In front of us, a throng of people was hurriedly clearing a path for something—or someone. It was unusual; bicycles weren't allowed on the walkway. A low murmur of confusion swept through the crowd. I squinted through the shifting bodies and spotted an old, skinny man sprinting straight toward me. His frail frame stood out in stark contrast to the chaos erupting around us.
He wore a filthy white vest and frayed gray shorts. His eyes were wide, bulging with a frantic, almost inhuman energy—like he was running from a nightmare no one else could see.
"Tanaka! Take this and move to the side!" I shouted, thrusting the shopping bag into her hands.
"What about you?" she asked, alarm flaring across her face.
"I'll try to stop him!" I said, trying to sound confident, even though my insides felt hollow.
The man was closing in—fast.
My heart thudded like it was trying to punch through my ribs. I turned briefly toward Tanaka—she was frozen in place, her face ghost-white, eyes wide with dread.
Then someone in the crowd screamed. Fingers pointed. A wave of panic rippled outward.
"He has a knife!" Tanaka cried, her voice cutting through the noise like a siren.
I turned back—and there it was. A long blade, gripped tight in his right hand. It caught the sunlight and gleamed with a sharp, metallic promise.
Fear exploded in my chest.
I tried to move—to dodge, to duck, to do anything—but it was too late. The space between us had already vanished. My limbs locked. My instincts failed me.
He crashed into me.
The impact was brutal. For someone so wiry, he hit like a wrecking ball. My feet left the ground. I slammed onto the pavement with a bone-cracking thud, the breath ripped from my lungs. My vision blurred, a haze of motion and sound closing in around me.
The man hovered over me for a heartbeat, his chest heaving, his wild eyes scanning the crowd as if he still wasn't free. Then, without a word, he backed away, turned, and vanished—melting into the crowd like a shadow at sunset.
A cold wind cut across my skin, sudden and unnatural. The spring air felt brittle, wrong.
I lay still, trying to breathe. The world seemed to pause. The noise around me dulled to a distant echo.
Then I raised my left hand.
It was coated in blood.
My blood.
A bolt of shock ripped through me. I stared, uncomprehending. The pain hadn't come yet—not really. But then it surged, a burning throb radiating from my side, growing sharper by the second.
I looked down.
There was blood. So much of it. Pooling beneath me, soaking into the cracks in the pavement.
I turned my head, groaning through clenched teeth.
Tanaka stood just a few feet away. She hadn't moved. Her arms hung limp at her sides, the bag forgotten. Her face had gone pale as chalk, her eyes locked on me in mute horror.
Like she was watching me slip away.
"Brother!" she cried, desperation cracking her voice. She spun to the crowd, arms flailing. "Someone—please! Help us! Why are you just standing there?" Her words came with a raw, heart-wrenching wail.
The people around us were statues—motionless, hollow-eyed. Not one stepped forward. Instead, they raised their phones like shields, filming the tragedy unfolding before them, capturing my final moments like a scene in some grim documentary. As if likes and shares could rewind time.
I reached up, my right hand trembling as it cupped Tanaka's cheek, her tears falling like warm rain between my fingers. I brushed them away, clinging to this last moment of connection.
"Hey…" I whispered, my voice weak and frayed. "It's okay. Just… let me go. There's nothing left to do."
The words tasted like rust on my tongue, but the truth was heavier than pain. In that moment, the full weight of our shared past came crashing down—memories of two orphaned kids clinging to each other in the ruins of a life we didn't ask for. After that car crash stole our parents, I promised I'd protect her. And for years, I did. We became each other's everything—siblings, lifelines, lost children playing at being whole.
Now I was about to break that promise.
"I'm so sorry, Tanaka," I choked out, tears streaking down my face.
She reached for me, trembling. "Big brother, please…" But I pressed a shaky finger to her lips, trying to quiet the storm rising in her chest.
"Tanaka… promise me one thing."
She nodded, eyes wide—terrified, but listening.
"Promise me you'll stay safe. No matter what. And who knows…" I gave her a faint, broken smile. "Maybe if fate's feeling kind… we'll see each other again."
She smiled through her sobs, the sun catching the moisture on her cheeks like tiny stars. That smile—fragile, beautiful—was the last thing I saw before my vision blurred, the world dimming like a candle burning low.
I took one last breath. The air tasted like sunlight and goodbye.
Then—nothing.
That day, August 16, 2017, marked the end of my life as Masayuki Aoki—the day my otaku dreams, my childhood, and the fragments of my family were swept into the shadows.