The darkness hadn't left the room, but his eyelids had opened on their own.
He hadn't had a nightmare, hadn't heard the voice, hadn't seen the light. He stayed awake after all, the constant anxiety he felt preventing him from sleeping.
Shinji was sitting on his bed, rigid, his back pressed against the wall. He had slipped into a state of drowsiness where every noise in the hallway snapped him back to alertness.
His hands began to tremble, the words he had overheard the previous night still swirling in his head like a slow poison.
That conversation he had eavesdropped on hadn't left his thoughts. This refuge… was meant for people like him, those who didn't come from this world, and yet he had never felt so alone, never so guilty. What if the Zephyrs had followed him? He couldn't accept the idea that he might bring down the refuge that had saved him from the terror of this world.
He had never felt so tormented. He had believed this place was a haven where he could finally find peace. An exception in a rotten world. But now… he couldn't stay here anymore.
His mind would be calmer outside, surrounded by humans who had nothing other than their flesh to prove their humanity than risking the collapse of the hope that allowed these people to smile despite their misery.
He stood silently, barely daring to breathe too loudly. He couldn't afford to wake the rest of the refuge.
Each step on the creaking floor felt like a betrayal.
He approached the small wardrobe across from the bed and pulled out an old, tattered beige cloth, large enough to cover him while walking.
He wrapped it around himself, and as he turned to leave the room, he met Neko's gaze one last time.
The cat hadn't moved from its corner. But in the shadows, its eyes gleamed. Fixed. Intense. A glint Shinji had seen before.
An identical gaze—he remembered it from the butcher's basement. That gaze… it was the same as the one that had confronted him. Questions flooded his mind, but he knew he'd only waste time trying to find answers.
Shinji shivered. He forced himself to hold the cat's gaze and whispered:
"You're better off here than out there with me."
Neko didn't move. It stayed there, silent, in the corner of the room where it always lingered, almost frozen, waiting for Shinji's return each time he left.
Shinji looked away and finally opened the door to leave the room, slipping silently into the sleeping corridors of the refuge.
Shinji walked with light steps, far too light.
His footsteps were barely audible, as if he feared waking something more dangerous than the screams of the alley. The wood beneath his feet creaked at times, but no one stirred. No one came.
He passed through the dormitories.
In the dim light, he saw bodies lying still, peaceful, lulled by the slow rhythm of sleep. Children bundled under patched blankets. Women slumped against the walls, asleep sitting up. Old men barely breathing, arms crossed over their chests.
And yet… they slept.
They slept, in this world that was anything but a dream. This world where Shinji couldn't find his place, where his past seemed to constantly catch up with him—a past he had forgotten, though its remnants still lingered in this world.
Shinji paused for a moment, his heart tight.
How could they still close their eyes? How did they manage to surrender to sleep in a place like this? After what he had seen… after what he had lived through?
He brought a trembling hand to his chest, where his scar prickled beneath his clothes.
He felt like the only one who was alone, the only one still afraid.
He clenched his teeth and resumed his path. He descended the stairs that Okami and Daichi had taken the previous night.
He found himself before the refuge's large doors. They weren't locked. Just pulled shut. As if the outside world wasn't so dangerous… or as if no one here ever dared to cross them.
Shinji placed his hand on the wood.
Outside, a freezing wind was blowing.
He cast one last glance behind him.
He was about to leave the only place that had accepted him to walk alone toward the hell waiting beyond that door.
The cloth over his head barely held. He had wrapped the rough fabric around his face to hide his features, but he knew it was futile.
As soon as he stepped out of the refuge, he started running.
As if his own footsteps would betray him, as if the entire world had begun watching him from the shadows.
He darted through the city's alleys, each as narrow as the one where he had woken up. They were already sinister in daylight but seemed even more oppressive at dawn. The first rays of sunlight didn't dispel the darkness: they only made it more visible.
He headed toward the market, the same market where he had nearly died. Where the Zephyrs had seen him. Where he had betrayed a defenseless child.
He lowered his head, clutching the cloth tightly against his face.
