nobody. On my way to work."
The train kept moving. No one reacted. No one heard.
And yet, it felt like someone did.
—
At the next station, the doors slid open with a mechanical hiss.
Footsteps rushed in.
A girl.
She was clearly in a hurry, one hand clutching a book tightly to her chest, the other trying to steady herself as she pushed through the crowd. Her breathing was uneven, like she had been running before getting on.
"Sorry— excuse me—"
She moved too fast.
Her foot caught on something—maybe someone's shoe, maybe nothing at all—and in the next moment, her balance broke.
She fell.
The book slipped from her hand, pages bending as it hit the floor. Her body followed, the impact sharp but not loud enough to stand out in the noise of the train.
And just like that—
No one reacted.
No one turned.
No one helped.
It was as if nothing had happened.
Except—
He saw.
For a brief moment, something shifted. The world didn't pause, but it felt like it did. His attention—something that usually drifted without purpose—locked onto her.
Her eyes.
That was the first thing he noticed.
Clear. Alive. A little annoyed, a little embarrassed… but real.
He stared.
And for some reason—
His chest felt… strange.
A faint warmth. An unfamiliar tension. Something close to embarrassment.
Was he… blushing?
The thought didn't make sense.
He didn't even have a face.
"…How long are you going to stare?"
Her voice cut through everything.
He froze.
For the first time—something impossible happened.
She was looking at him.
Not through him. Not past him.
At him.
"Are you just going to stand there?" she said, raising an eyebrow slightly. "Or are you going to help me?"
He didn't respond immediately.
Because he couldn't.
No one was supposed to notice him.
No one ever did.
And yet—
She was waiting.
"…A hand would be nice," she added, a bit more impatient this time.
Something moved.
Before he could think about it, his arm reached out. His hand—hesitant at first—extended toward her.
She grabbed it without hesitation.
Her grip was warm. Firm. Real.
He pulled her up.
The moment she stood, she brushed off her clothes quickly, glancing down at her book before picking it up.
"Thanks," she said, letting out a small breath. Then, after a short pause, she added, "Actually… it was my fault. I was in a hurry."
He said nothing.
He just stood there, still trying to process what had just happened.
Then she looked at him again.
Directly.
"By the way," she said, tilting her head slightly, "what's your name?"
The question hit him harder than it should have.
His name.
Did he even have one?
His thoughts stumbled over each other, something unfamiliar building inside him. Nervousness? Confusion?
"My name…?" he repeated quietly.
The words felt heavy.
Unnecessary.
"…My name is not important," he said after a brief pause. "But you can think of me as… Mr. Nobody."
There was a moment of silence.
Then—
"Mr. Nobody?" she repeated, her expression shifting into confusion.
She studied him, like she was trying to figure something out.
It made him uneasy.
But before things could get more awkward, she smiled slightly.
"Well… that's a weird name," she said. "But okay."
Another pause.
"My name is Toma."
Toma.
The name stayed.
For some reason, it didn't fade like everything else.
And just as quickly as the moment formed—
It broke.
Ding.
The train's speaker crackled to life.
"We have arrived at the station."
The doors began to open.
People started moving again, flowing out like nothing had happened.
Mr. Nobody adjusted the briefcase in his hand.
"…I have to go," he said.
Toma blinked. "Oh."
He stepped toward the door, then paused for just a second.
"It was nice meeting you, Toma."
The words felt strange.
But not wrong.
She gave a small smile.
"…Bye, Mr. Nobody."
There was something in her expression.
Something he didn't understand.
The doors closed.
And just like that—
She was gone.
—
The day passed like every other.
Work happened.
Time moved.
Nothing changed.
Or at least… it was supposed to be that way.
—
Night fell.
The city transformed.
Lights flickered on, painting the streets in neon and shadow. The noise shifted—from crowded conversations to distant engines, from footsteps to silence.
And somewhere in that silence—
Something else woke up.
A figure stood in the dark.
Different.
No longer invisible.
A pink bunny helmet covered his head, its smooth surface reflecting the city lights. The design was strange, almost playful—but the presence behind it wasn't.
In his hand—
A bike helmet strap tightened with a soft click.
In front of him—
A red motorcycle.
Sleek. Fast. Waiting.
He placed a hand on it, fingers brushing against the surface like he was confirming it was real.
"…Time to start," he muttered.
A small pause.
"My secret life."
He got on the bike.
The engine roared to life, breaking the silence of the night. The sound was sharp, powerful—nothing like the quiet existence he had during the day.
This was different.
He was different.
The bike shot forward.
Speed blurred the world around him, lights stretching into lines as he cut through empty streets. The wind rushed past, loud and freeing.
For the first time—
He wasn't part of the background.
He wasn't being ignored.
He existed.
And somewhere within that feeling—
Something else surfaced.
A purpose.
His helmet's visor glowed faintly red.
"…Where is my prey?" he whispered.
The voice wasn't calm anymore.
It carried something sharper.
"Where is the wrongdoer?"
The city stretched endlessly ahead of him.
Dark corners. Hidden crimes. Stories that were never told.
Places where no one was watching.
Except him.
The bike accelerated.
Faster.
And faster.
The Crimson Bunny Biker had begun his hunt.
And somewhere—
Unseen.
Unwritten.
Something was starting to notice