Before the World Notices (Chapter 3)

Chapter 3
Before the World Notices

Kotae and Kika stepped out of his room and into the living room. The news was still playing faintly on the TV in the background, but the screen had shifted to analysts and anchors, arguing and speculating with desperate professionalism. His parents sat on the couch, tense but trying to hold themselves together.

Kotae didn’t waste time.

“Mom, Dad,” he said with deadpan seriousness. “I need all your money. I’m robbing you.”

His father raised an eyebrow, lips twitching at the corners despite the tension in the air.

“I’m glad you can still make jokes at a time like this.”

Kotae shrugged. “If we don’t joke in times like this… then it’ll all be over before it’s even over.”

His father sighed, shaking his head lightly. “Alright, comedian. What do you actually need it for?”

Kotae’s face straightened again. “As I explained to Kika—short version now. Knowing we’re going to die in a year… do you plan to keep slaving away at work?”

His dad opened his mouth, hesitated, then slowly closed it. After a beat, he gave a soft, reluctant “No.”

“Exactly,” Kotae said. “And neither will most people. Which means systems collapse. No workers, no production. No logistics, no shelves stocked. Food, water, power—gone. I’m sure others are already coming to the same conclusion. But not everyone. Not yet. That gives us a head start. We stockpile now, we survive the fall.”

His mom looked at him with wide eyes, the weight of his words settling in. Then, slowly, she nodded.

“You’re right,” she said. “Completely right.”

His father leaned back into the couch and rubbed his chin. “As you know, we live from paycheck to paycheck. Our savings are… modest. I’d say we have around a million yen we can use right now.”

“That’ll do,” Kotae replied. “Let’s hit a store close by first, then loop around for a second trip if we’re lucky. We don’t have forever, but we have right now.”

“Alright, let’s go shopping!”

Kika’s head snapped up. “I’ll come too.”

Kotae gave her a look, then nodded with a small smile. “We’ll need all the hands we’ve got.”

The streets were already starting to feel… wrong. Not chaotic. Not yet. But quieter in places that were supposed to be loud, and louder in places that were usually calm. A strange in-between. A city on the edge of awakening to something it could never sleep through.

At the first supermarket, Kotae and his parents moved like a precision team, with Kika slotting in naturally beside them. Two carts, no wasted steps. Cans, water, rice, ramen. His mom grabbed batteries, matches, and candles. His father piled in instant coffee and multivitamins. Kotae kept the rhythm going, checking expiration dates and calculating volume versus shelf life in real time. Kika focused on quick grabs—oats, beans, hygiene kits—fast but thoughtful.

The carts were full in minutes. Not overflowing, but heavy and intelligently packed. They checked out before the store’s mood could shift. On the way out, Kotae pointed toward another store.

“One more,” he said. “Big one this time.”

They headed to their second store—second run, one cart each.

People were starting to catch on. The crowd had thickened, but panic hadn’t bloomed yet. Not fully.

The four of them converged inside. Kotae steered the lead with focus. He directed the effort—Kika to dry goods, his mom to candles and hygiene, his dad to over-the-counter meds. Kotae floated between sections, checking for overlooked essentials, recalculating priorities in real time.

By the end of it, they had four brimming carts. Mostly cans and water—dozens of liters—but also luxuries: a few bags of apples, a loaf of fresh bread, a couple boxes of frozen dumplings, even some chocolate.

A week of normalcy, if nothing else.

At checkout, the lines were longer. The tension more visible. They split up, each person standing in a different line with a cart to speed things along. The clerks’ hands trembled as they scanned, eyes flicking nervously over each shoulder. The tide had broken. People were storming the store now, panic showing in their eyes.

“Fast,” Kotae muttered.

They paid. They ran. The parking lot was chaos, cars idling in every direction. Kotae’s dad nearly got clipped by someone reversing without looking.

They loaded quickly. Groceries tossed into trunks. Cans rattled, jugs shifted. A cart tipped, scattering bottles. Kotae didn’t even flinch—just shoved them in, slammed the trunk shut.

“You’re as quick-witted as always,” his dad said. “You bought us time. You might’ve just saved us.”

The words hit harder than expected and Kotae found himself smiling.

They were halfway through loading when a voice cracked through the noise.

“Wait—please!” A man stumbled toward them from the crowd, dragging a shopping cart that looked barely half full. His eyes were wide, desperate. A small girl clung to his side, no older than six. “Just… please. We’re not asking for much. Anything helps.”

Kotae froze for a moment, one hand on a jug of water. The chaos around them blurred—horns, shouting, the rush of carts slamming into bumpers. But that voice cut through it all.

“We have nothing at home,” the man continued, chest heaving. “The shelves were already cleared at the last place. I’ve got a daughter. I just—I saw how much you have. Please.”

Kotae stared at him. Then at the girl. Dirty cheeks, tangled hair. Silent, but her eyes searched them like she already knew what it meant to be told "no."

Kika hesitated too, eyes flicking to Kotae. She didn’t say a word, but her body had gone still.

They didn’t have time. Not for debate. Not for soul-searching.

“We don’t have enough to share,” Kotae said, his voice steady, though quieter than before. “What we grabbed is barely enough for four people to last a little while. And we don’t know when we’ll be able to get more.”

The man’s face collapsed into something between anger and despair.

“So that’s it?” he whispered. “You just walk away?”

Kotae’s jaw tensed. “We didn’t cause this. We’re just trying to survive it. Like you.”

He turned back to the trunk, shoved the jug in, and slammed it shut. Kika lingered a second longer, then stepped forward. She reached into one of the bags and pulled out a small bundle of protein bars.

The man blinked as she placed them in his hand.

“For her,” she said.

Then she turned and got into the car without another word.

Kotae joined her a second later. His dad muttered a curse as another car swerved past them, barely missing the rear bumper.

They managed to fill six carts in total. It would have to be enough.

As they pulled out of the parking lot, chaos erupted in the streets. Horns blared, drivers shouted, and pedestrians ran in all directions. The city had shifted—just like that—from unease to full-blown panic. Kotae’s stomach tightened. The anxiety rose like a tide, and the question echoed in all of them: Can we even make it home?

Luckily, their second store had been chosen with strategy in mind. It was close by—intentionally left for last in case things spiraled. Worst-case scenario, they’d have made only one run. But they had pushed it… and somehow, they made it. Just barely.

The drive home, normally just a few minutes, dragged into twenty. They took an alternate route, hoping to dodge the worst of the gridlock. Stoplights flashed uselessly, and a few intersections had already become free-for-alls.

As they finally pulled into their apartment complex, they parked and they all let out a sigh of relief.
The building stood quiet, still untouched by the chaos—like the world hadn’t ended out there just yet.

“You might’ve just saved us,” Kika whispered, echoing his father’s words. “You think so fast. I… I’m really grateful.”

Her voice trembled, but her grip didn’t.

They got to unloading as they all carried their burdens—six carts’ worth of preparation, and the weight of knowing—back into their home.

The world hadn’t ended yet. But it had already changed.