The Day the World Went Away

Reina wandered the upper levels of the mall, her footfalls disappearing into morning’s quiet emptiness. She kept moving, afraid stillness would shatter her completely.

Last night refused to leave her—the weight of Ren’s palm against hers, his whispered confessions unraveling in the dark, their kiss suspending her above an endless drop she hadn’t feared enough to avoid.

Her fingertips drifted across her lips, tracing the memory. His promise echoed in her thoughts, and beneath her trembling hope lay something she didn’t want to name—a shameful pride that he had trusted her with his secret, chosen her to hear his truth.

The peace on his face as he’d spoken of his own ending lingered in her mind. She couldn’t stop imagining him fading—presence extinguished like the last gasp of a flame. This man who had crashed into her life might disappear just as abruptly.

She drifted past empty shops with metal gates drawn, stepping around fallen ceiling panels. Through a shattered sheet of glass, she glimpsed a colorless sky streaked with smoke rising from the city.

Barely an hour had passed since she’d entrusted Lilly to Sakura and Aki’s care. When she’d tried to slip away, Aki’s hand had caught her shoulder. Their gazes met, and Reina recognized the quiet desperation there—the expression of someone who had already lost too much.

“Don’t disappear on me,” Aki had murmured. “I need to know exactly where to find you if things go sideways.”

Reina had nodded, smiled. “I’ll check the upper levels for supplies,” she’d said—an easy lie. The thought of sitting beside Aki organizing what would almost certainly become a slaughter made her stomach twist, especially knowing Ren was somewhere in the ruins doing the same while she remained behind, counting minutes.

“He’ll be fine,” she whispered, her reflection splintering across the cracked glass of abandoned vending machines. The reassurance rang hollow.

The words had fallen from his lips without hesitation. “I’ll die.” As casually as someone announcing the weather.

A stiff ache pressed through her ribs.

She found herself drifting toward the makeshift command center they’d formed in what had once been a food court. Supply crates stood like islands in the open space. Climbing gear and patched survival equipment lay scattered across the tiles.

Around the corner, she caught fragments of conversation—voices sharpened by tension, clipped by restraint.

Her fingers slipped through her tangled hair, tucking it behind her ear in an old reflex.

A familiar voice rose, frustration sparking through every syllable. “It makes no sense! I should be out there helping, not stuck here babysitting.”

Midori.

He leaned against a makeshift table, jacket hanging open, one hand gripping the dangling straps of his unused harness. Dark half-moons shadowed his face. Across from him, Haruka stood like a sentinel—arms crossed, shoulders rigid.

Off to one side, seated at a low table where medical tools were arranged with quiet precision, sat Shion.

Reina halted. Morning light threaded through Shion’s hair, turning the black strands fluid and metallic.

When Shion lifted her attention toward Reina’s approach, something cool flickered across her face—an expression that absorbed the room without revealing a single thought.

“Look, I get it—someone needs to stay behind. But why me?” His voice wavered. “I could be out there making a difference instead of… waiting.”

Haruka’s jaw worked. “You heard her explanation,” she said, choosing her words carefully, holding herself steady.

“That’s supposed to be enough? I can’t just—I need to do something. Anything.”

“Midori…” Haruka’s voice gentled. “She left me behind too. I’m standing here just like you.”

Reina heard the pain beneath the composure. She stepped into their circle, hands relaxed at her sides.

“Sumire-san must have her reasons,” she said, calm but firm enough to cut through the tension. “We should trust her judgment, even when we don’t understand it.”

Both turned to her at once, their argument stalling mid-breath.

Reina lifted her hand in a small wave, arranging her lips into the practiced smile she’d worn at countless business dinners. “Oh—sorry. Good morning,” she offered, the words faint.

Haruka’s shoulders eased slightly. “Aokawa-san.”

“Morning,” Midori echoed, though his attempted grin collapsed at the edges. “Guess you heard all that?”

“Everyone’s entitled to vent,” she said.

“Aokawa-san.” Midori straightened, hopeful. “Have you seen Ren this morning?”

A cold ripple moved through her chest. She kept her expression neutral despite the warmth rising in her cheeks. “I did see him,” she said carefully. “He wasn’t feeling well.”

A faint quirk touched the corner of Shion’s mouth—barely there, but it sent a shiver along Reina’s spine.

“If Ren isn’t here,” Haruka said quietly, “then Mother probably already took him for whatever mission she’s running. She seems to trust him more than her own daughter.”

Her voice stayed level, but her hands trembled, exposing what she tried to hide.

“So he risks his life while I count supplies?” Midori murmured, voice dropping. “I didn’t survive all this just to sit around hoping.”

His frustration vibrated against Reina’s own fears. She understood too well—that restless pressure when danger moved and you stayed behind. But unlike Midori, she had made a promise.

“There’s purpose in waiting,” she said, voice steady despite the doubt gnawing at her. “Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is stay put.”

