2 - Chapter 1 - The Traveler Part 2

Myoyou stiffened as his gaze fell upon the mysterious man. His mind raced, desperately grasping at any normal explanation, but each frantic excuse collapsed under the sheer impossibility of what he was looking at.

The man's face—ghostly pale, contorted in absolute agony, and smeared with dark streaks of blood—sent a violent jolt of nausea straight to Myoyou's stomach. The heavy, metallic stench of iron flooded his senses, so thick it felt like he was breathing in rust.

Then he noticed the wound.

A jagged, horrific tear ripped open the man’s side, the flesh weeping and parted so wide it exposed things Myoyou had only ever seen in the cold pages of biology textbooks. It was a grotesque, unnatural ruin, looking less like a clean strike from a blade and more like something vicious had tried to hollow him out.

Myoyou stumbled back, nearly losing his balance on the pavement. His heartbeat pounded in his ears as his body refused to obey his frantic urgings to move.

"Nope. Nope. What the hell is this!?"

He blinked hard several times.

This has to be a dream.

But the body remained there.

Broken. Bleeding. Real.

His breathing grew uneven as thoughts crashed violently through his mind.

Should I call for help?

What would I even say?

A guy just flew out of a glowing purple hole in space?

If I call 911, I'll sound insane.

“H-Hey, old man, can you move?” he asked shakily as he crouched beside him. “Wait—I’ll bring you to my house. What the hell happened to you...?”

The old man didn't respond. He had already lost consciousness.

Myoyou hesitated for only a second before slipping an arm beneath the man's shoulder and forcing him upright. The weight nearly dragged him down immediately. Blood dripped steadily from the man's wounds, leaving dark streaks across the pavement as Myoyou struggled to haul him toward the house.

His pulse hammered violently in his ears.

Should I wake Mom and Dad?

His grip tightened around the man's arm.

No...

They'd panic. They'd call the police. How am I supposed to explain any of this?

A portal? A man who fell out of thin air?

They'd think I'd gone insane.

His gaze dropped to the old man's wounds. Blood continued to seep through the torn fabric.

And by the time anyone believed me... he'd already be dead.

This guy's dying... but what can I even do to help him?

Step by step, he hauled the old man through the front door. He headed straight for the stairs, his shoulders burning as that dead weight absolutely crushed him. The wood groaned under the strain. They climbed, with each step felt twice as heavy as the last. Warm blood kept smearing across Myoyou's hands—there was just no avoiding it, and the slick, sticky heat of it against his skin was revolting.

His stomach churned.

But he didn't stop.

The upstairs hallway felt entirely too narrow now, almost suffocating, as he stumbled toward his bedroom trying desperately to stay quiet. Every single ragged breath he took sounded loud enough to wake the dead.

Finally, after what felt like an absolute eternity, he kicked open the bedroom door.

Carefully, he managed to lower the old man onto the mattress.

The bed sank under the dead weight. Right away, blood started seeping into the fabric, blossoming outward in ugly, dark crimson stains. Myoyou stumbled back a few steps. He stood there, chest heaving, just staring at the absolute nightmare now lying right in the middle of his room.

Then, a faint, wet rasp cut through the quiet as the mysterious person tried to speak.

His eyelids trembled as he struggled to open them, but they only flickered weakly before falling shut again.

"...Pockets..."

Myoyou blinked.

"What?"

"...Pockets... hurry... inject..."

Still struggling to process the absolute chaos unfolding right in front of him, Myoyou quickly reached into the man's tattered lab coat. His fingers brushed against something freezing cold and metallic. He locked his grip around it.

He pulled out a strange syringe. It was completely unlike anything he’d ever seen. The polished metal frame was etched with intricate geometric patterns—lines almost too precise to be handcrafted—while faint violet lines ran beneath the surface like glowing veins. Suspended inside was a luminous purple liquid. It shimmered unnaturally with every single slight movement.

"You want me to inject this?"

The old man gave the faintest nod.

Myoyou swallowed hard.

Then, after only a brief hesitation, he pressed the syringe against the man's arm and pushed the plunger down.

The reaction was immediate. The old man's body convulsed violently against the bed.

He screamed.

A raw, guttural cry tore from his throat, so agonizing that it made Myoyou instinctively recoil backward.

“Hey—what happened?! What’s going on?!” Myoyou yelled.

His eyes widened in disbelief as the man's wounds began healing before him. Not completely, but enough to stop the bleeding. Torn flesh slowly pulled itself back together, muscles knitting themselves back into place while the steady flow of blood gradually slowed to a stop.

