Andrew coughed up blood, his breaths short and shallow.
"How could you do this to me… to your own friend?" His voice cracked between gasps, blood and half-digested deer meat spilling from his mouth.
He had just been stabbed. Violently.
By his best friend.
His only friend.
Killua.
Andrew's mind was spinning. None of it made sense. Was this real? A dream? Why would Killua do this? The thought tore through his fading consciousness, too cruel to accept.
Killua stood over him, grinning wide — too wide. A deranged smile that didn't belong to the friend Andrew knew.
"Did you really think I was ever your friend?" he said softly, tilting his head.
Andrew tried to move, but his body convulsed instead, shaking against the wet, blood-stained concrete. The night air bit his skin. He wanted to scream for help, but the alley was empty — only shadows and the echo of rain.
"I was never your friend," Killua continued, stepping closer. "Since the day I met you four years ago, I planned this. I wanted to take everything from you — your money, your skills, your relationships. Your life. And now… I have."
Andrew's body trembled harder. The pain in his gut burned white-hot.
His vision blurred.
He tried to form words, but only blood came out.
"Wh… why?" he managed to whisper.
Killua laughed, clutching his own hair like something inside him was splitting apart. His grin widened, manic.
"Because while I had nothing, you had everything. Everyone loved you. You were perfect — at everything. Cooking. Talking. Breathing. You were better." His voice cracked, deranged. "So I'll take your life, Andrew. I'll take you. I'll live like you did — no… I'll become something better."
Andrew couldn't hear anymore. His ears rang. His head throbbed. The world dimmed.
Blood pooled beneath him as his body turned pale, his eyes glassing over. He felt nothing now — not even the pain. Just emptiness.
He looked up one last time, seeing Killua still smiling down at him.
Then everything went dark.
The End.
⸻
Rain shut his laptop hard, the sound echoing through his cramped apartment.
"…What in the fuck, man?"
He stared at the laptop, speechless.
"WHAT TYPE OF ENDING WAS THAT?!" His voice cracked through the room. A beat later, remembering the last noise complaint, he forced himself to quiet down.
"Seriously? I've been reading this book for three years straight. Every day, a new chapter. And the main character dies like that? In a damn alley?"
He grabbed his laptop and threw it onto his bed, pacing.
Rain muttered low, but anger lined every word. "I feel like I've wasted three years of my life. That novel was so good for the first seven hundred chapters… and then it became unbearable. I thought it would improve, but no. Just a shitty MC and a shitty evil best friend."
He looked around his small apartment — a tight space barely big enough for a bed, desk, and chair. The walls were cluttered with everything he loved: tapestries, posters, stacks of books, guitars, album covers. Every inch screamed who he was.
His eyes landed on a familiar sight — the first and second volumes of Anon, the same series he'd just finished. The one that ended in that pathetic, painful way.
Rain grabbed the books off the wall, slipped on his shoes, and stepped outside. His place was small, but it was enough.
He stood six feet tall, though you wouldn't guess it from how thin he was. His frame lacked any muscle tone — not like he cared. Working out wasn't his thing. He'd rather spend his time reading novels, gaming, or playing guitar.
Eighteen years old, living alone, buying his own food, paying his own rent. Most people his age were still living with their parents. Rain was different.
Both of his parents had died when he was young.
His father was an electrician. No one — not even Rain — knew exactly what happened. All anyone said was that he'd been electrocuted so horribly he died instantly. Rain never really knew what his father looked like. When he turned eleven, curiosity pushed him to look up his name online. He regretted it instantly. The first thing he saw was a photo of his father's body — blackened, burnt beyond recognition.
He didn't search again after that.
His mother's death was… simpler. After giving birth to him, she'd grown hungry while the nurses watched over her newborn. The hospital provided food, but she was a picky eater. She snuck out — still in pain, still bleeding — just to get a meal.
She never made it back.
A semi hit her car on the highway.
She died instantly.
Rain learned all of it years later.
Naturally, he never felt sad. How could he?
How do you miss people you never knew?
⸻
The Anon books held tightly in his hands, Rain stepped out of his apartment. The sun was warm on his skin, the air light and cool — too beautiful a day to stay angry.
