Just Go

The year is 2035.

A new summer day dawns, as ordinary as any other. The sun shines high, casting its golden glow across the horizon. A soft breeze brushes gently against the skin—just enough to make the warmth bearable.

That night, long after the sky has traded its soft orange hues for the deep ink of midnight, Nanago Ibaki wakes up in a cold sweat.

It wasn't just a dream.

It was something more—a nightmare so vivid, it felt like he’d lived through it.

There was no clear image, no sharp memory to latch onto. Just a feeling. A terrible sense that something was collapsing. Like the world itself was being swallowed, piece by piece, into some unseen void. There was desperation in the air, like he was trying to hold on to something already crumbling between his fingers.

The worst part?

It felt like the end.

Or maybe... the beginning.

The boundary between the two was thin. Almost nonexistent.

With a sudden gasp, Nanago sits up in bed, the sound of his own scream hanging in the air before fading into the silence of his dark room. His heart pounds in erratic pulses, each beat louder than the last.

He blinks rapidly, eyes darting around in panic. Shadows stretch across the walls, unfamiliar in the dark.

Where am I?
What just happened?

He doesn’t speak it aloud, but the question echoes loudly in his mind, looping without an answer.

No one to comfort him.

Maybe a neighbor catches the echo of his scream through the thin apartment walls—but no footsteps follow.

Nanago Ibaki is eighteen years old.

He started his first year of college that spring, just a few months ago. It’s not that his home life was broken. Far from it. His parents were kind, supportive—the sort who gave what little they had without ever asking for anything back. And when the time came, they believed in him enough to let him go.

They wanted to give him the life they believed he deserved.

So they worked hard. So hard. Saving for years, stretching every yen, living quietly in the rural outskirts just to see him off to something greater.

Now he lives alone in the sprawling city of Almenio. A city of opportunity. A place where dreams either flourish or quietly disappear.

He enrolled in a public university—nothing flashy, but reputable, with more pressure than prestige. Still, he fit in without much struggle. Not because he buried himself in books, but because of something else.

Nanago has always had a sharp mind. Quick to learn. The kind of student who rarely studied, yet always managed to score high, just by paying attention in class. Enough for his parents to believe he was worth every sacrifice.

Despite all of that, Nanago isn’t what you’d call a warm person.

If anything, he leans the other way—cold, distant, like someone always a step removed from the world around him. He blends in, sure. He’s not a troublemaker. He keeps his grades up, even as classes get harder and the rest of his peers start to buckle under pressure. He’s the kind of student teachers remember… but only faintly. Like a name they can’t quite place but know never caused them any trouble.

People generally leave him alone. And he’s fine with that.

He has sharp, stylish black hair—just messy enough to look effortless—and eyes as dark as spilled ink, always distant, as if caught in some thought he never quite finishes. Tall and handsome in an understated way.

When it comes to relationships—friendships, romance, or anything in between—Nanago simply isn’t the guy.

It’s not trauma. It’s not some buried emotional wound or tragic past.

It’s just how he is.

Wired that way. Built that way.

Like it’s etched into his DNA.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________

Several minutes pass.

He presses a hand to his chest.

The beat is real. The air is real. The stillness is real.

But the dread clings to him, like smoke that refuses to leave his lungs.

The hum of the fridge in the kitchen ticks faintly through the wall. The cheap fan spins in the corner, blades whispering a lullaby he’s too awake to hear.

And yet—he still isn’t sure if he’s actually here.

The dream felt heavier than this room.
More vivid than this silence.

He draws in a shaky breath, hoping the feeling will pass.

Eventually, he pulls himself together and gets out of bed.

Click.

The room floods with light as he flips the switch. The familiar glare is strangely comforting.

He shuffles into the kitchen, his footsteps soft against the wooden floor. He grabs a glass, fills it to the brim, and drinks deeply—desperate for something real to ground himself.

Water helps. A little.

Nanago isn’t the type to waste time, and with all the free hours on his hands—thanks to his study habits, or lack thereof—he’s picked up a few skills. Cooking, for one. He taught himself everything. These days, he’s actually good at it. Better than most.

