CHAPTER ONE: The Discount Revival of a Night-Shift Nobody.

Scrapper N Save - 2:42 A.M.

If failure had a smell, it was probably bleach, burnt coffee, and whatever was rotting behind aisle five.

The air conditioning rattled like a dying animal in the ceiling, and the buzzing from the overhead fluorescents was just off enough in pitch to drill into your skull like a sadistic tuning fork. I’d stopped hearing it three weeks ago. Or maybe I’d just gone numb.

I was halfway slouched over the cashier's counter at "Scrapper 'N Save" - our neighborhood’s favorite off-brand, under-lit, budget convenience store. It was like a “SevenElven” had a baby with a landfill and forgot to raise it.

This was my kingdom. I watched the clock tick from 2:42 to 2:43 A.M., and whispered to myself, “Truly, I am thriving.”

My name’s Jinta. Age: 24. Occupation: glorified nocturnal button-presser. I ring up energy drinks and instant noodles for people too tired, too drunk, or too weird to care. Once upon a time, I was smarter than this. I was supposed to get a degree in biochemistry.

Now I mop up soda spills and sometimes blood.

Character development, I guess.

Outside, rain tapped against the windows with lazy fingers. The street beyond was quiet, almost peaceful, in the way an abandoned hospital might be peaceful if you didn’t look too closely at the shadows.

I stared out into it, arms crossed, chest heavy.

And like always… I thought of Daiki.

He used to say I had potential. 

“Jin, you’re the smart one. I'm just a boxer. I throw punches. But You? You’re gonna fix the world someday.”

Daiki was my older brother, my guardian, and basically every decent part of me that I’d slowly managed to disappoint over time.

He raised me after our parents bailed. Held down jobs, paid the bills, bought me textbooks, told teachers to back off when I stopped showing up to class.

And then one night, he was gone.

Car accident. Drunk driver. Instant. Like someone flipped a switch.

No more late-night anime marathons. No more half-burnt curry experiments. No more...Daiki.

And me?

I broke. 

Quietly. Slowly. The kind of spiral you don’t notice until you’re working night shift in a neon-lit coffin wondering when your soul left the building.

The doorbell jingled.

I didn’t jump. Customers were rare after 2 A.M, but this one? Familiar.

An Old guy. Grey coat three sizes too big. Balding head under a wide, stained cap. He had the kind of face that looked like it had forgotten how to smile a long time ago.

“Evenin’, Gramps,” I said.

He grunted. That was our ritual.

Every time, he bought the same thing: a custard-filled spongecake, aggressively yellow, individually wrapped, older than sin. We sold them for 60 yen, clearance. Good deal but I swear they were manufactured in 1983 and never expired out of spite.

He shuffled up slowly, placing the spongecake on the counter with a stiff nod.

I rang it up. 

“Live dangerously, huh gramps?”

Gramps gave me a slow blink. Then dug out exact change from a coin purse that looked like it had seen battle.

Transaction complete, he turned to go. No goodbyes. Just silence. Thank you for your companionship. As he pushed the door open, I watched him go, something tugging faintly in my chest.

He had that same tilt in his shoulders as Daiki. That weary, unspoken strength.

Maybe that’s why I noticed the shadows moving behind him...

2:46 A.M.

There was a shout. Sharp. Real. Not the city’s usual background noise. Not a drunken yell or a blown tire.

I saw them - two figures rushing at the old man outside. Hooded. One had something in his hand.

A knife? No...

A gun.

Everything inside me screamed: not my problem.

But, then, like a whisper in the back of my skull, I heard it. Not real. Not sound.

Just memory.

“A hero stands up.”

That’s what Daiki said once - back when I asked why he intervened in a mugging and walked away with a black eye., right after a particular brutal boxing match.

A. Hero. Stands. Up.

My legs moved before my logic could file a complaint.

I burst out into the cold rain. 

“Hey! Hey, back off!”

The old man was cornered against the alley wall. One of the punks turned and ran. The other didn’t. 

The one with the gun. I charged.

He turned. Face blank. Eyes dead.

There was a sound , a pop, small and quick. Like a balloon bursting in a tunnel.

My chest burned. Then froze.

I staggered. Falling.

The spongecake - Gramps had dropped it - it lay on the wet pavement, half-crushed, custard leaking out like some cruel metaphor. I hit the ground. My back, then my head. Everything felt like cotton. My hands trembled as they pressed against my chest, now blooming red.

It wasn’t painful, not really.

Just… cold.

“Figures,” I muttered, blinking at the pale streetlight above.

The rain slowly falling on my face. My blood mingling with the puddles. Somewhere, tires screeched. Ambulance lights. Someone shouted. I didn’t care. 

Wasn’t this ironic?

I ran from life for years… and the one time I stood up...

The darkness came like a warm blanket. No fanfare. Just the slow fade.

My final thoughts?

Daiki.

His smile. His eyes. That night we stayed up eating instant ramen and watching garbage anime, him saying I could be anything. 

Me believing it.

“Sorry, bro,” I whispered. 

“Guess I ended up as clearance stock.”

And then - 

???

Light. 

Or was it mist?

A burst of it.

I floated in silence. No body. No breath. Just... thought.

A lake appeared beneath me, vast and still. The stars above reflected in its surface, but they didn’t shimmer, they pulsed. Like hearts. Trapped. Watching. Beating.

A mountain rose in the distance. Its peak was silver. Snow? Moonlight? I couldn’t tell...

Then: the voice.

Feminine. Gentle, but urgent. Like a lullaby mixed with a command.

“You have to save them all…”

I tried to respond, but I didn’t have a mouth.

The vision swirled. Trees grew from clouds. Rivers seemed to run through sky. I saw shapes - people? Creatures? - walking paths made of starlight.

The voice came again.

“Save them all.”

Louder now. Closer.

“Save them all…”

Then warmth. Lips pressed against mine.

A kiss?

Awakening

My eyes snapped open.

The world was too bright. Too saturated. A sea of green and grey seemed to tower over me. I lay on my back, under the arch of a moss-covered bridge beside a thinning stream that chuckled as it passed.

I blinked. Sat up.

No. Wait. I hopped.

I hopped.

Everything felt... wrong. Off. Low to the ground. My limbs didn’t match. My skin was - 

Green.

Webbed.

I turned to the water, leaning over its surface.

A frog stared back.

Not just any frog. A squat, awkward-looking one with mottled green-brown skin, giant gold eyes, and a lumpy head.

I opened my mouth.

“RrrRRREEEEHHHH!!”

A horrible, high-pitched croak echoed off the stone walls of the bridge.

I froze. Blinked.

Then, with the slow horror of a man realizing his fate was to die, get kissed by a ghost, and come back as pond scum, I whispered:

“…are you kidding me?”

To Be Continued...                                 CHAPTER 01: END.