But it wasn't enough. He had barely set foot in the market's main alley when he heard them.
"That's him… That's the guy the Zephyrs are looking for."
A shiver ran through him.
He quickened his pace.
"What's he doing showing himself in broad daylight?"
"Is he looking to die or what?"
"He's gonna drag us all into this mess…"
The stares landed on him, sharp as blades. They didn't shout, but he felt them deep within.
He tried to convince himself it was just his imagination, but he heard them clearly—the people in the market had recognized him.
His blood froze.
He started running again, faster, knocking over crates, weaving through the alleys like a panicked shadow. Children stepped aside in silence. Merchants averted their eyes.
No one stopped him. But no one helped him either.
He was alone, left to fend for himself.
Shinji ran until his legs could no longer carry him.
His breath was ragged, his throat dry as sand. He had passed the market, crossed several unfamiliar alleys, climbed over barriers, taken paths even rats avoided.
And finally… he found a bridge.
The bridge was old. Worn. Its leprous pillars sagged under the weight of years, and the filthy water flowing below seemed to move in slow motion, as if it, too, struggled to escape this world.
Shinji slipped beneath it without thinking. His back touched the cold, damp wall, and he collapsed, breathing heavily, heart racing.
Under there, even the city's murmurs seemed muffled. The silence had a strange texture, as if every drop of water, every rustle of wings, was amplified.
He didn't move. He didn't want to make a sound. Even breathing felt risky.
"If I close my eyes, I die."
It was a certainty. Not a paranoid thought—a truth carved into his bones.
His fingers had tightened around the cloth still covering his face. He didn't want it. He wanted to tear off this futile mask. But he couldn't. He had to stay hidden. Just a little longer. Just until morning.
But the night… was long.
And his body was betraying his will.
Fatigue gnawed at him from within. A heaviness in his arms. A burning in his eyelids. He blinked more slowly, ever more slowly.
He flinched at every sound. A displaced pebble. A bird taking flight. A drop of water falling.
"They're here."
"They're looking for me."
The faces of Ryouma and Hayato were still etched in his memory. He recalled the fleeting sense of relief he'd felt when they saved him from the butcher's hands, before they, too, revealed their true selves.
They wanted from him what he no longer had—or perhaps never had. Answers that would satisfy them, answers that would prove he was indeed the monster they had crafted in their minds.
"What do they all want from me? Why… me?"
He began imagining the Zephyrs scouring the city, their eyes bloodshot, their rage undimmed. Maybe they were questioning the merchants. Maybe one of those passersby had already tipped them off.
"What if they're on their way?"
His breath grew shorter. Louder. He pressed a hand over his mouth.
He had no energy left. The adrenaline had worn off, and the accumulated fatigue began to show in his movements, which grew harder and harder to execute.
He rocked slightly back and forth. A nervous tic. A way to keep from collapsing. A silent plea to his own body to hold on a little longer.
Then, without realizing it, he began speaking in a low voice. As if to fill the silence.
"Don't sleep… don't… not now…"
His words were lost in the wind passing under the bridge.
His eyelids drooped. His thoughts grew foggy. He saw Haruka. Neko. The blade. Okami's sword at his throat. He even heard the Zephyrs' laughter. The girl's screams and the butcher's dogs barking.
"Just five minutes."
He started feeling dizzy, a sharp pain in his head seeming to drag him into a deep sleep.
"No. Wake up. Wake up!"
He slapped himself lightly. The sound was faint, but in that silence, it rang like a gunshot.
His heart jolted. He opened his eyes wide—or as wide as his body could manage with the little energy he had left.
But it wasn't fear keeping him awake anymore.
It was a presence.
Someone was watching him.
He didn't move. He didn't dare.
Then, a voice. Raspy. Weak.
But clear.
"You…"
Shinji raised his eyes, slowly.
[Activation of the Third Eye]
"What the…"
The silhouette was there, a few meters away. Motionless. Arms at its sides. Gaze fixed on him.
[The suspect has malicious intentions]
[The suspect seeks to kill the host]
[The suspect envies the host]
"It's you… who killed me."