Shoji Akiyama didn't mind being alone.
It was easier that way—quiet, predictable. No forced conversations, no awkward silences filled with half-hearted laughs. Just the hum of his music through worn headphones and the dull rhythm of everyday life.
Transferring to Minazuki—a quiet little town tucked between mountains and fog—wasn't his choice, but he didn't argue. A clean slate. New school. New faces. Same Shoji.
Minazuki High was smaller than his old school. The hallways were lined with faded posters and the scent of old books. Teachers called roll halfheartedly. Students grouped off quickly, not unkind, but uninterested.
Shoji never really tried to fit in.
He sat near the back in most classes, headphones around his neck, eyes half-lidded as he stared out the window. His uniform was always neat, his attendance perfect, his answers correct. And yet, he felt invisible.
At lunch, he sat on the rooftop, chewing quietly while the wind tugged at his dark blue hair. Sometimes he'd scroll through old texts, messages long untouched, names that still hurt to see.
One name in particular.
He kept telling himself he'd moved on.
---
That night, the rain came in soft.
Shoji had just finished unpacking some boxes in his room when he realized he'd left his Literature notebook at school—again. He sighed and stared at the ceiling, debating if it was worth the trouble. But Ms. Kadowaki was notorious for docked points, and Shoji didn't like attention.
So, he threw on his jacket, slipped on his shoes, and stepped into the night.
The town was quiet at this hour. Just the distant hum of vending machines and the occasional car passing by. He biked through narrow streets slick with rain, the tires splashing against puddles.
The school gates were closed, but not locked. Shoji knew the side path that led through the maintenance shed—one of the perks of arriving early every day.
Inside, the building was pitch-black except for emergency lights.
He moved fast, not wanting to waste time. His footsteps echoed in the empty halls as he reached his classroom, grabbing the notebook from his desk.
As he turned to leave, the old wall clock in the hallway struck midnight.
Shoji paused.
And then came the sound—a deep, metallic boom echoing from outside, like the tolling of a massive bell. The windows trembled. The air grew cold.
His heart skipped a beat.
He ran to the back exit, stepping out into the rain.
That's when he saw it.
A massive concrete door stood behind the school building, where nothing had been before. It was carved into the hill itself, as if it had always been there, its surface marked with strange, shifting symbols.
Shoji approached cautiously. His fingers brushed the cold surface of the door.
It opened on its own, and without warning—he was pulled inside.
---
The world blurred.
Shoji hit the ground hard, coughing as sand filled his mouth and nose. He sat up, dazed.
It was a desert—vast, endless, bathed in a dusky blue light. The sky above was dark and cloudless, not a single star in sight. All around him were doors, standing alone on the sand, each one humming with a strange energy.
"What the hell is this place…?" he whispered.
Before he could get up, something moved nearby.
A voice—light, slightly amused. "You're not supposed to be here, you know."
Shoji turned sharply.
A strange fox-like creature stood a few feet away. Its fur shimmered faintly in the dim light, and a stylized red-and-white mask covered its face. It wore a small pouch around its side, and it moved on two legs like a person.
Shoji backed up instinctively. "What… are you?"
The fox tilted its head. "That's what I should be asking you. How did a human like you get into the Desert of Regrets?"
Shoji blinked. "Desert of what?"
The creature sighed. "Figures. Look, kid, you shouldn't be here. This place only appears at night to those who—" It stopped suddenly, ears perking. "Wait…"
From somewhere deeper in the desert, a voice echoed.
"Shoji…"
Shoji turned toward the sound. It wasn't just a voice—it was familiar, painfully so.
He stepped forward, ignoring the fox.
"Wait—hey!" the creature barked. "That door isn't like the others! It's not stable!"
But Shoji had already reached it. The door was tall, wooden, worn by time. As he touched the handle, he felt something twist in his chest.
"You don't want to go in there," the fox warned.
Shoji hesitated… then turned the knob.
---
The air inside was colder.
He stood in a twisted version of his middle school, empty and broken. Desks floated in midair. Hallways stretched endlessly. The voice was clearer now, pulling him deeper.
"Shoji…"
He walked forward, unsure why. The fox followed behind him reluctantly, tail twitching.
And then—he saw him.
A silhouette stood ahead, hunched in the dim corridor. It turned slowly.
It was his friend. Or at least, something that looked like him—eyes hollow, skin flickering like static, mouth curled into a tired smile.
"You weren't there," the shadow said. "You knew. You saw. But you still did nothing."
Shoji froze, chest tightening.
"I tried to help—" he whispered.
"You watched them tear me down. You watched me break. And you said nothing."
Shoji fell to his knees.
"I'm sorry… I should've… I didn't know it was that bad…"
The figure stepped forward.
"You let me die."
Shoji shut his eyes tight. The words cut deeper than any blade. But somewhere in that crushing guilt… something clicked.
He remembered.
He remembered reaching out. He remembered begging teachers, talking to counselors, even staying by his friend's side until the very end. He didn't abandon him—he just couldn't save him.
And this voice… wasn't him.
Shoji's eyes opened.
"No," he said quietly. "You're not real. You're not him."
The shadow snarled.
"You're just… the part of me that wants me to suffer forever."
And then, a voice echoed in his head—deep and resonant.
"Are you certain? Will you carry this regret and move forward?"
A ring appeared on Shoji's finger—black metal, with a glowing dark blue stone.
"Then face your truth. I am thou… thou art I."
Shoji stood.
He gripped the ring, pulled it from his finger, and threw it to the ground.
"I heard you! Come, CHARRON!!"
The ground split. From the sand and shadow rose a cloaked figure—tall, draped in flowing robes. A glowing oar was strapped across his back, and faint blue flames flickered beneath his hood.
Charon stepped forward, calm and imposing.
"I am Charon. The ferryman who guides the souls across the river of sorrow."
He looked at Shoji, his voice echoing like water against stone.
"You have chosen to confront what lies within. You are not lost… and I am yours to command."
Shoji clenched his fists. The weight on his chest lightened, just a bit.
Behind him, the fox stared.
"Well," it said, tail flicking, "looks like I won't be getting rid of you that easily."