"TOMORROW"

Sleep wouldn’t come.

Riku lay on his back in the darkness of his room, staring at the ceiling while thin strips of orange and blue city light leaked through the curtains. Somewhere outside, distant sirens echoed briefly through the Common Zone before fading back into the endless hum of the district.

His eyes drifted toward the chair beside his desk.

Toward the phone.

The sleek black device sat silently in the shadows. Too expensive for this apartment. Too clean. Too out of place.

Tomorrow.

The word kept circling in his head no matter how hard he tried to push it away.

Crystal Human.

Rogue.

Captured.

Experimented on.

Riku exhaled sharply through his nose and rolled onto his side, squeezing his eyes shut.

Didn’t help.

Every time he tried to sleep, he saw Fuku’s calm expression again. Heard the quiet certainty in his voice.

You can’t go back to your old life anymore.

His chest tightened slightly.

With a quiet groan, Riku pushed himself upright and sat at the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees.

The apartment was silent now.

His mother had gone to sleep hours ago.

For a while, he just sat there listening to the stillness.

Then he stood and wandered toward the window.

The Common Zone stretched endlessly beyond the cracked glass—crowded buildings stacked tightly together beneath flickering signs and broken streetlights. Tiny figures still moved through the streets below despite the late hour.

Normal people.

Or at least people pretending to be normal.

Riku rested his forehead lightly against the cool glass.

Tomorrow he would officially step into the world he’d only ever seen through broadcasts and rumors.

The world of SACH.

The world of Zones.

Of monsters that tore armored vehicles apart like paper.

His fingers tightened slightly against the window frame.

And somehow, the thing bothering him most wasn’t even the danger.

It was his mother’s smile.

That relieved look on her face after she finally accepted the offer.

The guilt disappearing from her shoulders little by little.

Riku closed his eyes briefly.

He hated lying to her.

Even if it was for her sake.

His gaze drifted toward the kitchen doorway.

Toward the place where she’d laughed earlier.

And before he realized it, the memory pulled him back.

Lily listened quietly, and Riku watched her expression carefully. He could see it happening almost immediately—the moment hope collided with guilt.

“That’s…” Lily paused, choosing her words carefully. “That’s very kind of you to think of Riku. But I appreciate it. He doesn’t need to do this. I can take care of us. There’s no need for him to go out of his way like this.”

She said it gently, but firmly. Pride wrapped neatly inside gratitude.

Riku stepped in before Fuku could respond, raising both hands quickly.

“Wait, come on, Mom, don’t ruin this for me,” he said, his tone half-playful, half-desperate.

Lily blinked, surprised by the sudden intensity.

“It… it was my choice, yeah?” Riku continued quickly. “You may not believe it, but…”

He paused dramatically, like he’d just stumbled onto some life-changing revelation.

“Yesterday at Kaito’s house, I realized something.”

He looked at Lily with exaggerated seriousness.

“There’s actually a lot of cool stuff in the world that aren’t books.”

Lily raised an eyebrow.

“And like…” Riku continued, slipping naturally into the exaggerated tone teenagers used right before making fun of their parents, “you’d probably say no if I asked for any of it anyway. Because they probably didn’t even HAVE those kinds of things back in the stone age when you were growing up.”

Lily stared at him for half a second before bursting into genuine laughter.

“I’m not that old, Riku!”

“Mom,” Riku said with perfect deadpan delivery, “you literally grew up without internet. That’s basically prehistoric.”

That only made her laugh harder.

“So anyway,” Riku continued, grinning now that he’d successfully derailed the guilt, “I figured I should just get a job myself. Then I can buy the cool stuff I want with my own money and you can’t stop me.”

He shrugged like this was the most logical conclusion imaginable.

Lily shook her head, still laughing softly under her breath.

Then she suddenly paused as she noticed Fuku quietly watching the two of them from across the room.

For a brief second, embarrassment crossed her face.

“Oh—sorry,” she said quickly, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “We got a little carried away.”

Riku immediately pointed at her.

“No, YOU got carried away.”

Lily lightly smacked the back of his head without even looking.

“Behave.”

Fuku blinked once.

Then, unexpectedly, the corner of his mouth lifted slightly.

“Not a problem,” he said calmly. “Please continue.”

But internally, something about the scene unsettled him in a way he hadn’t anticipated.

The easy teasing.

The casual warmth.

The way both of them instinctively softened difficult things with humor instead of directly acknowledging them.

It felt strangely… normal.

This is certainly an odd duo, Fuku thought quietly.

His gaze drifted briefly toward Lily’s tired smile, then toward Riku’s exaggerated annoyance.

Almost makes this feel wrong.

A subtle tension settled in his chest.

A lot harder than expected.

Then, just as quickly, the feeling disappeared beneath years of discipline.

Fuku straightened slightly and resumed speaking.

“To be clear, Mrs. Alison,” he said, his tone calm and professional, “this isn’t simple part-time work. It’s a specialized operational training program designed for young people interested in technical support and field coordination.”