Earlier that night, just before bed, he’d made something simple—nothing fancy, just warm. He’d eaten at the small table in the kitchen, absentmindedly watching the little TV mounted in the corner. He must’ve left it on.

Now, as he gulps down the last of the water, the screen suddenly flickers.

Click.

The channel changes on its own.

Red lines begin crawling rapidly across the screen, like warning signals. A jarring alarm tone plays faintly beneath them, and then—the face of a familiar news anchor appears.

It’s the country’s most well-known reporter.

Their expression is frozen in fear.

The TV crackles, screen flickering as a sharp tone rings out. Then—
The emergency broadcast begins.

[LIVE EMERGENCY BROADCAST - CHANNEL 7 NEWS]

"Attention! This is not a drill. I repeat—this is not a drill."

The anchor looks shaken, glancing off-screen before continuing.

"We’ve just received confirmation of a laboratory breach. A very—"
He pauses. Swallows hard. Adjusts his earpiece.

"No. An extremely dangerous virus has escaped containment."

"All citizens are instructed to remain indoors.
I repeat: remain indoors. Do not leave your homes.
Lock all entrances. Stay where you are."

His voice quivers. The red emergency ticker scrolls rapidly beneath him.

"The nature of the virus will remain undisclosed at this time.
Further updates will be provided as soon as information becomes available."

Then—the screen cuts.

No follow-up. No interviews. No visuals.

Just the same warning, looping again.

Over and over.

His chest tightens. Like something is clicking into place. Not relief. Recognition. The kind that feels worse than surprise.

Because deep down, some part of him already knew.

The dream wasn’t just a warning.

It was a memory from a future that hadn't happened yet.

His phone buzzes sharply on the counter, pulling his eyes away from the screen.

It’s his mother.

He answers immediately.

"Nanago, dear—have you seen the news?" Her voice trembles slightly, layered with worry.

"Just now," Nanago replies, trying to keep his tone even. "Are you and Dad okay?"

"Don't worry about us. What about you? Are you alright?"

He hesitates.

"Well... I think it's safe to say none of us are really alright right now."

In the background, his father’s voice cuts in—loud and unmistakable:

"Stay inside, Nanago! You heard what they said!"

Nanago raises the phone slightly and speaks louder so he can hear.

"Don’t worry, Dad. I heard it. The door’s locked. I’m not going anywhere."

"We’re going to wait for the update," his mom says gently. "Just... keep your phone on. Don’t put it on silent, okay? If you need to rest, rest. We’ll call you if we hear anything."

"I don’t think I can sleep anymore," he admits, voice low.

They talk for a little while longer—just enough to ease the panic in their voices. Just enough to feel a little less alone.

Eventually, they hang up.

Silence returns.

But it’s a different kind now.

Heavier.

Just as Nanago sets his phone down, the screen lights up again—this time, a message.

Not from his mother.

It’s from Kita Gasaki.

They weren’t close. Not exactly friends, but they’d traded homework answers a few times, sat near each other during the orientation seminar. Enough to be something slightly more than strangers. But barely.

He wouldn’t expect a message from her.

The screen shows only one line.

"If you're in Almenio, get out. It started here."

Nanago stares at the words.

What does that mean? Started here?  What started?

The emergency broadcast plays again in the background, looping like a mechanical ghost. The red lines. The terrified anchor. The static.

He re-reads the message.

Twice.

His throat feels dry again, but this time it’s not something water can fix.

He doesn’t know what to make of it.

His fingers hover over the screen, then move before he can second-guess.
He dials. No answer. Tries again. Still nothing.

He exhales sharply and sinks into the nearest chair, fingers still curled around the phone.

“What does she mean? How can she just drop that on me with no context? What am I supposed to do—run into the night because of a half-sentence?”

He stares at the floor, trying to piece it together. Trying to breathe through the pressure growing behind his eyes.

Then—

Ring.

His phone lights up again.

Kita.

He bolts upright, practically lunging for the counter before hitting “accept.”

“Kita—”

Her voice cuts in fast, low, and urgent.

Kita: “I know you’re confused. I don’t have time to explain. I’m leaving too. Just—listen. If you can get out, do it. I’m heading toward Otaka. We need distance. Every minute counts.”

