If a ghoul tore me apart tonight, at least I wouldn't have to wake up tomorrow and see Kiari kissing Yamoto in the campus courtyard.
That thought stuck in my head as I walked alone across the elevated bridge on Setagaya Dori, the city spread out beneath me in its usual twitching glow—neon signs, the pulse of traffic lights, the hush of distant sirens. Tokyo didn't sleep, but parts of it died a little more every night. Especially lately.
They called it "Ghoul Season" on the news, like it was some trend. Like the body parts in back alleys were just a new kind of weather.
I kept walking.
My footsteps echoed on the concrete, rhythmic and hollow. I should've been afraid. Everyone was. Even the guys who talked tough in class wouldn't be caught out here alone after midnight. But I felt nothing. Not even the buzz of fear that usually hummed under the skin when you knew you were being stupid.
Just emptiness. Cold and quiet.
She left me twelve hours ago. I still hadn't blinked it all in.
Kiari—my best friend since we were five. My girlfriend since we were sixteen. She used to say we were inevitable, like gravity or the ocean tide.
Then she looked me in the eye and told me she'd been seeing Yamoto. For months.
She didn't cry. She didn't apologize. She said it like she was saying goodbye to a part of herself she didn't need anymore.
Like I was a dead limb.
Now I was here, under the quiet sprawl of the night sky, trying to feel something sharp enough to cut through the dull roar in my chest. The bridge was empty except for me and the wind, cold and thin as a razor.
I looked up.
The stars were surprisingly clear for the city. Not all of them—but enough to remind you they were still out there, watching.
Then I saw one move.
A single light, cutting across the black like a glowing needle pulling a thread behind it.
A shooting star.
I opened my mouth to say something—I don't know what. Maybe make a wish, like I used to when I was a kid. Like back when life still made sense.
But it didn't burn out.
It got brighter.
Closer.
Then the air cracked—literally cracked, like a whip of heat and pressure—and the thing smashed down on the street below the bridge, slamming into the pavement with a thundering boom that shook the railing under my hands.
I froze.
For three full seconds, the world was still. My breath fogged the cold air in front of me, heart lodged somewhere in my throat.
Then steam rose from the crater—dark, oily, thick.
I found myself moving toward it. My body acted before my brain caught up. Down the steps. Across the quiet road. Toward the glow.
There were no cars. No people. Not even cats lurking in the alley.
Just the thing.
The crater was shallow but sharp, like something punched through the surface of the world without asking.
In the middle: a small, jagged stone. Roughly the size of a human heart. It pulsed—barely noticeable—but enough that I could feel it, like the ground was breathing.
I crouched slowly.
Steam curled around my shoes, warm and reeking of something metallic—like blood and burnt plastic. The smell of machines and meat.
The meteorite cracked.
A line down the center, spreading with a soft pop like a wet blister splitting open.
And then… it came out.
A slick, glistening tendril of black, as fluid as ink but thicker, denser—like oil given muscle. Red veins shimmered inside it, pulsing faintly. It moved with intelligence. Not aimless twitching. No—it looked at me.
No eyes. No face.
But I knew.
It saw me.
Something brushed against the back of my mind. Not a voice. A pressure. A whisper made of weight, like a thought that didn't belong to me.
Mine.
I didn't move. Couldn't.
I reached out.
Fingers trembling. Entranced. My breath was shallow—like I was standing at the edge of something bottomless and warm.
Then—
Sirens. Faint but growing louder. Blue and red lights flickered against the buildings in the distance.
I blinked. Snapped out of it.
Turned my head toward the sound.
When I looked back—
Gone.
Not the crater, not the stone. But the thing inside it. The tendril. The whisper. The heartbeat.
Like it was never there.
But I could still feel it.
Inside me.
A chill swept up my spine, then dropped, pooling in my stomach.
They were coming. The CCG. Or maybe something worse.
If they found me here, alone with an alien rock and a look of madness in my eyes, they wouldn't ask questions. They'd quarantine me. Slice me open.
I ran.
My apartment was still dark when I slammed the door behind me, lungs on fire.
I locked it. Then again. Then the chain.
Leaning against the wall, I let the silence in.
"I'm okay," I whispered.
I wasn't.
I checked the mirror.