“What... the hell did I just witness?” Myoyou whispered, his hands trembling violently. His chest felt tight enough to burst, his heartbeat pounding against his ribs.

How is that even possible...?

His life-threatening injuries just... healed.

Does that mean I don't have to do anything anymore...?

He stared at the old man as the glow gradually faded beneath his skin, and the room slowly fell still once more.

"...He's asleep?" Myoyou muttered shakily. "Or... maybe he's dead."

He swallowed.

"...I really hope not."

Everything had happened too suddenly. His thoughts could barely keep up with reality anymore.

I don't even know what's going on...

His eyes drifted toward the bedroom door.

Somehow... Mom and Dad are still asleep.

After all that screaming... I hope they stay that way.

Breathing hard, he slumped against the wall right beside the bed. He dragged a hand through his hair, desperately trying to get a grip on himself. The only sounds left in the room were the faint hum of the neighborhood outside and the slow, steady breathing of a man who had basically just fallen out of another world.

Myoyou looked back toward him.

The wounds had stopped bleeding entirely. The stranger lying across his mattress looked completely at peace now—which was bizarre, considering the broken body that had slammed into the pavement only minutes earlier.He slowly let out a long breath before leaning farther back against the wall.

Looks like I don't have to tend to him anymore...

He's asleep now.

Exhaustion settled into his bones all at once. Every muscle in his body suddenly felt heavy. Even so, his eyes remained fixed on the stranger's steady breathing as silence settled over the room once more. Relief and unease mixed together into a dull ache inside his chest.

I have so many questions...

But they can wait until he wakes up.

Eventually, Myoyou pulled the chair beside the bed a little closer and sank into it, never taking his eyes off the unconscious man. His thoughts continued racing long after his body began to relax, but little by little, exhaustion won.

His head slowly drooped against the backrest.

Moonlight filtered gently through the half-open window, casting a pale glow across the quiet room as sleep finally claimed him.

***

A sharp knock suddenly echoed from the other side of the bedroom door.

"Myoyou! It's already nine in the morning! Aren't you going to eat your breakfast?" his mother called.

Myoyou jolted awake so fast he nearly toppled right out of the chair. A sharp pain shot straight through his neck from sleeping upright, and he winced, rubbing at the stiffness with one hand. He blinked hard, waiting for the blurriness to clear from his eyes.

Then he froze.

The old man was awake.

He was sitting upright against the pillows, his back resting lightly against the headboard. His face was calm, almost entirely unreadable, but his eyes were sharp. Far too sharp. He just watched Myoyou, his gaze so unsettlingly steady that it felt like every single breath was being analyzed."...You're awake," Myoyou muttered cautiously, unable to hide the confusion in his voice as their eyes met.

The old man didn't answer. He merely tilted his head ever so slightly, studying him in silence.

"Myoyou!" his mother called again, louder this time.

"Y-Yeah! Coming!" he shouted back before immediately turning toward the old man. Lowering his voice, he whispered urgently,

"Don't move. Don't talk. And... please don't do anything weird."

The old man blinked once.

He looked deeply unimpressed.

Trying his best to act normal, Myoyou slipped out of the room, quietly closed the door behind him, and hurried downstairs.

The warm smell of eggs and toasted bread greeted him the moment he entered the dining area, momentarily pushing the madness of the previous night to the back of his mind. Morning sunlight streamed through the windows, filling the house with a comforting glow as the television murmured softly from the living room.

His parents were already sitting together on the sofa. His mother was watching television while his father casually scrolled through something on his phone.

"Morning," Myoyou said, scratching the back of his neck as he walked over to the dining table.

His mother glanced over her shoulder.

"Morning, sleepyhead. Your food's on the table—it's gone cold, though."

From beside her, his father looked up from his phone.

"Stayed up reading again?"

Myoyou sat down with a sheepish shrug. "...Guilty."

His mother rolled her eyes, though the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth betrayed her amusement.

"One of these days you're going to burn your eyes out before you even turn twenty."

"Worth it," Myoyou replied with a grin before taking his first bite.

His father chuckled. "At least he's staying home reading instead of sneaking out to parties like I used to."

His mother shot him a look. "Don't give him any ideas."

"I heard that," Myoyou muttered between bites.

"You were supposed to," his father replied without missing a beat.

The three of them laughed quietly together, the warmth of the moment settling naturally throughout the room. For a few brief seconds, everything felt normal again.

