A flutter whispered through the room as the curtains were pulled open, letting the morning sun spill inside.
A ray of light fell across the kitchen floor and brushed against a small figure curled up beside the table. David's eyelids trembled at the brightness before he slowly opened them.
He blinked. He was in the dining hall.
He must have fallen asleep there, crushed by everything he had felt the night before.
None of the caretakers bothered putting me to bed… The thought drifted through him, dull and heavy. He wasn't even surprised. Just… numb.
He looked around again. One of the caretakers was preparing breakfast in the kitchen, humming softly as if he weren't even there.
I guess he doesn't, David thought, the words passing through his mind without weight.
He lowered his gaze. There was a faint stain on his shirt — the crushed remains of last night's cake.
A small trace of sadness flickered through him, then vanished just as quickly.
I guess I couldn't even wish myself a happy birthday, he thought, the irony dull and tired.
He glanced at the clock on the wall. 8:00 a.m.
He didn't really know what to do with himself, so he decided to leave for school early. Maybe he'd arrive before everyone else this time.
He grabbed a napkin from the table and wiped the stain off his shirt with a rough, absent gesture. Then he slung his bag over his shoulder.
Passing by the kitchen counter, he took a banana from the fruit bowl without a word and headed for the door, leaving behind the caretaker who was quietly setting plates for the others still asleep.
"Uh? Weren't there eight of them?" the caretaker murmured, frowning at the bananas he was about to slice.
"Someone probably ate one already…" he muttered, then continued his job.
Outside, he felt the cold of the late‑year air brush against him. His body shivered, but he didn't feel a thing. He just walked, as always, toward the bus stop.
Uh? Someone's there… he thought, glancing at the shelter. A girl about his age was already waiting. She wore the same uniform, her scarf pulled up to her nose, her breath forming faint clouds in the cold air. Probably a student from the same school.
He would probably be able to ride a bus today. The thought felt strangely hopeful, though he wasn't sure why.
He didn't think much about it. He simply stood there, eyes fixed ahead, staring into nothing, the world around him muffled and distant — like he was watching everything through a thick pane of glass.
A few moments later, his awareness snapped back into place. His mind had briefly shut down, drifting off to some empty corner he couldn't name.
He turned his head. The bus had arrived at some point, quietly, without him noticing. The girl was already inside, seated near the front.
He walked toward the doors, lifted his foot to step in—
—and the doors slammed shut on his leg.
A sharp, electric pain shot up through him. The suddenness of it tore straight through the numb fog in his mind, ripping a gasp out of him. He pushed against the doors, fingers digging into the cold metal, trying to pry them open, but they didn't move an inch.
"Uh? Is the door malfunctioning?" the bus driver said, startled. He pressed a button, and the doors jerked open, releasing David's leg. David stumbled backward, collapsing onto the pavement from the force he'd been using to pull himself free.
The doors closed again — smoothly this time, as if nothing had happened.
"Ha, just another bug," the driver muttered, already losing interest. "They really need to upgrade these buses… they're getting old."
The engine rumbled, the bus pulled away, and within seconds it was gone, leaving David alone on the sidewalk, the cold biting at his skin.
David sat down for a moment, breathing unevenly. He watched the bus disappear at the end of the street, its taillights blinking once before turning the corner.
A few tears rolled down his cheeks — nothing dramatic, just a quiet reaction he barely noticed himself.
His leg hurt, but the pain felt distant. Everything felt distant.
He wiped his face with his sleeve, pushed himself back to his feet, and started walking. There was no point staying there.
David limped forward, the cold air stinging his skin as he made his way down the street. He didn't really know why he kept walking toward school. Habit, maybe.
In the end, he made it just in time. He could have arrived earlier if he had ridden that bus. Well… if he hadn't tried to ride that bus too.
He stood at the gate, catching his breath. Students were rushing in, the usual morning noise filling the courtyard.
Someone slammed into him from the side.
Thud.
"Ow! What was that?! Was it you?!" a student shouted, holding his jaw and grabbing another boy by the shirt.
"Why are you grabbing me? I didn't hit you, you idiot!" the other replied, headbutting him.
They started arguing and fighting, and other students, eager for the show, circled around them.