My pupils were blown wide, eyes bloodshot. Sweat plastered my hair to my face, even though the air inside was cold. I stripped off my hoodie, then my shirt.
No marks.
No burns.
No alien slime crawling up my neck.
But something felt off. Like my skin wasn't mine anymore. Like it had been replaced with something identical but thinner—cheaper.
I fell asleep on the floor without meaning to.
When I opened my eyes, the world was wrong.
The sky above me was the color of peach-tinted ice, clouds curling like soft smoke. I sat up and recognized the beach immediately.
Our beach.
Me and Kiari.
We used to come here in summer, skip school and waste the day throwing rocks, eating melon bread, tracing constellations in the water.
But now it felt… washed out. Dreamlike. Too still.
The tide rolled in, slow and quiet, like it was afraid to break the silence.
And there—further down the shore—I saw him.
A little boy.
Kneeling in the sand, small hands shaping something. A figure. A person, maybe. Faceless. The arms too long, the head lumpy. He pressed his palms into the wet sand and molded it with a focus that felt ancient.
His hair was black. Not just dark—unnatural. Like it absorbed light, drank it down.
I approached him. "Hey… are you okay? You lost?"
He didn't answer.
Just kept sculpting.
I knelt beside him.
"You waiting for someone?"
Still nothing.
Then he looked up.
And his eyes—
Deep red. Flat, endless. The kind of red that doesn't shine. The kind that eats light.
He nodded.
Something sharp twisted in my gut. I didn't know if it was fear or… recognition.
I forced a smile. "Want me to wait here with you? Until they come?"
He smiled.
And extended his hand.
I didn't want to take it.
But I did.
I woke up with a jolt.
And vomited.
Violent, heaving waves. My stomach convulsed, emptied itself into the sink until all that came out was acid and bile.
Then the hunger hit.
A gnawing emptiness that spread like fire through my chest. Not the kind of hunger you fix with a bowl of rice. This was deep, feral, clawing.
I tore into my fridge. Cold meat. Old curry. Raw eggs. Bread straight from the bag.
Nothing helped.
I kept eating until I collapsed in the middle of the kitchen, sweating and shaking, surrounded by empty cartons and broken chopsticks.
Only then did the hunger fade.
Slightly.
I didn't sleep again. Just sat on the floor, rocking lightly, heart pounding like it was trying to escape my chest.
I kept hearing that word.
Mine.
Morning felt wrong. Too bright. Too clean.
I showered. Got dressed like it was any other day. Pulled my hoodie on and tried to hold myself together.
Maybe it was a dream.
Maybe I was losing it.
Maybe this was what grief really looked like.
On my walk to Anteiku—the usual stop for coffee before classes—I saw the trucks.
Two massive, matte-black GGC carriers, no windows, just symbols stenciled in white: Containment Division.
They rumbled past me, heading in the direction of the crash site.
I turned the other way, fast. Didn't even think. Just moved.
By the time I reached Anteiku, my hands were steady again.
The shop smelled like roasted beans and old wood. A comfort scent. Familiar. Grounding.
But then—
Her.
Behind the counter, a girl I'd seen before. Blue-black hair, pale skin. She always kept her head down, eyes soft, movements delicate.
But now… she reeked.
Not in a bad way.
Not perfume.
Something beneath that.
Rich. Warm. Thick with life.
It hit the back of my throat like cinnamon and iron. I nearly staggered.
I watched her.
She didn't notice me.
But I couldn't stop noticing her.
And in that moment, I wasn't thinking about Kiari.
I wasn't thinking about Yamoto.
I was thinking about her neck. The pulse beneath it.
And how sweet she might taste.
Not just her.
That smell—the one that hit me like blood perfume wrapped in warmth—wasn't coming from just the girl.
It was everywhere.
Faint trails of it, crawling under the scent of roasted coffee and wood varnish. Each breath I took dragged it deeper into me, soaking into the back of my throat like smoke.
Something was seriously wrong with me.
This wasn't normal.
I tugged my hoodie up over my nose, trying to mask the smell. Useless. It soaked through the fabric like steam, worming into my lungs. My stomach twisted, not with pain but with craving. Hollow and pulsing.
She approached the counter.
"Have you decided on what you would like today?"
