Itsuki Kurosawa lay sprawled on the cold pavement where the narrow mouth of an alley met the roadside. The night air bit against his skin, heavy with the metallic scent of rain and exhaust fumes. A woman knelt beside him, her trembling hands stained red as tears streamed down her face.
She shook him desperately, as if sheer will could stop the dark crimson flowing from the gun wound around his ribs.
Shit… he must've shot me and gotten away.
What was I even thinking—helping someone I don't know? I should've just walked away. But no… I just had to play the hero.
His breaths came shallow and uneven, fogging the air faintly before vanishing. Around them, fragments of the city blurred together—faces lit by street lamps, the hum of engines, the distant chatter of people unsure whether to approach or retreat.
The woman cried out for help, her voice cracking through the murmurs. A few bystanders fumbled with their phones, others lingered in half-steps of indecision, torn between concern and fear.
Am I really going to die?
No, not yet. I haven't lived… I haven't done anything worth dying for. I'm still just an orphan scraping by in a world that never cared. It can't end like this….
His gaze drifted upward. The world above him—the dim sky, the faint outline of power lines—all seemed to sway. Red and blue lights began to flicker at the edge of his vision, accompanied by the wail of an approaching siren.
Shit, everything's starting to fade… I must be loosing too much blood.
His eyes moved weakly toward the people around him. Their faces looked distant, distorted by the haze of worry and fear.
Why are they just standing there with those faces? Is it really that bad?
The ambulance screeched to a halt nearby. Two paramedics jumped out from the back and one from the passenger seat, slamming the doors open. Their boots hit the pavement hard, echoing faintly in the night.
"Over here!" someone in the crowd now formed around where Itsuki lay down shouted.
One of the paramedics, a man seemingly in his thirties with sharp movements, dropped to his knees beside him. "We need pressure on the wound—" he barked, his tone brisk but controlled. The other paramedic, younger, tore open a medical bag, revealing gauze, scissors, and sealed syringes gleaming under the flashing lights. While the third one went back to the ambulance as he took out a stretcher from the back.
They worked fast. The older one took out the scissors; cutting through itsuki's clothes before pressing a thick wad of gauze against his side, blood immediately soaking through. The younger reached for a bandage roll, his gloves slick as he tried to wrap it tight around the wound.
"Pulse is weak!"
"He's still breathing, try to keep him talking—"
But Itsuki's words were slurring, drifting between consciousness and the dark.
"So cold…"
"On my count—lift!"
The third paramedic slid the stretcher beside him, metal scraping faintly against the curb. The woman moved back as the two who had managed to slow down his bleeding transferred him with practiced precision—one lifting his shoulders, the other guiding his legs before clicking the stretcher's locks shut.
"Let's move!"
The sirens wailed again as they rushed him toward the ambulance. The young paramedic climbed in beside him, strapping an oxygen mask over his face. The cold rubber pressed against his skin as the hiss of air filled his ears.
Through half-lidded eyes, Itsuki caught one last glimpse of the world around him—the blinking lights of sirens on the faces of onlookers outside the van, the sound of sirens echoing through the cold night. Then, the doors slammed shut.
---
The ambulance rocked from side to side, its tires hissing over wet asphalt as it weaved through traffic. The wail of it's siren echoed endlessly, bouncing off the narrow streets and fading into the night.
Itsuki could feel every jolt, every turn — his body numb yet somehow aware of the weight pressing against his ribs where the blood refused to stop. Voices surrounded him, muffled and distant, as if spoken through water.
"Sir, I need you to keep your eyes on me," one of the paramedics said, his tone firm but steady. "Can you hear me? What's your name?"
Itsuki blinked, vision unfocused as his lips moved sluggishly to answer the question.
"Itsuki…"
"Good. Okay, Itsuki, stay with me, alright? Try to keep your eyes open—"
He tried, but the voice began to stretch and blur, swallowed by the subtle ringing in his ears.
It's getting dark again… I can't keep them open for too long.
I wonder what'll happen after I die… Maybe heaven, if I'm lucky. I did try to help someone, didn't I? That should count for something.
The smell of antiseptic and blood filled the small space. The older paramedic pressed down harder on the wound, his gloves soaked with blood. The younger one tore open another packet of gauze, his hands shaking despite his effort to hide it.
"Pressure's dropping—come on, stay with us!"
Itsuki's world tilted. The harsh white light above him flickered, melting into a soft haze. Through it, he caught sight of the young paramedic's face — wide-eyed, lips pressed tight to stop them from trembling.
For a brief moment, their gazes met. Itsuki's breathing hitched, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
It's okay… you tried your best.
And then, the sounds around him began to fade — the siren, the shouting, the rumble of the engine — all slipping away into silence.
---
For a moment, there was nothing—no sound, no pain, not even the weight of his own body. Itsuki floated in a space that felt neither cold nor warm, as if time itself had stopped acknowledging his existence.
Then, a faint chime echoed somewhere in the void.
[Initiating System…]
White texts appeared before his eyes, suspended in the darkness like light carved into air.
[You have been deemed worthy to receive the First Light's blessing and escape the shackles of death.
Will you choose to live?]
[Y / N]
Itsuki blinked—or at least, he thought he did. He wasn't sure if his body still existed.
What… is this? A dream? Or… am I already dead?
The text lingered, patient and silent.
Blessing? Choose to live?
It seemed absurd. Yet, some instinct deeper than logic urged him to respond. Without knowing how, he focused on the word [Yes]
A faint pulse rippled through the void, followed by another chime.
[Congratulations.]
[You have chosen to accept the First Light's blessing.
You will live again.]
The words shimmered, then scattered like motes of dust into the void. A warmth began to spread through him—slowly, then all at once—until it burned brighter than anything he'd ever felt.
And just before his consciousness slipped completely, he heard it:
The long, unwavering tone of a flat line echoing faintly in the distance.