The truck hummed steadily as it sped down the desolate highway, its stealth and illusion techniques still holding strong, the transformation to a pickup truck complete. The road ahead was quiet, but the tension in the air was palpable. Hajime sat behind the wheel, his expression hard as steel, his thoughts a chaotic mess. Next to him, Rin fidgeted, his eyes darting nervously between the road and Hajime.
"Why'd you hit the wrong person?" Rin's voice was sharp, tinged with annoyance.
Hajime let out a small, snorting laugh, his calm demeanor unshaken. "Why are you so worried about me?" He glanced at Rin, a smirk tugging at his lips. "You think those so-called instructors are going to get me? Please." He snorted again, the sound almost like a dismissive chuckle. "I don't even know what's going on here, but I can tell you're hiding a hell of a lot more than you let on." His tone dropped slightly, voice laced with a strange mix of amusement and truth. "Whatever it is, I'm not letting anyone ruin my life anymore."
The truck remained silent as they continued their drive, the only sound filling the space being the soft hum of the engine. That is, until a soft, sappy love song crackled through the radio. Both of them winced in unison.
"Ugh," Hajime muttered. "Shut it off."
The radio fell silent at his command, the truck's systems responding to his request with a smooth, quiet efficiency.
Rin leaned back against the seat, staring out the window. His brow furrowed as he muttered something almost inaudible under his breath. "If a drunkard never knew about drinks, he wouldn't have ended up wasted..."
Hajime raised an eyebrow. "What are you on about now?"
Rin's voice carried a strange weight, as though he were speaking more to himself than to Hajime. "It'd be much easier if you hadn't seen it... what's coming. The more you know, the harder it gets."
Hajime scoffed, his smirk turning into something more bitter. "That's crap. Whether I see it or not doesn't matter. What matters is what happens after I see it."
Rin shot him a side glance, but his voice was low, almost warning. "But it will be much easier if you didn't."
Hajime's eyes narrowed. "In life, some problems are worth having. It's the only way you really know what you're living for." He let out a humorless laugh. "And right now, I'm going to have a word with the manager. I'm going to beat the shit out of him."
Rin's eyes widened, and for the first time in the car ride, he actually seemed frantic. "You're crazy! That's suicide! You'll get us both killed!"
Hajime's expression didn't change; he was dead serious. "I don't care. He deserves it, and I've had enough of his games."
Rin practically grabbed his arm, eyes pleading. "Hajime, please! Think about it! You—"
But Hajime simply pulled away, his resolve hardening like stone. He didn't even glance back at Rin.
The truck pulled up to the building's entrance, the sleek, almost ominous design of the HQ looming before them like a fortress in the mist. The automatic glass doors parted with a soft hiss. Hajime stepped out with a steady gait, ignoring the sensors and cameras that tracked every movement. Rin scrambled behind him, still protesting, still trying to pull him back from doing something reckless.
They passed through the sterile white lobby with its glowing panels and sharp ambient lighting. No one stopped them. Maybe no one dared.
Hajime didn't bother taking the elevator. He wanted to walk. To feel his feet hitting the tiles. Step by step, up the stairs, through the hallways, past glass-paneled offices and silent administrative staff who barely looked up from their screens. Rin was practically pleading behind him now, hushed but panicked.
"Come on, man! You don't understand how this place works—"
Hajime reached the top floor. The hall was quiet. Familiar. Too familiar.
And then he stood at the door to the manager's office.
He didn't knock.
He pushed the door open—
—and froze.
The manager was not in a meeting. He wasn't typing, or scribbling equations, or doing anything that resembled work.
He was mid-bite on a takoyaki skewer, sauce glistening at the corner of his mouth. A plastic tray of half-eaten dumplings sat on his desk next to a napkin that had clearly failed its job. In his other hand, he was gently poking a bobblehead—a miniature Ghibli-style goblin with an oversized head and ridiculously long ears. Every time he tapped it, the head wobbled and bounced. He giggled softly at it, like it was the only shred of joy left in his dull existence.
Hajime blinked.
The goblin bounced.
The manager tapped it again. Giggled again.
Then he looked up.
Silence.
Short, but heavy.
The manager coughed, his face suddenly tight and flushed. He dropped the skewer like it had burned him and tried to straighten in his chair, discreetly sliding the goblin to the side with his elbow. "Ah… you're back!." The manager said obviously embarassed and suprised at the sudden intrusion
Hajime said nothing for a beat. His brain tried to process what he had just seen and erase it all at once.
"...I wish I could forget that."
The manager cleared his throat again, now desperately trying to act like none of it had happened. He even picked up a random stack of papers and flipped through them like he'd been reviewing them all day.
"I didn't expect you so soon. What brings you—"
"You know what we're doing is messed up, right?" Hajime cut him off flatly. "Why we get to decide who lives and who dies? What gives you the right?"
The manager coughed again, eyes glued to the fake report in his hands. "Look, Hajime… It's not about rights. It's fate. Sure the method we use may not be the most ethical or pleasing but we do give people a better life in a world of their dreams."
Hajime took a slow step backward.
The manager's expression tensed, but he didn't look up. "What also gives you the right to impede on someones happiness. " "Guilt?, regret, or envy " "What we do goes beyond these unneccessary emotions, and if you are still like this you aren't ready yet to even know about them."
Hajime stared for a long, slow beat. That wasn't the answer he wanted. And it didn't even make sense. But… he also couldn't refute it.
Eventually, he turned and walked out wordlessly.
Rin practically tackled him with questions, but Hajime brushed past him, his face unreadable.
Inside the lounge, he dropped into a chair, head leaning back, eyes closed.
And then it hit.
A memory—unwelcome and raw.
He was back in school. Younger. Meaner. Crueler.
That boy. The one who had made a joke about Hajime's old shoes. It was just one comment. One little remark. But Hajime had made him pay. Made him wear torn shoes. Made him sit on broken chairs. Made him live like he was dirt.
It had gone on for months.
But that kid? That same kid grew up. Became a business tycoon. One of the most generous philanthropists the country had ever seen.
Hajime snorted. "Guess you could say… he became who he is because of me."
A shuffling noise brought him back from his little conversation with himself.
He looked over to see Oni at the coffee bar, awkwardly fumbling with a bundle of sugar packets and instant coffee strips like she was preparing for an apocalypse.
"I never thought I'd meet someone more coocoo than me," she said with a nervous giggle.
Hajime narrowed his eyes. "What? no way . Your brand of crazy? That's a world record. I wouldn't even try to compete. You're the undisputed champion."
She grinned, holding the sugar bundles to her chest proudly like a trophy. "Aww. You mean it?"
"No," he said giving a sly smirk.
"Still counts."
He rolled his eyes but couldn't help the ghost of a smile.
Inside, though, something twisted.
He was doing it again.
Shaping people. Although more intentional .
Except this time, he wasn't crafting suffering. He was building a road—maybe a rough one—but it led somewhere better.
Or at least…
"Hopefully," he muttered to himself, eyes hardening. "Hopefully.