The convenience store's automatic doors parted with their familiar chime—a sound that had become the soundtrack to his decay. The clerk, a middle-aged woman who'd watched his descent from 'university student' to 'that NEET who buys cup noodles at 3 PM,' offered a smile that looked physically painful.
"Hot today," she said, because what else do you say to someone whose life is clearly in freefall?
"Mm," Ren agreed, already navigating toward his shameful sanctuary: the instant food aisle.
The selection hadn't changed. It never did. Beef, chicken, seafood, spicy seafood, extra spicy seafood, and 'mystery meat' which was probably best left mysterious. His hand hovered between choices while his brain provided helpful commentary.
Chicken: safe, boring, like my entire existence.
Beef: classic, dependable, what Grandpa would choose.
Spicy seafood: might actually feel something for once.
His phone buzzed. Not a call this time—news alert.
BREAKING:
Eclipse Tomorrow at
1PM - "Impossible" Astronomical Event Will Be Visible Globally
He read it twice. That couldn't be right. Solar eclipses didn't work that way. They were localized events, visible only from specific geographical areas. A global eclipse was like saying water had decided to flow uphill for fun.
"Cosmic event of the millennium," a high school girl said to her friend, brushing past him toward the magazines. "They say it's related to those weird aurora things."
"My mom thinks it's the end of the world," her friend laughed. "She's been buying emergency supplies all week."
End of the world. Ren stared at the cup noodles. Somehow, I always thought it would be more dramatic than this.
He grabbed three cups—beef for tradition, spicy seafood for variety, chicken because dying of boredom seemed appropriate—and added them to his basket. Then, on impulse, he grabbed one more. Grandpa's favorite: classic soy sauce flavor. He'd leave it at the memorial tomorrow. The old man would appreciate the gesture, even if he couldn't eat it.
The news kept playing on the store's TV, reporters struggling to explain the inexplicable.
"—the mysterious substance recovered from the Mariana Trench, dubbed 'Neither Mist' by researchers—"
"—completely unprecedented. The eclipse path calculations suggest the moon will somehow be in perfect alignment simultaneously for all observers on Earth—"
"—purple coloration matches the aurora phenomena observed globally—"
Neither Mist. Even the name sounded like something from the web novels he read. Next they'd announce it granted supernatural powers or opened portals to another dimension.
"Find everything?" The clerk's question snapped him back to reality.
"Yeah." He placed his pathetic haul on the counter. Four cups of noodles and a canned coffee. Dinner of champions. Or NEETs. Mostly NEETs.
She scanned them with practiced efficiency, that painful smile never wavering. "That'll be 580 yen."
He paid, collected his shame in a plastic bag, and headed for the door. Tomorrow he'd visit Grandpa's grave, tell the old man about his latest failures, maybe pretend for a few minutes that someone still believed in him.
The automatic doors chimed goodbye.
Outside, the July heat slammed into him like a physical presence. The sky was the kind of perfect blue that made you suspicious, like nature was overcompensating. No sign of purple auroras or impossible eclipses. Just another scorching Thursday that would blend into another pointless Friday.
His phone buzzed again. Another call from his mother.
Let it ring, he decided. What's she going to say? "We're disappointed"? "You're wasting your potential"? I've heard that soundtrack already.
He turned toward home, plastic bag swinging with each step. Tomorrow was Grandpa's memorial. He'd go early, before the impossible eclipse that had scientists losing their minds. Place the cup noodles on the grave. Maybe apologize for becoming exactly the kind of person the old man had sworn Ren would never be.
"We're Kisaragi, kid. We don't give up. We protect. We endure."
Sorry, Grandpa. Turns out I'm really good at giving up. Natural talent.
The last normal sunset of his life painted Tokyo in shades of gold and amber. Somewhere in the Pacific Ocean, in the deepest trench on Earth, purple mist swirled in carefully contained chambers while scientists argued about whether physics textbooks needed a rewrite or reality did.
In twelve hours, he'd have his answer.
In thirteen hours, the world would end.
And Ren Kisaragi, professional disappointment and part-time human being, would finally discover what he'd been preparing for without knowing it.
But for now, he had cup noodles to eat and regrets to nurture.
Just another Thursday in the life of a NEET.