Midori shook his head and turned away. It lacked the force of a true storm-off, but determination carried him down the corridor. Haruka followed, her voice low and urgent as she repeated his name.

Reina watched until the corner swallowed them.

When she turned back, she found Shion watching her—completely still, sharp with intent. Those pale irises caught fractured light, reflecting Reina’s silhouette.

Under that steady scrutiny, Reina felt exposed—like Shion could peel her back layer by layer. She’d felt this same vulnerability once before, in the blood-smeared classroom where Shion had dragged her and Lilly from death.

“Makabe-san,” Reina said, dipping her head. “I’m sorry if we disturbed you. We’ve all got a lot on our minds.”

Shion’s lips curved.

“No need to apologize,” she replied. “I find observation… educational.”

Reina shifted her weight. “Observation?”

“Of human patterns.” Shion’s attention traveled over her with clinical calm. “Yours and his, especially. How you move toward him, and how easily he allows you near.”

Heat crept up Reina’s neck. “I’m sorry? I don’t—”

“I see how you orbit him,” Shion said softly. “The calculations in your words and gestures. The daughter praised at banquets, the flawless student, the heir trained since childhood. You’ve rehearsed your lines very well.”

The words landed like a scalpel—precise, cutting deep.

Reina felt her features arrange into the start of a polite rebuttal, but indignation surged before she could shape it.

“What did you see?” The question slipped out unguarded.

“If I’m honest,” she said, “nothing at all.”

Shion rose, smoothing her skirt with one hand. She slipped away without another word, her presence dissolving into the dim corridor.

Reina watched until she vanished. Only then did her lungs fully expand.

It shouldn’t have hit so hard. Her life had been a string of praise—teachers marking her as exceptional, business associates courting her early, family lifting her as the golden standard others couldn’t match.

Now, at the end of the world, with her family name reduced to ash and her future narrowed to survival, Shion’s dismissal should have been freeing. Instead, it carved something out of her.

Ren’s kiss surfaced in her memory. Something inside her tightened, anchoring her.

Her fingertips traced idle shapes along the table’s edge. “Nothing at all,” she whispered.

But she knew. She had already chosen her place.

At his side.

━━━━━━━━━━𝑾𝑪𝑨━━━━━━━━━━

First light crept over the horizon. Tanaka clutched his jacket at the collar, each exhale blooming white in the cold. Beside him, Mori’s fingers rested near the rope draped over his shoulder, as though letting go would make the situation collapse around them.

Silence stretched thin between the three of them. Ren recognized it—fear filling the air in its quiet way.

“This is insane,” Mori whispered.

Ren didn’t react. His expression stayed unreadable, attention fixed ahead.

“I wasn’t saying—” Mori began, then faltered, the words dying.

“It doesn’t matter,” Ren said, stepping past them and descending the fractured concrete slope toward the plant’s outer fence.

Tanaka drew a tight breath. “We appreciate what you’re doing. Truly. But…” He flicked a glance at Mori, searching for nerve. “We’re maintenance guys. We splice cables. Replace fuses. We don’t…” He nodded toward the looming silhouette of Tanizawa Electric. “We don’t go looking for whatever is hiding in a place like that.”

Ren pressed his hand to the cold chain link. “You won’t be. That part falls to me.”

Mori swallowed. “Sumire-san trusts you. I owe her my life.” His voice wavered. “That has to count for something… right?”

Ren didn’t respond immediately. He studied the yard through the fence slats. Only once he’d mapped the layout did he push the gate. Metal squealed loud enough to rattle the morning air.

“When I signal, go straight to the control center.”

Mori’s hands twitched. “And if something goes wrong—?”

“It won’t.”

Ren stepped onto the bloodstained asphalt. The temperature dropped further as the massive structure swallowed the dawn.

“Stay here,” he said. “I’ll find anyone still alive and bring them out.”

The statement rooted Mori and Tanaka.

“Find…?” Mori echoed.

Ren turned to them briefly, features shifting into the mask he wore when conversation ended.

Mori attempted a smile. It strained. “Right. Message received.”

Tanaka offered a jerky nod.

Ren faced the main structure. Beneath the quiet, machinery hummed faintly. His fingers curled, steadying himself as his focus narrowed on the entrance ahead—a dark maw carved into concrete.

Four soft words clung to him, warm against the cold:

“Come back to me.”

He stepped into the waiting dark.

━━━━━━━━━━Author's Note━━━━━━━━━━

I can’t believe we broke 4k views. Absolutely insane! Thank you all so much for taking the time to stop by and read. I truly, genuinely hope you’re enjoying the story so far.

Bit of a late update today since I spent yesterday working on a possible Twilight Contest entry. If I ever work up the courage to post it (and somehow juggle two stories at once), maybe give it a look if it pops up!

Oh! And depending on how Thanksgiving goes, there might only be one update this week—we’ll see. If I don’t see you on Wednesday, I’ll definitely see you on Sunday!