“Wait, what are you talking abou—”

But the call drops.

No warning. No sound. Just silence.

Nanago stares at the phone like it might bring her back if he wills it hard enough.

It doesn’t.

As Nanago stands frozen, trying to piece together the fragments of the night, a sudden knock shatters the silence.

KNOCK KNOCK.

"Nanago! Open up—hurry!"

It’s Toji Kuruki—Nanago’s best friend since middle school, now his classmate in college. They both came from the same quiet town on the outskirts, and while most assumed they’d end up sharing an apartment in the city, that didn’t happen. Not because they aren’t close—but because Nanago didn’t want that. He’s not the type. Not the right person for shared spaces, for constant company. And Toji, to his credit, understood. 

Eighteen, just like him. Brown hair that always looks like it’s catching the last bit of sunlight, with equally warm brown eyes that carry more emotion than he lets on. He’s almost as tall as Nanago, with a laid-back charm that makes him effortlessly likable. Handsome, in a more expressive, open way—where Nanago is quiet and composed, Toji is animated and impossible to ignore.

"Come on, man! You're sleeping through the end of the world?"

Nanago rushes to the door and swings it open.

"What's going on?" he asks, breath catching in his throat.

Toji doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he shoves his phone toward Nanago’s face.

"Look. Look what Kita just messaged me."

Nanago squints at the screen.

"If you're in Almenio, get out. It started here."

The same message. Word for word.

"I got that too," Nanago says, voice low. "Weird..."

"You tried calling her?" Toji asks, eyes scanning Nanago’s expression.

"Yeah. She didn’t pick up at first," Nanago replies. "Then she called me."

"And?" Toji leans in, urgent.

"And nothing. She doubled down on the text with no explanation. She said she had no time. She was already leaving."

Toji frowns, rubbing the back of his neck. "What is this? Some kind of prank?"

Nanago shakes his head. "Hard to believe that with the news we just got."

They glance back at the TV—still looping the emergency warning in grim repetition.

"So what do we do now?" Toji asks, voice barely above a whisper.

Nanago meets his eyes.

"We go."

It was reckless. But something in his chest said it was already too late to hesitate.

Nanago turns on his heel, grabs his backpack from the corner of the room, and starts filling it in swift, purposeful motions. A few bottles of water. Protein bars. A small bottle of sanitary alcohol. Bandages. Over-the-counter medicine. Whatever he has on hand that might matter later.

Toji watches from the doorway, eyebrows drawn tight.

"So," he says, "do you actually believe her?"

Nanago doesn’t stop packing.

"Not really. But if there’s even a sliver of a chance she knows something we don’t… and things are actually as bad as they seem, then this could be life or death." He zips up a side pocket and finally looks up. "Worst-case scenario? We lose a night of sleep commuting. That’s nothing."

Toji nods slowly. "Fair enough. Honestly, when I saw the message and the news back to back, I kinda panicked. The first thing I did was come to you."

Nanago slings the backpack over one shoulder. "Go grab what you need. Meet me back here or text me if anything changes."

"Yeah. Got it."

Toji spins around and bolts down the stairwell, footsteps echoing through the concrete hall.

About ten minutes pass. After gathering their things, Nanago and Toji meet on the street. As they walk toward the main road, the silence is almost oppressive. Not a soul in sight. No cars. No lights in windows. Nothing.

The main street stretches out ahead of them, empty and eerie under the night sky.

Nanago:
So. We don’t have a car. We didn’t really plan this out, did we?

Toji:
Spontaneous is good. I think.
pause
No, but seriously—did we even have a choice?

"We did. But I think we made the right one—only if we can find a ride."

They scan the road. Still nothing.

Nanago thinks for a moment, then mutters:

"Okay. Suicide mission. First car we see, we jump in front of it. I mean—they have to stop, right?"

Toji chuckles nervously.

"Yeah. They... they have to."

"We’ll have to convince them we know something they don’t. That we’re worth trusting. That they should pick up two strangers and flee the city in the middle of a lockdown."

"That... sounds insane."

"It is. But what’s the alternative? We stay here and wait? No way we make it far on foot. We have to try."