Then—

"Oh, by the way," his mother said casually, her eyes still on the television, "there were faint red marks on the floor this morning. They led all the way to your room."

Myoyou froze mid-bite.

The blood trail.

"Uh... paint," he said quickly. "I spilled some last night while working on that project I told you about. I totally forgot about it until this morning, so I cleaned it up in a hurry. I guess I missed a few spots."

His mother glanced at him, narrowing her eyes slightly.

"Paint, huh?"

"Yeah." He forced out an awkward laugh. "A full-on abstract disaster."

His father let out a quiet chuckle from the living room without looking up from the article on his phone.

"Heh. That would explain the crime scene out front... and your red-painted hands."

Red-painted hands?

Myoyou's eyes widened as he instinctively lowered his gaze to his hands.

Not paint.

Blood.

His breath caught, and his stomach twisted violently.

"Just make sure you clean it properly later," his mother said with a tired smile. "Before it stains the floor permanently."

"Got it," Myoyou answered immediately, forcing himself to sound calm. "And... thanks for breakfast."

He quickly finished the last few bites of his breakfast before deciding to leave the rest for the stranger upstairs. After washing his hands as thoroughly as he could, making sure every trace of dried blood was gone, he opened the refrigerator and searched for something else to add to the meal. After a moment of consideration, he settled on a cup of yogurt and a handful of grapes.

I don't think strangers are picky enough to complain when they're being offered food.

He glanced around to make sure neither of his parents was watching before quietly taking the yogurt and grapes from the refrigerator. He added them to the same plate, exchanged the used utensils for a clean fork and spoon, then hurried back upstairs carrying the meal.

The moment his bedroom door clicked shut behind him, he let out a quiet groan beneath his breath.

"...Paint. Genius."

The old man remained exactly where Myoyou had left him, sitting upright against the pillows with the same calm, unreadable expression.

In the daylight, Myoyou found himself noticing details he'd completely missed the night before. The man's long white hair had been tied neatly into a man bun, something that had been impossible to notice in the darkness while he was frantically trying to save his life.

Huh... I didn't even realize.

Myoyou hesitated for a second before awkwardly holding out the plate.

"Uhh... erm..." He awkwardly held the plate out toward him. "You want some food? Here."

Why am I feeding this stranger like he's some kind of guest? Is this normal behavior? No. Definitely not... but he looks like he needs it.

The old man accepted the plate carefully. His hands were still visibly trembling as he rested it on his lap before speaking, his voice rough but steady.

"Thank you."

Myoyou pulled the nearby chair closer—the same one he'd fallen asleep in the night before—and sat across from him.

"I hope you're doing better now," he said. "Considering... you know... the life-threatening injuries you had yesterday."

"I'm fine." The old man lowered his gaze briefly to the food before looking back at him. "I really... and I mean really, appreciate what you've done for me."

Myoyou blinked several times, staring at the man in front of him.

"...You're actually real?"

The old man stared back at him.

"Why is that your first response?" he muttered. "Of course I am."

"Excuse me for assuming," Myoyou shot back. "You were half-dead last night, a guy literally fell out of a glowing portal, and a bunch of other weird things happened at the same time. My brain's still trying to process all of it."

The old man gave him a long, tired look before lowering his eyes to the food resting on his lap.

Myoyou let out a slow breath and rubbed his temples.

"I have so many questions... Umm—okay, first things first." Myoyou leaned forward slightly, unable to hide the excitement in his voice. "What was that thing last night? That purple thing that tore through space... was it a portal? And who even are you?"

He stopped himself, suddenly realizing how many questions he'd thrown out all at once.

"Oh—sorry." He let out an awkward laugh. "I got a little carried away." He straightened in his chair before adding, "I should probably introduce myself first. I'm Myoyou, by the way. Myoyou Yañez."

The old man took a slow bite of his food, chewing deliberately while his sharp eyes remained fixed on Myoyou the entire time. After swallowing, he leaned back slightly against the pillows and murmured something so quietly it was almost inaudible.

"Kai."

"Huh?"

"My name is Kai," he repeated, his voice calm and steady. "That's all I remember."

He paused for a moment before continuing.

"And to answer your question... yes. That was a portal."

A faint shadow crossed his expression.

"Beyond that, everything is... foggy." His gaze drifted briefly toward the floor. "I can't remember how I was injured. I don't know where I came from... or even how I got here." He gave a small shake of his head. "I can't even remember my last name."

He looked up from the plate, meeting Myoyou's eyes once again.

They had become noticeably sharper.

"I am also..." He paused.

"...a traveler."