"Ah, what a beautiful day," he muttered, trying to sound pissed. The corners of his lips betrayed him, twitching upward. The sun always made him softer.
He walked through the city — Thyrris. Even he knew the name sounded strange, like it belonged in a fantasy world. But the reality didn't match. Sure, the city was massive — towers, food stalls, every culture imaginable — but too much diversity bred chaos. It wasn't calm anymore. Just messy and loud.
The hum of buses and honks of traffic usually irritated him. Today, though, it all blended into a steady rhythm, almost soothing.
After a thirty-minute walk, Rain reached his destination: the bookstore. Quiet. Clean. Safe. Just like how the city used to be.
The faint chime of a bell greeted him as he pushed open the door. It made him smile — for a second. Then he remembered why he was there.
Still gripping the Anon books, he walked straight to the front desk. The store was empty. A small bell sat on the counter, so he tapped it.
Bing.
Thirty seconds. Nothing.
Bing.
Ten more seconds.
Bing.
"Okay, jeez, I'm coming," a voice called from between the shelves.
A figure appeared — a girl he didn't recognize. Strange, since he came here twice a week.
"Sorry about that," Rain said, realizing maybe he'd overdone the bell tapping.
The girl stepped behind the counter, her tone sharp. "Do you need anything?"
Rain didn't answer immediately. Partly because of her attitude. Mostly because he was looking at her. Blonde hair. Black eyes. Pretty face. Maybe 5'5 at most. She had to tilt her head up to meet his gaze.
"Are you going to answer," she said, crossing her arms, "or just stare at me like a creep?"
The word hit him harder than he expected. He hadn't meant to stare, but he understood why she thought that. He wasn't exactly good-looking. Long black hair that covered half his face. Black eyes. On a good day, maybe a five out of ten. Sure, he was tall — but that didn't mean much when your body looked like you lived off instant noodles and insomnia.
Rain stayed quiet, swallowing his frustration. Between the book's garbage ending and this girl's attitude, his patience was thinning. This is probably the first time in my life I've felt provoked enough to hit someone, he thought darkly. He shook the thought off.
He set the two Anon volumes on the counter and pointed at them, then at the computer.
After a few seconds, she frowned. "Are you going to speak, or just act like a mime?"
Rain sighed. "I want to return these."
She looked up, her dark eyes catching a streak of sunlight. They almost sparkled.
"Do you have a receipt?"
"…Fuck," he muttered. "I left it in my apartment."
"Well, you can't retur—"
"Wait!" he cut her off. "How about… uh…" Ten seconds passed as he scrambled for a plan. "How about I trade them? I give you these, and you give me two other books. Like a swap."
She sighed. "If I get fired for this, I'm telling my boss you threatened me."
"Uh… okay?" Rain said, raising an eyebrow.
She took the Anon books and disappeared into the back. "Go pick one out," she called from the doorway.
Rain walked between the aisles, his irritation slowly melting into curiosity. The store had thousands of books, most he'd already read — but one caught his eye immediately.
A black book.
In the red section.
Every shelf here was organized by color — blue with blue, white with white. But this one… this one was wrong. Out of place. The cover was black leather, thick and heavy, like it had survived centuries.
He pulled it out carefully.
The title read *The Unforgivable End*.
Rain ran his thumb along the rough leather. No author's name. No summary. Just the title.
He flipped open the first page — and somehow, that was enough. Something about the way the words sat on the paper made him want to read more. He didn't know why.
He brought it to the counter. The girl looked up from her phone, annoyed. "Only one book?"
"Yes."
She raised the book, frowning. "Where did you even find this?"
"In the red section."
"There's not even a barcode…" she muttered. She flipped it over, inspecting every inch like it was something alien. "Fine. I'll log it manually."
Rain left the bookstore with a small sigh of relief — happy to have ditched the Anon books, glad to have something new. The air was cooler now, the sky dimming to a dusky purple.
By the time he got home, his legs ached. He showered, ate, brushed his teeth. Thought about sleeping — but the thought of that book lingered in his mind, strange and heavy.
It felt wrong.
But interesting.
He sat on his bed, the room lit by the faint glow of his desk lamp.
Rain ran his hand across the book's surface one more time. The leather was cold.
Then he opened it.