A few minutes crawl by. Then—headlights. A car approaches in the distance.

Nanago:
Quick. This is it.

They sprint into the road, waving their arms. The car screeches to a halt, tires squealing. The driver slams the brakes just in time.

A girl—probably in her twenties—leans out the window, clearly alarmed.

Girl:
Are you two out of your minds?! Do you have a death wish?!

Nanago:
I know we seem crazy. But if we’re crazy enough to do this, maybe we’ve got a reason. Can we come to your window?

She glares at them, exasperated. Then sighs.

Girl:
Fine. Move.

They rush to the driver’s side window. Nanago, breathless, launches into it—explaining the message, who it came from, how they packed up and decided to leave.

Girl:
So, let me get this straight. The city goes on lockdown. A classmate sends you a cryptic message. Doesn't elaborate further. And you don’t think it’s a prank?

Toji:
That was our first thought, naturally.

Nanago:
But what if it’s not? Look, we know how this sounds. But if there’s even a shred of truth in it, maybe we’re saving ourselves. From what? We don’t know. But we’re committed now.

She looks them over. Silent. Then leans back, thinking.

Girl:
And you thought jumping in front of a car would get you a ride?

Another pause. She exhales slowly.

"Well... you’re in luck. I live alone. Got no one waiting on me. Work’s off anyway, thanks to the lockdown. And... I hate my job, so that’s not a loss."

She gives a half-smile, tired but not unkind.

"Now, picking up two strangers in the middle of the night is probably in the top five dumbest things I’ve ever done—but you don’t give me bad vibes. And maybe I just don’t want to be alone with this going down. Better scared together than scared in silence."

She unlocks the doors with a click.

"Get in before I change my mind. Name’s Soja, by the way. Just so you know who you’re getting kidnapped by."

Nanago slips into the passenger seat without hesitation. Toji wastes no time either, yanking open the back door and collapsing into the seat.

As the car rolls back onto the road, the girl casts a quick glance at Nanago, then checks Toji in the rearview mirror.

Soja:
"Alright, mystery boys. I’m already breaking the rules for you—might as well know where the hell we’re headed. So, where exactly are we going?"

Nanago stares ahead, voice low.

"Otaka."

She raises an eyebrow, grip steady on the wheel.

"That’s… not close."

Toji (murmuring):
"That’s kind of the point."

Soja:
"Figures. Guess we’re all running from something tonight."

“So,” Toji said, leaning forward slightly from the back seat, “What's your deal?”

The girl raised an eyebrow, eyes still fixed on the road.

“Twenty-three," she said after a beat. "Accountant. I hate numbers. Life’s funny like that.”

Toji blinked. “...You’re an accountant who hates numbers?”

“I didn't say I'm a good accountant.”

Nanago glanced at her from the passenger seat, something about the way she said it making his lip twitch. Not quite a smile. But close.

They drive on, slowly becoming acquainted.

“Well, Soja,” Toji said, grinning now, “thank you for this very questionable act of kindness.”

“You’re welcome,” she muttered dryly. “If I die because of this, I’m coming back to haunt you both. Just so we’re clear.”

“To be fair,” Nanago said, “if things really are as bad as they seem, we’ll all be ghosts soon enough.”

Soja let out a sharp exhale that was almost a laugh.

“Comforting,” she muttered.

The conversation faded again, replaced by the low growl of tires against the pavement.

And then—something strange.

The world outside flickered.

Just once.

So quick that if they blinked, they might’ve missed it. The streetlamps went out, the sky dimmed unnaturally—and then snapped back into place like nothing had happened.

Toji sat forward. “Did you guys—”

“Yeah,” Nanago said.

“I saw it too,” Soja added, her voice quieter now.

They drove a few more meters in silence, tension thickening by the second.

Then it happened again.

A longer flicker this time.

The stars vanished entirely—like someone had shut off the sky.

The car jerked slightly as Soja’s grip tightened on the wheel.

“What the hell is going on?” she breathed.

No one answered.

Because how do you explain a sky that blinks?

Somewhere between one blink and the next, the night changed.

Nanago (internally):
“Somewhere behind us, the world was ending. But all I could hear was the sound of tires on the road.”