CRIMSON SHIFT

C H A P T E R O N E

CRIMSON SHIFT

✦

Click. Click. Clack.

3:47 AM.

Ken Walker stared at the “VICTORY” screen with the dead-eyed satisfaction of a man who had won a war and lost a war and honestly couldn’t tell the difference anymore.

Another night gone, he thought. Worth it.

...Was it worth it?

Yeah. It was worth it.

He was already regretting it.

“KEN. WAKE. UP.”

The curtains ripped open like the world had personally declared war on him. Sunlight hit Ken’s face like a divine judgment.

“AGH—MY EYES—THE BURNING—”

“It’s called daylight, Shadow. You might’ve heard of it. Big yellow thing. Kills vampires and gamers.”

Ken peeled one eye open. Tsubasa stood at the window, hands on hips, silver hair catching the light like he’d been personally lit by a production crew.

“...It’s just you,” Ken sighed, deflating instantly. “Go away.”

“Rude! I made breakfast!”

“You made toast.”

“I buttered it. That’s basically cooking.”

Ken groaned and slumped forward onto his keyboard. Living with Tsubasa since they were kids meant exactly one thing: there was no door in this house that was safe from him.

“You’re one to talk about sleep, anyway,” Ken mumbled into his desk. “Weren’t you on voice chat with me till 2 AM?”

“...No.”

“I could hear you rage-quitting.”

“That wasn’t me.”

“You screamed ‘THIS GAME IS RIGGED’ so loud a dog barked.”

“That was a different Tsubasa.”

“There is one of you.”

“Exactly. Case closed.” Tsubasa clapped his hands once, business mode fully activated. “Ten minutes. Uniform. Door. Go, go, GO.”

“You’re not my brother, you’re a prison warden—”

“I’m both, now MOVE.”

“Oh—Sensei said there’s an open spot on the mat after school, if you want to drop by.”

“Nah. Raid tonight.” It came out fast—too fast, like the answer had been loaded before Tsubasa even finished asking. Ken didn’t know why. He just always said no.

“You always say that.”

“Because it’s always true.”

Tsubasa shrugged, used to it by now. “Drawing club, then?”

“Drawing club, then.”

Fifteen minutes later, Ken existed on the sidewalk in a state best described as “technically alive.”

Why do I even go outside, he thought, dragging his feet. Nothing good ever—

SPLASH.

A sedan blew through a puddle and baptized him from the waist down in cold gutter water.

“...Classic.”

His phone slipped from his soaked fingers. Bounced twice. Vanished down a storm drain with a soft, mocking plink.

Ken stared into the drain for a long moment.

“You know,” he said calmly, “I used to think the universe was neutral. Just physics. No malice.” He stood, wringing out his sleeve. “I don’t think that anymore.”

“Wow,” Tsubasa said, jogging up beside him, “you attract disaster like it’s a hobby.”

“It IS my hobby. It’s the only one I’m consistent at.”

The bus pulled away as they reached the stop.

Neither of them said anything. They just started walking.

❖ ❖ ❖

Class 2-B. Thirty minutes late. Damp. Smelling faintly of drain water and regret.

“Yo, Walker!” Tsubasa announced to the whole room, because subtlety wasn’t in his vocabulary. “You look like you lost to the puddle!”

“I did lose to the puddle.”

Tsubasa leaned in, voice dropping to a conspirator’s whisper. “So... about last night’s raid, ShadowBlade—”

Ken froze. “How do you know that name.”

“Because I’m Vortex, genius.”

Silence.

“...No.”

“YES.”

“You’re telling me,” Ken said slowly, “that I have been in a voice call insulting your K/D ratio for TWO YEARS, and you live in the SAME HOUSE as me?!”

“I wanted it to be a surprise!”

“You knew?! This whole time?!”

“I recognized your keyboard sounds through the wall, dumbass, you type like you’re mad at it.”

Ken put his head down on the desk. “I hate it here.”

“You love it here.”

“...I tolerate it here.”

“Close enough!”

The teacher clapped for attention. “Settle down—we’ve got a transfer joining us today.”

A girl stepped in. Silver hair, calm eyes, unreadable little smile.

