The Morning After

Rain whispered against the windows. Kazutoro Hayashi shot up from sleep, lungs clawing out for air.

He exhaled—wait, was he even breathing?

Sweat clung to his body. His hair stuck to his forehead-gross, clammy, real. For a moment he didn’t even recognize his own room, only the faint scent of detergent and the ghost of terror sitting heavy in his chest.

His heart went full concert mode. No tickets sold. He was running again—yeah, he could feel it even now... the lingering ache in his legs, the sting in his arm, the heavy shadows that had hunted him yesterday.

Slowly, things slid back into focus-the dim blue light, the soft hum of the fridge in the next room and beside him, the clock’s red digits glowing faintly at exact: 4:00 AM.

He stared at it for a long moment as if it was a staring contest with the clock.

“…Was that… all a dream?” he whispered.

His brain tried to connect the dots.

Error 404. Dots not found.

But the air still felt wrong, heavy and thick like the 25th Hour’s frozen rain. He reached up and rubbed his face, forcing himself to breathe. Then, the pain flared sharp and hot across his forearm.

He pushed up his sleeve. There, cutting a thin jagged line through his skin, was the same scratch the monster’s claws had left. Dried blood crusted at the edge.

He touched it gently.

Felt. Pain. Real.

His breath stuttered. “So it wasn’t… it wasn’t just a dream.”

He tried to laugh. It came out like a dying car engine starting at 3am. Tragic. 

“Great... Maybe I sleepwalked into a blender or something,” he muttered, half-laughing.

The joke belly flopped. The dark did not clap. 

His reflection on his black phone screen stared back at him wide eyes, pale skin, a strange exhaustion. Kazu forced himself to move. The floor was icy beneath his feet as he stumbled toward the bathroom. When the tap hissed to life, the sudden noise felt too loud in the still apartment. He cupped his hands and splashed cold water on his face until his skin burned. Woahhh it's cold as heck.

He looked up. 

His reflection blinked a heartbeat too late.

Kazu froze. “…Huh?”

He leaned closer. The mirror image copied him now, perfectly in sync again.

“You’re just tired,” he muttered. “Too many late shifts. That’s all.”

He turned off the tap, wiped his face with the towel, and returned to his bed. The red numbers read 4:10 AM.

He lay there for a long time, eyes open, listening to the hum of pipes. His heart slowed, his thoughts thinned, and the faint itch of the wound was the last thing he felt before sleep finally dragged him under the cozy blanket.

After few hours. The alarm’s shriek cut through his skull like a knife.

Kazu groaned, fumbling for his phone. 7:30AM.

“Ohh Shit,” he mumbled. He sat up, hair in disarray, head pounding. His muscles ached like he’d actually run miles.

He skipped his morning run. Just brushing his teeth felt like lifting weights.

The scratch burned faintly beneath the bandage. When he peeled it up, the wound looked red and angry, still too fresh for a dream.

He stared at it for a moment, then wrapped it back carefully. “You’re overthinking,” he told himself, though he didn’t believe it. Well who would really believe it in the first place.

Outside, morning light filtered through gray clouds. The city moved as it always did: distant horns, footsteps, the chatter of neighbors.

He threw on his college jacket, slung his bag over his shoulder, and left without breakfast.

The air smelled of damp asphalt and bread from the nearby bakery. Buses hissed past, students in uniforms laughed too loudly, and for a moment it all felt fake like he was watching from behind the glass.

He shook the feeling off. “Just tired, Hayashi. That’s all.”

By the time he reached the campus gates, the courtyard buzzed with life. The sound of sneakers squeaking, vending machines clinking, someone yelling across the lawn.

He waved half-heartedly to a few familiar faces. His best friend, Takeshi, jogged up beside him, slurping instant coffee.

“You look like hell, man.”

Kazu smirked. “Thanks. You too.”

“Did you even sleep?” Takeshi.

Kazu chuckled. “Define sleep.”

Takeshi laughed. “You’re pulling too many doubles at the café, huh? Miki told me you covered her shift again.”

“She owes me one.” Kazu.

“You’re gonna owe yourself a hospital bed soon.” Takeshi.

Kazu smiled faintly but didn’t answer. His gaze flicked toward the gray sky, half-expecting to see the frozen raindrops hanging again. But it was Just clouds. Just morning.

In class, his body sat still but his mind wouldn’t. The professor’s chalk scratched faintly at the board. Numbers, theories, meaningless lines, none of it stuck.

He doodled unconsciously in the corner of his notebook: swirling lines, half a red umbrella, a droplet suspended midair.

“Hayashi.”

He blinked up. The professor stood beside his desk. “You’ve been staring into space for five minutes. Everything alright?”

Kazu straightened immediately. “Y-Yes, sir. Just didn’t sleep well.”

The man studied him, eyes sharp but not unkind. “Try to keep up. You’re one of the few who actually passes this class.”

“Right. Sorry.”

