1,095 Days

The landscape was unrecognizable. Where there was once a vast green plain now lay a sea of mangled bodies. They were strewn about, their eyes glazed over, mouths frozen in their last scream. Streams of blood converged in shallow pools.

In the distance, metal clattered against metal, and spells shrieked through the air. He navigated over the corpses as if they were stepping stones—some freshly fallen, others cold for some time. With each step, the remnants clung to him. Blood, hair, flesh. Smoke filled his lungs and blurred his vision.

A young boy charged at him, eyes burning with rage. He shouted something, but Ren didn’t catch it. In a flash, the boy was gone. A blast obliterated him mid-charge.

Ren kept moving. He had to.

A wet squelch, a sharp breath. He plunged his blade into a man’s back, just beneath the shoulder. He felt it slice through flesh and scrape against bone—a practiced motion, no different from preparing meat.

That’s all they were in the end, wasn’t it?

Meat.

━━━━━━━━━━𝑾𝑪𝑨━━━━━━━━━━

Ren Hanashiro shot up in bed, his heart hammering against his chest. One fist clenched the tangled sheets as if they could anchor him back to calm.

Again.

He forced himself to inhale in slow, ragged pulls of air, his tongue dry and thick. Sweat ran down his chest and bare abdomen, tracing the pale, twisted scar that etched across his flesh. He stared at the mark and let the memories creep in.

A loud buzz shattered the silence of his cramped studio. Ren’s gaze flicked to the cheap alarm clock’s blinking blue digits.

“I should get ready.”

He swung his legs over the side of the mattress, toes brushing the cold wooden floor. The dorm was tiny and bare, but it was private—and cheap, thanks to the old man.

Ren shuffled to the battered dresser, silenced the alarm with a jab, then slipped into the narrow bathroom. He gathered cold water in his palm and flung it against his skin, the jolt clearing away the last fragments of his nightmare.

Leaning toward the mirror, he brushed damp white hair away from his face. Golden irises stared back—twin suns, his mother’s eyes, at least that’s what everyone said. He tugged at a strand of hair, then at the skin of his cheek, forcing a crooked, humorless smile.

Get it together.

He patted his face dry, then wrapped clean bandages around the stump where his arm used to be, his movements practiced and automatic. When he finished, he pulled on a threadbare white crew-neck sweater and slid into faded blue jeans, tightening them with a worn black belt.

“Another day in paradise,” he muttered, bending to lace up scuffed sneakers. He checked his small desk once more—wallet, phone—then snagged the key from its hook. One last look at the low-ceiling room, and he clicked the door shut behind him.

━━━━━━━━━━𝑾𝑪𝑨━━━━━━━━━━

Seiryo University sat perched on an artificial island to the west of Hanamizu City, its campus linked to the mainland by a scenic bridge and an elevated monorail.

Though not officially a fortress, its high walls and guarded gates gave that impression—it was, after all, the Kansai region’s most prestigious school: private, elite, and bankrolled by Hanamizu’s oldest, wealthiest families. At least, that’s how the old man described it on his first day.

Ren’s stroll to the main gate was slow and unhurried. Clusters of students in crisp uniforms drifted by, voices rising and falling over talk of exams, clubs, and their affairs.

A cool breeze swept the quad, tugging at his blazer and brushing his skin. The tightness in his chest unwound just enough to let the campus air fill his lungs—cool and tinged with salt from the nearby sea. He tilted his head to watch pale clouds drift above the slate rooftops of the older towers.

At least the sky will always be the same.

“Hey, Ren! Over here!”

A familiar voice cut through the murmur of the crowd. Reina Aokawa leaned against the open iron gate like a coiled spring, her vivid red hair brushing her shoulders and framing bright blue eyes. The instant they locked gazes, she straightened and stomped over on her heels.

“You’re late!”

Ren winced, dragging his fingers across his scalp. It started when she appointed herself his unofficial campus guide last year. Now he couldn’t seem to shake her. He’d tried everything—curt responses, vanishing between classes, even deliberately taking the long routes between buildings. Yet somehow, Reina always materialized beside him, refusing to let him dissolve into the anonymity he craved.

“You said you’d be on time.”

“I figured you’d do the sensible thing and—”

“—Don’t interrupt. I wasn’t done.” Reina cut him off. “It’s rude.”

He sighed and rolled his shoulders, as if trying to shake off her words.

“You didn’t have to wait.”

She surged forward, rising onto her toes so her finger jabbed him in the chest. Heads turned; whispers trailed behind them.

“If you’d been on time, like you promised, we wouldn’t be standing here.”

“Can we not do this so early in the morning?” he muttered.

Arms crossed tight over her bright yellow cardigan, she shook her head, red hair sweeping her cheeks. “You still haven’t apologized. Typical.”

He resisted an eye roll. “Fine. I’m sorry. Better?”

A sly curve tugged at her lips. “It’s a start.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Look who’s talking.”

She practically skipped ahead, motioning for him to follow. They passed through Seiryo’s gates side by side, conversations bubbling all around them. Students glanced first at him, then at her, then back again. He frowned.

Reina’s fingers brushed against his sleeve, not quite touching but close enough that he couldn’t decide whether to pull away or lean in. She noticed his tension instantly—she always did.

“So,” she said, tilting her head to catch his expression, “how did you sleep? Any nightmares?”

He shook his head. “No nightmares. I don’t get them every night, you know.”

She narrowed her gaze as if trying to peer inside him. “I don’t buy it. You’re way too good at hiding things.”

He shrugged. “Believe what you want.”

She fell silent for a moment, then sighed dramatically, shoulders dropping. “Normally you’d ask how I slept.”

He rolled his eyes. “And how did you sleep, princess?”

She flipped her nose in the air but her expression softened. “I slept well. Thanks. How’s therapy going?”

He clicked his tongue. Therapy—the old man’s rule. He pictured the dean’s office, that heavy oak desk, the ultimatum delivered with a fountain pen tapping against paper. Two business cards with counselors’ names now sat crumpled at the bottom of his trash can.

This new one, Dr. Fujimori, had a voice like still water and eyes that didn’t flinch when he sat in silence for thirty straight minutes. Yesterday, he’d actually answered one of her questions.

“Fine,” he said shortly.

“Fine? Is that all?” She pressed a hand to her chest in mock horror. “No complaints? Wow… she must be good.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re getting on my nerves again.”

“You’re such a drama king,” she teased, laughter in her eyes. “If you really wanted to get rid of me, you would have done it already. Admit it, Ren—you like having me around.”

That smile again—bright, honest, a dagger at his chest.

“If you cared so much about punctuality, you could just leave me behind.”

She bobbed her head. “Well, this is where we part ways—for now. Have a good day. Oh, and good luck on your exam!”

With that, she waved and jogged off into the crowd, her hair catching the sun like fire. Ren watched until she disappeared, and the smile slipped from his face.