Same voice. Same calm. But this time, her face tilted up slightly—eyes flicking to mine with the softest twitch of hesitation. Like she'd seen something behind my eyes.
And just as quickly, it vanished. Her mask was back on.
I swallowed. My mouth was dry. "Uh… y-yeah. I'll just have the mocha macchiato."
She nodded and scribbled the order onto her notepad. "Got it. I'll be right back with your order."
Her voice was still soft. But this time, it felt like it scraped against something inside me. I watched her walk away, and the gnawing hunger clawed deeper, like it was aware she was leaving. Like it didn't want her to.
I gripped the table's edge until my knuckles turned pale.
Food. I need food. Something. Anything.
The urge was beyond hunger now. It was need. Instinctual. Chemical.
Then a voice called out from the other side of the café. "Miss, can you turn up the volume on that TV?"
I looked up, thankful for the distraction.
The television was mounted in the top corner of the room, muted until she grabbed the remote from behind the counter and turned it up.
The screen flashed with live footage—news drones circling a cordoned-off site in western Tokyo. The crater. The place I was standing next to not even twelve hours ago.
"Government officials grant full supervision over crash site to CCG Research Division. Civilian access prohibited until further notice."
My mouth went dry. The coffee shop, the smell, the people—all faded.
The words tunneled straight into my chest.
They're there now. They'll find something. They'll know someone was nearby. What if they check cameras? What if they trace footprints? DNA?
The panic came fast, cold and sharp.
I could feel it building in the base of my skull like a needle.
If they find out I was there, they'll come for me. Lock me up. Dissect me.
"Here's your macchiato, sir."
Her voice snapped me back into the present.
She stood beside the table, holding the cup carefully with both hands. I hadn't even seen her return. I blinked—too fast. My hands shook slightly as I reached out to take it.
"Oh… thanks."
She nodded but didn't leave right away. Her eyes lingered on me, just for a beat too long.
Then she turned and walked back behind the counter.
I took a sip.
Hot. Sweet. Bitter.
It hit my tongue and—
The hunger eased.
Just a little.
Not gone. But duller. Less like a screaming animal, more like a whisper now. It made no sense, but my body relaxed. My shoulders uncoiled. I could think again.
I stared into the cup like it held answers.
Why is coffee helping?
Something was wrong with me. Something more than trauma or stress. I'd woken up vomiting and ravenous. I'd eaten nearly everything in my apartment and still felt starved. But now—after one sip of this macchiato—I could breathe again.
Across the shop, I noticed them.
Her.
And the old man behind the bar.
Both watching me.
Not staring. Just… noticing.
Their expressions were neutral, unreadable—but I felt it. A tension, brief and fragile, like the air in a room just before someone yells.
They turned away at the same time, and the moment passed.
My gut twisted again.
This time, not hunger.
Instinct.
I grabbed my coffee and left.
The air outside was colder now, dry and full of car exhaust and autumn rot. I pulled my hoodie tight and headed toward campus, the macchiato warming my fingers even as my mind refused to settle.
None of this made sense.
What happened to me?
Was it that thing?
The meteor? The tendril? The dream?
My thoughts circled like flies around a corpse, never landing.
Then—
I heard it.
A voice.
Not loud.
Not even real.
Just a breath in the back of my mind.
More.
I stopped walking and turned around fast.
Nobody there.
Just the empty sidewalk behind me, lined with parked bikes and vending machines humming softly under flickering signs.
The street was dead quiet.
I stood there, gripping the coffee cup until the lid cracked under my fingers.
That whisper wasn't a thought.
It wasn't mine.
It was something else.
Something inside me.
Calling out.
"Anybody there?"
My voice barely rose above a whisper, but even so, it felt too loud in the stillness of the street.
The silence after was thick.
I turned slowly, scanning both ends of the road. Nothing. Just flickering streetlamps. Closed shutters. A vending machine buzzing near the corner, its LCD screen advertising grape soda to no one.
No footsteps. No shadows. Not even the echo of someone walking away.
Just me.
And the weight of something invisible pressing in behind my eyes.
I sighed, breath fogging the air. "I'm losing it…"
I turned back toward the road, ready to move.
Then it hit me.
A scream.
Not from outside—but inside.
MORE!!