The World Chooses For You

They stepped outside. The bell rang once behind them. Sharp. Final. Too loud for a world that barely breathed anymore. Kazu flinched and turned instinctively, half-expecting to see a hand still on the door, or at least the faint sway of motion where it had been. There was nothing.

The convenience store stood exactly as it had a moment ago — fluorescent lights humming softly inside, shelves neatly stocked, a cashier frozen mid-blink behind the counter. Normal. Too normal. The door closed on its own. Not slammed. Not pulled shut. Just… closed.

Kazu stared at it for a second longer than necessary.

“Don’t look back,” Reina said, not unkindly.

He tore his gaze away. “I wasn’t.” She didn’t comment on the lie. The city did not welcome them. It did not threaten them either. It simply adjusted. At first glance, nothing had changed. The street stretched ahead of them in the same long, quiet line. Asphalt reflected the glow of streetlights that never flickered. A lamppost stood across the road, paint chipped, casting a cone of pale light that didn’t quite reach the ground.

Cars remained suspended in unfinished turns, doors half-open, indicators blinking without sound, exhaust frozen mid-breath. Advertisements peeled from walls in a state of permanent almost-falling. Everything was exactly where it had been. And yet.

Kazu felt it before he could explain it. The lantern at his shoulder drifted closer. Not suddenly. Not aggressively. It shortened the distance with quiet certainty, like an animal that had decided it no longer needed permission to stand near him.

Its glow pressed against his side. Warm. Steady. Aware. His skin prickled. He took a step forward. The lantern followed. He slowed. It slowed. He stopped. It hovered there, inches from his arm, waiting. Kazu exhaled slowly. “Okay,” he muttered. “That’s new.”

Reina didn’t answer right away. She had noticed too. She didn’t react the way people usually did when something unsettled them. She didn’t tense or reach for her knife or scan the street for threats. She simply adjusted her pace by half a beat, falling slightly behind him instead of beside him. A small change. Intentional. Kazu felt it immediately.

“You’re doing that thing,” Kazu said. 

Reina didn’t look at him. Her eyes stayed on the street ahead, tracking the way the shadows aligned. “What thing.”

“The—” He stopped. The lantern edged closer, its light brushing his arm like a warning. “Never mind.”

Silence stretched.

“If you’re panicking,” Reina said eventually, “you’re hiding it well.” 

“That’s not comforting.” She exhaled through her nose. “Good. I wasn’t trying to comfort you.” The lantern drifted again, nudging closer as if pleased. Kazu swallowed. “The lantern’s close.”

“I know,” Reina replied. No explanation. No reassurance. That was worse. They started walking. The shadows behaved differently out here. Earlier, they had sprawled wherever light failed to reach, lazy and inconsistent. Now they aligned. Corners sharpened. Lines straightened. Darkness pooled where it made sense, not where it happened to exist.

Even the long shadows cast by streetlights leaned the same way. Toward him. Kazu forced himself to keep breathing normally. “No monsters,” he said under his breath. Reina’s gaze flicked to a shop window as they passed. Their reflection stared back — two figures slightly out of sync with the street around them, edges just a fraction too sharp.

“That’s not comfort,” Reina said.

“No,” Kazu agreed. Their footsteps echoed. Not louder. Later. Each step followed by its own sound a fraction of a second after it should have arrived, like the city needed time to decide whether it wanted to acknowledge them.

After nearly a minute, Reina spoke again.

“Which way.” It wasn’t phrased like a question. It wasn’t advice either. It was an offering.

Kazu slowed as the street split ahead of them. To the left, a narrow road dipped between two buildings that leaned toward each other like conspirators. Shadows piled where the walls drew close. Parked cars cluttered the sides, windows dark and opaque. A vending machine lay on its side near the entrance, half-crushed, half-waiting.

To the right, the road widened. Streetlights stood evenly spaced. Buildings pulled back, offering clean sightlines and fewer blind spots. Safer. The lanterns responded before he did. They drifted toward the narrow street. Subtle. Almost hesitant. Kazu frowned.

“You’re seeing that, right?” Kazu asked, nodding toward the lanterns. “Yes.”

“And you’re just… not going to say anything?” Reina stopped walking. Not fully — just enough to force him to stop too. “I already asked you which way.” He frowned. “Left looks bad.” 

“Explain.” 

“Too tight. Too many blind spots.”