Lily’s attention shifted back toward him immediately.

“The initial phase is a trainee stage,” Fuku continued. “We teach the fundamentals, evaluate discipline, adaptability, and overall compatibility with the work. Those who perform well can transition into internship positions with increased responsibility and compensation.”

He paused briefly.

“Riku would be starting as a trainee. No prior experience is required. All instruction is provided internally.”

Lily’s expression softened slightly. That sounded structured. Legitimate. Something with an actual future attached to it.

“The pay reflects the level of commitment expected from our trainees,” Fuku said. “And occasionally, trainees assist with emergency field deployments when clients require urgent technical support. It gives them practical experience under real conditions.”

He made it sound perfectly reasonable. Educational. Safe enough.

Lily nodded slowly.

“So it’s not just a job,” she said. “It’s… training.”

“Exactly,” Fuku replied. “By the end of the program, participants leave with practical experience and professional skills. We consider that worth investing in.”

Silence settled briefly over the room.

Lily glanced toward Riku again, and this time the guilt seemed lighter somehow. Less about survival. Less about money.

More like she was seeing a future for him.

An opportunity.

Something normal.

“Fine,” she said eventually, though she was still smiling faintly. “At least maybe this will finally teach you some responsibility. And maybe you’ll start taking school seriously too, because at the rate you’re going—”

“Oh come on,” Riku interrupted immediately, horrified. “Really? Why are you attacking me in front of guests?”

“You make it very easy.”

“This is oppression.”

“This is parenting.”

“Same thing.”

Lily laughed softly and shook her head.

“Always room for a backup plan,” she said.

Riku groaned dramatically.

“See? This is exactly why I need financial independence.”

Even Fuku almost looked amused at that.

He inclined his head slightly.

“He would begin tomorrow, if that’s acceptable.”

“That soon?” Lily asked.

“The current intake period ends this week,” Fuku explained smoothly. “We prefer not to delay promising candidates.”

Riku almost choked at the word promising.

Lily, meanwhile, looked oddly proud.

“I see,” she said softly.

Fuku stepped toward the door.

“I appreciate your time, Mrs. Alison,” he said. “And I apologize for not being able to stay longer. The food smelled exceptional.”

Lily’s expression warmed immediately.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “You’re welcome back anytime. Consider it an open invitation.”

Fuku bowed his head slightly. This time, the gesture felt almost sincere.

Then he left.

The memory faded slowly, leaving Riku standing alone by the window again.

The apartment was quiet now.

Somewhere deeper inside, he could hear faint movement from his mother’s room before silence settled once more.

Riku exhaled softly and glanced toward the chair beside his desk.

Toward the phone.

SACH.

The word still felt strange in his head.

The people on television always looked terrifying. Calm in the middle of disasters. Walking through burning streets and collapsing Zones wearing those masks like monsters pretending to be human.

And tomorrow he’d apparently be working with them.

Training with them.

Living around them.

Riku frowned slightly.

What were they actually like?

Were they all serious all the time? Did they just sit around talking about missions and monster attacks like some weird military cult? Did they even joke around? Sleep? Complain about work?

The image of a group of masked operatives silently sitting around a cafeteria somehow popped into his head.

Riku snorted quietly.

“Yeah… okay, that’s horrifying.”

For a moment, the tension loosened slightly.

Then the phone lit up.

Riku froze briefly before walking over and picking it up.

A single message sat on the screen.

SACH OPERATIONS NETWORK

TRAINEE STATUS — CONFIRMED

REPORTING TIME — 09:00

Transit instructions will be provided automatically tomorrow morning.

Please keep this device powered on and within reach at all times.

Riku stared at the screen for several quiet seconds.

“…That’s weirdly ominous.”

The message was polite.

Professional.

But somehow that almost made it worse.

A few seconds later, the screen dimmed.

Then the phone shut itself off completely.

Riku blinked.

“…Okay.”

He pressed the power button.

Nothing.

He frowned and held it down longer this time.

Still nothing.

“No way the battery died already.”

He turned the device over in his hand, staring at the blank black screen for a moment before lightly tapping it against his palm like that would somehow fix it.

Nothing.

The thing had switched itself off.

And apparently decided it was done talking to him.

“…That’s not creepy at all.”

Riku tossed the phone back onto the chair and stared at the ceiling for a while.

Tomorrow.

For the first time that night, it stopped feeling distant.

It felt real.

His expression softened slightly as he looked toward the closed hallway leading to his mother’s room.

At least she looked relieved now.

That thought alone made the knot in his chest loosen a little.

“…Well.”

He dropped backward onto the bed, one arm resting over his eyes.

“No point thinking about it now.”

Silence settled over the room again.

Then, quietly:

“Whatever happens… happens, I guess.”

He shifted beneath the blankets and let out a long breath.

“Better get some sleep while I still can.”

Outside, somewhere far beyond the Common Zone, a siren echoed faintly through the night.

And slowly, despite everything waiting for him tomorrow, Riku finally drifted to sleep.