But for David, it all faded into the background. Between his limping leg and the hit that had knocked him to the ground, he was too sore to think about what had actually happened.
"Why does it always happen to me…" he muttered through clenched teeth.
He got up and headed to his classroom, careful to avoid every student along the way. Even then, he still got pushed around more than usual.
Once he finally reached his seat, he winced and held his shoulder. It had been bumped more times this morning than in the past month combined. He had no idea what was going on with everyone, but they just couldn't seem to stop running into him.
He rested against his chair, looking out the window again. He didn't know why, but the world seemed more distant than ever. The rustling trees, the cars, the people — it all felt… strange. Like he was watching it from behind a layer of fog.
The class gradually filled in, desks scraping, voices rising and fading. The teacher stepped inside and closed the door.
"Hello everyone, today's lesson..."
Time passed the same as yesterday, and the days before. When the lesson finally ended and lunch break arrived, he grabbed his bag and rummaged through it.
His eyebrows lifted in surprise when he didn't feel any bento. Then it hit him — he'd left before even preparing anything.
Maybe I should skip this meal… he thought. He didn't feel like going to the convenience store. Not after the morning he'd had. He didn't want another disastrous interaction today.
Grumble~
But I'm hungry… It should be okay, right? I'll just buy something and leave, he thought timidly, trying to convince himself it was a good idea.
He let out a small sigh. Finally, he grabbed his bag, stood up, and slipped out of the classroom. The hallway was noisy, crowded, and he kept his head down as he made his way through it.
A few shoulders brushed against him, but he ignored them. He just wanted to get this over with.
He left the school grounds and headed toward the convenience store.
A few minutes later, he arrived in front of it. It was a small shop right next to the school gate, marking the start of a commercial street.
He stepped through the sliding door. Inside, a few students were browsing the shelves, while another was paying at the counter, talking to the store clerk.
He walked toward the noodle section and picked a regular cup. He wasn't picky about food — the regular one was fine.
Having chosen his meal, he glanced at the clerk, now standing behind the register, scrolling on his phone.
Come on, it's fine, you can do it… he cheered himself silently.
He made his way to the counter and placed the cup on it.
He looked up at the clerk. No reaction — the guy was still scrolling on his phone, his head resting lazily on one hand.
David nudged the cup a little closer to him, hoping to make his presence known.
Nothing.
The clerk didn't even blink.
"Excuse me…" he muttered timidly, hoping the clerk would finally react.
A surge of frustration rose from deep inside. He felt like giving up.
Grumble~
But his stomach reminded him he had to eat.
Gathering his courage, he reached out and nudged the man's arm.
"Excuse me, sir…"
The clerk jolted slightly, as if startled. He lifted his head, eyes scanning the store. For a second, he even looked straight at David — blankly, without recognition. David flinched at the sudden eye contact.
Then the clerk looked down at his own arm, rubbing the spot where he'd been touched.
He frowned, shrugged, and went right back to scrolling on his phone.
David felt something cold settle in his chest at the clear disregard. He had come here plenty of times — the clerk had never been friendly, but he had never reacted like that. Not noticing him was normal. But outright ignoring him after being touched… that was new.
Well… it was new for anyone to ignore him like that.
A small pang tightened in his chest. He didn't think he could still feel hurt by something so simple.
"Excuse me, sir, I'd like to buy that..." he said louder, his voice shaking with emotion.
The clerk still didn't react.
He wanted to scream, to push the man, to do something.
The man suddenly looked up from his phone and noticed the cup.
"Uh? What is it doing here?" he said out loud. He scanned the store, shrugged, grabbed the cup, and walked back to the shelf to put it away.
David, meanwhile, stood frozen.
When the clerk returned to his spot — slouched over the counter, scrolling again — David slowly turned his head, almost mechanically, and stared at him for a few seconds.
Then he turned away without a word and walked out of the store. The sliding door closed behind him with a soft hiss, and the noise of the street washed over him — harsher, heavier than before.
He stopped on the sidewalk, unsteady. People streamed past him, absorbed in their own worlds, brushing his shoulders, shifting around him without ever really noticing him. He searched the crowd for a sign — a glance, a pause, anything — but nothing broke the flow.
He didn't head back to school. He didn't even think about it.
His feet moved first. Then his pace quickened. Then he was running — not toward anything, just away.