“And the right?”

Kazu hesitated. “Open. Light. If something comes, we’ll see it.” 

A beat. 

“I don’t like not seeing things,” he added. Reina watched him like she was memorizing the answer, not judging it. “Then lead,” she said. He chose right. The moment they turned, the air thickened. Not like fog. Not like humidity. Like pressure. Sound bent first. Their footsteps echoed even later now. 

Kazu’s breathing sounded closer to his ears than it should have, as if his lungs were standing too near him. Somewhere above, metal creaked, stretched, then snapped back into silence. His ears rang softly.

He shook his head. “Do you hear that?”

“Yes,” Reina said. “Don’t focus on it.”

The lantern flickered. Not dimmer. Sharper. “You feel that?” Kazu asked. Reina walked two more steps before answering. “Yes,” she said. “Keep moving.” They did. The street stretched. The intersection ahead refused to arrive. Buildings began to repeat themselves in small, unsettling ways. Identical windows. The same graffiti tag scrawled in the same careless hand. A torn poster showing the same fragment of a woman’s face. Kazu slowed.

“We passed that already,” he said. “No,” Reina replied. She didn’t sound convinced. Thinking harder didn’t help. It made it worse. Pressure bloomed behind Kazu’s eyes — dull, compressive, tightening every time he tried to remember why this street felt wrong. Every time he tried to force clarity, the pressure answered back.

The lantern pulsed. His stomach twisted. “I think—” he started. Pain spiked. White. Sudden. He staggered. Reina stopped instantly. The world lurched. Time didn’t jump forward. It slid sideways. Sound dropped out entirely for half a heartbeat. Then a voice reached them. Quiet. Familiar.

“You should have said something.” 

Kazu stopped breathing. The voice didn’t come from anywhere. It arrived. “You always do that.” His heart kicked hard enough to hurt. “Kazu.” Reina’s hand was already on his wrist. She didn’t yank him — she repositioned him, forcing his body to face the narrow street. The pressure shattered. Sound rushed back all at once.

The ringing stopped. The lantern dimmed. Kazu stumbled and caught himself against a lamppost, breath ragged. Reina released him.

“You can’t keep guessing forever,” she said. No anger. No judgment. Just fact. The words hurt more than the pressure ever had. “What was that?” Kazu asked, voice unsteady. Reina looked down the narrow street. The lanterns hovered there now, obedient again. “This place doesn’t like empty spaces,” she said. “If you don’t fill them, it will.”

“With what?” Kazu asked. She met his eyes. “Whatever it wants.” They turned back. The narrow street released them without warning. One step they were between buildings. The next, the space opened. Kazu slowed before he understood why.

The plaza felt wrong the moment Kazu stepped into it. Not dangerous. Final. The clock tower loomed at the center, its hands frozen at 3:59 — close enough to change, close enough to promise it wouldn’t. The lanterns stopped at the edge. Every single one. Reina noticed instantly. “…They won’t follow.” Kazu took another step. The air vanished. His breath fogged — then didn’t. Something stood beneath the clock. 

A red umbrella. Open. Waiting. 

Kazu didn’t need to see the man’s face to know who it was. Recognition hit first. Then weight.

“You,” Kazu said, and the word sounded like it had been dragged out of him.

The man smiled. Not cruel. Not kind. Tired — in the way only repetition could make someone tired. “So,” he said, voice smooth with inevitability, “you do remember something.”

Reina shifted her stance. Steel whispered free.

“Who are you?”

The man’s eyes flicked to her. Just once. The space around them tightened. Reina’s breath caught, involuntary.

“Not your problem.” His attention returned to Kazu like nothing else existed. 

“You took longer this time.”

Kazu swallowed. “This isn’t the first.”

A pause.

“That depends on how honest you’re being.”

“You led me here,” Kazu said. “At the crossing.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

 He tapped the umbrella lightly against the stone. Once. 

Because you wouldn’t have listened to yourself. The words didn’t echo. They settled. The clock tower creaked. 

Reina lunged. Her knife stopped an inch from his throat. The air itself refused her.

“That won’t work,” he said gently, not even looking at the blade.

Kazu’s lantern screamed. Not light. Sound. Awareness ripped through the plaza. The man finally stepped forward. The pressure crushed down.

“Come on,” he said softly. “Let’s see what you chose this time.”

The world folded. And the fight began.