A few students snickered when the professor walked away. Kazu exhaled. His pencil trembled faintly in his hand.

At lunch, he joined Takumi and the others under the usual tree. The noise around him was normal—too normal.

“You sure you’re okay?” Takumi asked again, mouth full of rice balls. “You look like as someone told you ghosts are real.”

Kazu forced a grin. “What if they are?”

“Then you’re possessed. You’ll finally have an excuse to skip midterms.”

Kazu chuckled softly, but his eyes caught something in the crowd, a woman passing through the gates, holding a red umbrella even though it wasn’t raining.

His breath hitched.

He blinked—and she was gone.

The world just... Kept going, like nothing had happened. Weird.

Maybe I really am losing it, he thought. 

Brain: Yeah probably. He sighed. Rude. 

Anyways. 

By mid-afternoon, his head throbbed. The second hand on the classroom clock ticked unevenly jerking forward, pausing, then jumping ahead again. When it landed on 4:00 PM, something inside him clenched.

But nothing happened.

He waited a heartbeat longer. The world didn’t freeze. No monsters. No silence. Just the distant hum of the air conditioner and the teacher’s voice.

He exhaled. Shaky? Yes. 

Relieved? Also yes. Cool about it? Absolutely not. 

And eventually he even got late for his shift at Café. The café’s warm light was a small comfort for him that evening.

“Evening, zombie,” Miki called out from behind the counter.

Kazu grinned faintly. “Still alive. Barely.”

“Try being a human for once,” she teased, handing him a tray.

He took it and fell into rhythm: the hiss of the espresso machine, the chime of spoons, quiet jazz in the background. It was all soothingly predictable.

At one point, the door chimed, but no one entered.

He glanced over automatically. The street outside looked empty.

Probably the wind, he thought, even though the door hadn’t moved.

“Something's wrong?” Miki asked, noticing his pause.

He shook his head. “Just spacing out again.”

She smiled. “Don’t fall asleep on the customers.”

He smiled back weakly and continued wiping tables.

Then, in the window’s reflection, his own face looked back, but smiled wider than he was. Just for an instant. He froze. His rag slipped from his hand.

When he blinked, the reflection was normal again.

He muttered under his breath, “You’re tired. That’s all.”

By the time he clocked out at 7:30 PM, the city was drenched in neon and drizzle.

The second shift awaited him. The family restaurant buzzed with life, orders, laughter, the clang of pans. Kazu slipped seamlessly into autopilot.

“Hey, Kazu,” a coworker called from the kitchen pass. “You doing close again?”

“Yeah. You?” Kazu.

Coworker. “Nah, lucky you.”

Kazu smirked. “That’s debatable.”

Hours blurred in fluorescent light. The smell of oil, chatter, footsteps, the faint drone of TV in the corner reassuringly mundane. Yet every so often, silence seeped through between the moments, a strange pressure under the sound, as if something were listening.

By 3:10 AM, he leaned on the counter, eyes heavy.

A coworker yawned beside him. “few more minutes, man.”

Kazu nodded. “Yeah.”

When the clock finally hit 3:38, he stepped outside.

The street was quiet. Damp pavement shimmered under the streetlights.

Kazu walked slowly, each step echoing faintly. He liked this hour, the city almost asleep, the air sharp with cold.

But his mind kept circling back to the 25th Hour. To monsters, to the red umbrella, to the strange beauty of frozen rain. Not to forget, that fun time too.

Was it real? Or a breakdown disguised as fantasy? No matter what that was, but it was indeed a fun day I got after a long working day's.

He reached up, tugging his sleeve to look at the scratch again. Still there. Still proof.

Halfway home, he stopped at the intersection—the one where he’d first seen the umbrella figure.

The same flickering streetlight buzzed overhead. The puddles glowed faintly with reflections of red and blue signs.

He stood there for nearly a minute, waiting.

Nothing.

“Guess not tonight,” he whispered.

He lingered for a another heartbeat, then continued walking. His reflection in the dark windows seemed to trail him, almost lagging a fraction behind.

When he reached his apartment, the clock read 3:53 AM.

He dropped his keys, collapsed onto his bed, shoes still on.

The room buzzed faintly with the hum of the fridge and the soft whir of his fan. Ordinary sounds. But underneath— silence. The paid actor of horror scenes.  

He stared at the ceiling, mind spinning.

Maybe I was chosen. Or maybe sleep deprivation deserves an Oscar. 

Maybe the 25th Hour is real.

Maybe I’m losing it.

He gave a weak laugh. “Probably the third one.” lol seriously.

The wall clock’s second hand ticked steadily. 3:59 AM.

He stared at it, unable to look away. His eyes fluttered, heavy. The faintest smile tugged at his lips.

“If it happens again…” he murmured, “I’ll ask who you are this time… red umbrella guy.”

The second hand moved. 3:59:56, 57, 58, 59…

His eyes closed.

4:00 AM.

And the room went still.