The streets had quieted. Neon signs blinked lazily above convenience stores, and the sky wore a deep indigo hue, stars veiled behind the city's soft glow.
Vial walked with his hands in his pockets, head tilted slightly down. The air smelled faintly of pavement and the chatter of passing pedestrians had thinned out to an occasional echo.
He still wasn't sure what this place was.
Not a dream. Not quite his world. But real enough to feel like he belonged—and yet didn't.
'She said men are rare here… so rare she's never seen one in person until me.'
His mind flashed back to Maki's words. Her smile. The way she clutched her phone with both hands after he gave her his number.
"It's almost like I'm a glitch in this world."
He stopped at the front of the apartment building. It looked just as ordinary as when he left it: modern, clean, minimalistic. Too polished to feel lived-in.
He stepped inside, greeted only by silence and a motion sensor light that blinked to life as he entered the lobby.
As he walked across the polished tile floor, his reflection passed over the glass elevator doors. He looked… normal. Just a guy. Nothing special.
But in this world, that alone made him an anomaly.
Ding.
The elevator arrived.
He stepped in casually, reaching out to press the button for his floor.
Then—
"Wait—hold the door!"
A voice called out, hurried footsteps tapping on the tiles.
He instinctively reached to stop the elevator from closing.
The woman stepped in with a breathless "Thanks," brushing a few strands of dark hair behind her ear. She wore a crisp blouse and a knee-length skirt, and behind her glasses, her eyes were wide.
Recognition hit both of them at the same time.
'Oh, it's her.'
'it's him again.'
Celeste froze for a split second—then quickly turned to face the panel of elevator buttons as if it were suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world.
Vial glanced at her. "Hey," he said casually.
"...Hi," she replied, stiffly.
Silence.
The elevator began to move.
Celeste clenched the strap of her shoulder bag. Stay calm. Just a normal elevator ride. Don't stare. Don't say anything stupid.
But her mind was already spiraling.
'What are the odds?! Again?! Am I being tested by fate or something?!'
Beside her, Vial shifted slightly, leaning back against the wall, eyes watching the floor numbers climb.
"Rough day?" he asked, breaking the silence.
She blinked. "Huh? Oh. No, just… normal. Work. Accounting. Numbers."
"Sounds thrilling."
A nervous laugh slipped out of her before she could stop it.
He smiled faintly. "You ran off pretty fast last time."
Her heart skipped. 'He remembers.'
"I didn't mean to," she said quickly. "I mean—I wasn't trying to be rude. I was just… surprised. That's all."
He nodded. "I get that a lot lately."
Another pause.
Then, quietly: "I'm Celeste, by the way."
"Vial."
She glanced at him. "That's… a unique name."
"Yeah. Still not sure if it's really mine, honestly."
Her brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
Before he could answer, ding—the elevator arrived at his floor.
He stepped forward, then turned halfway to look at her.
"See you around, Celeste."
And just like that, he was gone again.
Celeste stood frozen, staring at the closed elevator doors.
Her fingers trembled slightly.
'What just happened?'
After arriving, Vial threw himself onto the bed with a groan, one arm flung over his face.
"I really need to wake up now," he muttered, staring up at the ceiling. "I haven't even applied to any uni yet."
But the room didn't fade. No sudden shift. No jolt awake.
Just the distant hum of the air conditioner and the weight of stillness.
He sat up with a sigh, rubbing his temples. A strange dryness coated his throat. He pushed himself up and walked to the small kitchen.
Opening a cabinet, he grabbed a glass, filled it with tap water, and took a long drink. The cold helped. A little.
As he turned to set the glass down—
Slip.
Tink—CRASH!
The glass slipped from his fingers and shattered on the tiled floor, a sharp burst of sound slicing through the silence. Tiny shards skittered in every direction, some embedding themselves into his bare feet.
"AH, FUCK!" he yelled, staggering backward, clutching at his foot.
Pain shot up his leg—raw, stinging, immediate. Not dulled. Not distant. Not dreamlike.
He winced hard, breathing through clenched teeth. Blood pooled in a shallow smear under his heel.
'This isn't normal…'
'This isn't a dream.'
He leaned against the counter, staring down at the wreckage on the floor—the jagged fragments, the small streak of red, the thudding of his own heart.
Dreams don't hurt like this. Dreams don't make you bleed.
Reality crashed in harder than the glass.
"…What the hell is this place?" he whispered.
And for the first time since waking up in this strange city, he felt the weight of something terrifyingly real settle on his shoulders.