Tokyo unfolded ahead of him, a maze of lights and movement, swallowing him whole.
His chest tightened, each breath sharp and uneven, but he kept going. A restless urgency pushed him forward, something raw and frantic that made stopping impossible.
He weaved through the crowd, eyes flicking from face to face without meaning to, hoping for… he didn't even know what. But every expression slid past him, untouched, unchanged.
He collided with people as he ran — shoulders, bags, elbows — a series of jolts that made strangers mutter or glance around in confusion. But their eyes never landed on him.
They reacted to the impact — not to him.
David didn't slow down. He didn't apologize. He didn't care.
A moment later, he burst into a park and finally stopped, folding over with his hands on his knees. His breath tore out of him in ragged bursts. Sweat and tears blurred together on his face.
His legs shook. His heart pounded against his ribs, too fast, too hard.
He tried to breathe, but the air felt thin, useless, slipping out before it reached anywhere.
He lifted his head. The park moved around him — a jogger passing by, a couple sharing a quiet laugh, a cyclist gliding past — all of it calm, ordinary, untouched by his presence.
The world didn't even ripple.
The realization hit him harder than the running had.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" He screamed into the empty air, voice cracking, throat tearing. He didn't care anymore. He just needed something — anything — to come out.
The sound ripped out of him, raw and desperate, echoing faintly through the park.
The children kept playing on the playground. The adults continued chatting. A girl kept reading her book.
Nothing changed.
A few heads lifted for a second, eyes narrowing in confusion — not at him, just at the noise. One kid paused mid‑slide, looking around with a puzzled frown before shrugging and going down. A man rubbed his ear, muttered something, and went back to his conversation.
David stood there, chest heaving, the scream still vibrating inside him like it had nowhere to go.
"WHAT DO I HAVE TO DO FOR YOU TO NOTICE ME?!" he screamed, eyes wide, trembling, staring at the crowd.
He rushed toward a man walking by, stopped right in front of him, and screamed again:
"LOOK AT ME!"
The man didn't stop. He kept walking.
"I EXIST—"
The man bumped straight into him, knocking David to the ground.
He stumbled, caught himself, adjusted his suit, and frowned at the pavement. He had no idea what he'd tripped on.
David stayed on the ground, lying there. He didn't move.
Tears streamed down his face. He was trembling, crying, unable to stop.
For a moment, he wasn't even sure what he was crying about anymore — the fear, the humiliation, the confusion, all of it blending into a single, heavy ache that pinned him to the earth.
People kept stumbling over him, stepping on him, tripping on his legs or arms. He didn't flinch. He didn't react. He didn't care. The world felt distant, muffled, as if he were underwater and everything above the surface had nothing to do with him.
Time passed. The sky dimmed. Night slowly settled over the park, shadows stretching across the grass while the last traces of daylight slipped away.
Sniff~
"Why… why is it happening to me?..." he muttered.
He tried to stand up, but couldn't. He hadn't noticed, but everything hurt. His whole body throbbed with a deep, dull ache — the kind that only appears once the adrenaline is gone.
He had endured hits, stomps, impacts over and over again. His arms, his ribs, his legs… everything was sore. His skin was riddled with marks.
He breathed for an instant, mind drifting back over the day — getting stuck in a bus door, shoved around everywhere, stepped on for half the afternoon.
And then he started to laugh.
A small, broken sound at first — barely a breath. He didn't know why. He just felt like laughing.
Then louder, between coughs and sniffles, he laughed. He laughed despite the pain in his ribcage, he laughed despite the sadness.
It was all too damn funny.
"Hahahahaha—cough—hahaha…" His laugh sounded hollow, echoing through the now‑empty park.
Eventually, he stopped. Not because he wanted to — because he couldn't keep going. His body still shook with the remnants of laughter, but he no longer had the strength to push out another sound.
"My life's a joke…" he murmured, breath hitching.
"Since it's like that," he whispered, a crooked smile pulling at his lips, "let's make it real funny."
He pressed his palms against the ground, forcing himself up despite the pain shooting through his arms. His breath trembled. His whole body quivered. But something in his eyes had changed — a spark, thin and unstable, but undeniably there.
If the world refused to see him…
…then he'd give it something it couldn't ignore.