After that day, life didn't stop.
He had to keep living.
But his grandfather hadn't been a man of savings.
Aside from a small stash of a few thousand yen he'd found tucked away in a hidden drawer, there wasn't much left behind.
Even the house they'd lived in wasn't theirs. Just an old, creaky rental. Thankfully, the rent was low—one of the few mercies he was given.
Seeing no other option, the young man took matters into his own hands.
He dropped out of high school.
And started working.
The convenience store he worked at now belonged to one of his grandfather's old friends.
The man had heard what happened and, moved by the situation, offered him a job.
But even if it hadn't been a favor, he probably would've hired him anyway.
This was a small, quiet town, and reliable clerks were hard to come by.
Plus, the owner lived in the city and didn't mind handing off responsibilities to someone who needed them more.
That's how he ended up here—behind a counter, surrounded by neon lights and soft music, living day by day in a store that never really slept.
Back in the storage room, he stretched his back, letting out a breath after restocking shelves for what felt like hours.
He glanced at the wall clock again.
Still 30 minutes left.
"Damn," he muttered under his breath.
With a sigh, he walked back to the front counter and picked up the store phone.
Time to call the manager.
After all, he couldn't close the store without him.
----
"See you later."
"Yeah, take care."
The young man gave a small nod, waving as the store manager disappeared into the night.
With the convenience store finally closed, he stepped outside and looked down the empty road.
The night was deep and quiet, the street bathed in dull orange from old streetlamps.
He let out a soft sigh—he still had a twenty-minute walk ahead before he'd be home.
He started walking, hands in his pockets, taking in the stillness of the town.
The sound of distant traffic hummed faintly, mixed with the occasional hoot of an owl and the chirping of unseen nocturnal creatures.
With nothing better to do, he pulled out his smartphone.
'May as well finish the new chapter before I get home.'
The screen lit up his face with a pale glow as he opened the webnovel app and tapped on the latest chapter of the story he'd been following.
His feet moved on autopilot, his eyes never leaving the screen.
He'd done this plenty of times—walking while reading. The road was usually deserted this late, and his house was close enough.
The story pulled him in quickly. He chuckled at a joke the protagonist made, lips curling into a rare smile.
And then—
BLAARRRRHHHH!!!
A deafening horn shattered the night.
He blinked, snapped out of the story—and turned his head.
Headlights.
White.
Bright.
Too close.
Too fast.
His eyes widened as reality came crashing back—he was standing in the middle of the road.
The middle of the highway.
His mind raced. 'What the hell—how did I—?'
But there was no time to think.
No time to move.
The truck's driver hadn't seen him until the last moment.
No one expected a person to be walking, eyes glued to a phone, in the center of a dark road.
And by the time he saw him…
It was already too late.
There are some mistakes you don't get a second chance to fix.
This was one of them.
The tires screeched.
But it was too late.
The bumper of the truck slammed into him—square in the chest—and everything went black for a split second as his body was launched through the air like a ragdoll.
He didn't feel anything.
Not pain. Not panic.
It happened too fast.
But somewhere mid-air, something strange occurred.
The world slowed down.
Time stretched like molasses, and within that stillness, his mind opened—like a dam breaking, memories spilling through all at once.
And then he heard it.
His mother's voice—young, raw, trembling with a mixture of fury and despair.
"How can you do this to me…? How?"
A pause. Then came his father's voice, sharp and bitter:
"What do you mean, how? You never loved me. You married me for what? Money? Comfort? You never even let me touch you."
His mother's voice cracked, tears breaking through her words.
"I was tired… I am tired! I work all day, and even when I come home, I do all the chores! You think I'd be in the mood for anything after that? But you—"
"You never lifted a finger. Not once. Not for the house, not for me, not even for your own son!"
And then came the silence.
Before it shattered again.
"What son?"
His father's voice had turned cold, venomous.
"I don't care about him. He's just a burden—something born because you couldn't keep your womb in check."
That line hung in the air like poison.
The young man—just a child back then—had stood silently in the hallway, watching it all unfold through wide, helpless eyes.
He remembered his mother screaming after his father as he turned his back and walked out the door.
She had begged him to stay.
But he never looked back.
And now, as his body spun mid-air—limbs weightless, mind adrift—he finally understood.
That's what it was all about.
The cheating. The bitterness. The hatred.
His father had been having an affair.
And his mother had been broken long before he was even old enough to understand.
'So that's why they fought...'
'So Dad cheat on Mom, huh?'
'What a piece of scum...'
He thought this as the air roared around him, the pavement rushing up to meet him—and yet, everything felt strangely still.
And in that stillness, one truth settled in his heart:
His family didn't break because of him.
It had been broken long before he could even speak.
As the last fragments of memory faded from his mind, his eyes began to close.
He could feel it—the warmth draining from his limbs, the life seeping slowly out of his body.
His breathing grew shallow.
Lighter.
Colder.
And in that fleeting moment, he felt something strange…
Like his soul was gently slipping free from the shell that once held it.
His eyes shut for the final time.
And then—
He was gone.
Thud.
His body hit the asphalt with a sickening, hollow sound.
A moment later, the truck tires screeched violently, rubber burning against concrete as the vehicle finally came to a halt several meters down the road.
The truck driver stumbled out, panic written all over his face.
He ran toward the still figure lying in the middle of the highway, shouting—pleading.
But it was no use.
The young man lay motionless.
Eyes closed.
Body broken.
No breath.
No pulse.
He was already gone.
He was dead.