Ken’s brain briefly stopped functioning, then rebooted into pure confusion. Do I... know her?

No. Never seen her in my life.

(He had, in fact, seen her plenty. His brain had simply filed those five-year-old memories under “does not exist.”)

“This is Momo,” the teacher said. “Momo, you’re seated beside Ken Walker.”

Momo’s eyes landed on Ken.

Something flickered behind them—recognition, delight, and the unmistakable spark of a plan already forming.

He doesn’t remember me, she thought, sliding into her seat with the serenity of a predator.

Perfect.

“Nice to meet you,” she said sweetly, holding out a hand. “I’m Momo.”

“Ken,” he said. “Sorry, do I know you from somew—”

“Nope!” she said instantly, way too fast. “Never met! Complete strangers! First time ever!”

“...Okay?”

Across the room, Tsubasa’s head snapped up like a meerkat sensing danger. “Wait—Ken, actually, funny story, you two have actually already—”

“OH LOOK, THE BELL!” Momo said loudly, over him.

There was no bell.

“That definitely wasn’t a bell,” Ken said.

“Weird acoustics in this room,” Momo said, smiling with the full confidence of someone who had planned this exact moment for years.

❖ ❖ ❖

Lunch. Courtyard. Cherry tree.

“So,” Momo said, setting a flawless bento in front of Ken, “you seem like the type who forgets to eat breakfast.”

“I am extremely that type.”

“I made extra.” She slid a piece of tamagoyaki onto his tray with calm precision. “Eat.”

Her fingers brushed his for half a second—barely anything at all—and something in Ken’s chest went cold and quiet, like a held breath. Gone before he could name it.

“...You okay?” Momo asked, tilting her head.

“Yeah. Fine.” He wasn’t sure why he’d said that.

“...Thanks?”

Tsubasa, mid-apple-bite, mumbled, “Ken, seriously, you should know that Momo’s actually—”

“Tsubasa, isn’t that a BIRD,” Momo said, pointing at absolutely nothing.

Tsubasa turned to look. There was no bird. “...Where—”

“Gone now. Shame.” Momo smiled into her rice.

Ken glanced between them. “Is this a sibling thing? Because it feels unhinged.”

“You have NO idea,” Tsubasa said darkly.

Momo just smiled wider. Every single time he almost tells you, little brother. Every single time.

She wasn’t ready to hand Ken the answer yet. Not until he earned remembering her.

Rumble.

Just then the wind stopped. The birds fled the tree all at once, like they’d all received the exact same bad news.

“...Earthquake?” Tsubasa said, already standing.

“No.” Ken’s stomach dropped somewhere cold and old and familiar. “Look up.”

Space split down the middle of the courtyard with a sound like a hornet’s nest screaming. A jagged red rift tore open in midair.

Pop.

A small green creature tumbled out, blinking huge golden eyes, floppy ears twitching.

“Goo?”

“AWWW,” half the courtyard said in unison.

“It’s so CUTE—”

More small, green creatures tumbled out of the rift—five, ten, twenty of them. They stumbled around like clumsy toddlers on the grass, tilting their heads innocently. Several students actually took steps forward, smiling and reaching out hands to pet them.

Ken didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

Something in his chest was screaming.

You’ve seen this before, some old, buried part of him whispered. You’ve seen exactly this before.

“Wait...” Tsubasa frowned, his body tensing up. “Are those... goblins?”

“They look completely harmless,” Momo murmured, leaning slightly closer to Ken’s shoulder as she watched them. “They’re kind of adorable...”

Ken stared at the green creatures. Inside his chest, every single alarm bell from his instincts was screaming at maximum volume.

Across the lawn, one of the “cute” little goblins tilted its head at a girl bending down to offer it a piece of sandwich.

The creature opened its tiny mouth in what looked like a wide, cute yawn—revealing three rows of jagged, needle-sharp, pitch-black teeth dripping with hissing, acidic slime.

Ken’s eyes widened in sheer, unadulterated horror.

“GET BACK!” Ken roared at the top of his lungs, slamming his hand down, grabbing Momo’s wrist, and violently yanking her behind his back. “THEY AREN’T CUTE!”