Before waking this morning, Kai was...

...I... I was...

I was dreaming I was trapped in a room made of thick-walled webbing. It wasn’t particularly scary—just another nightmare, like any other.

Nightmares haven’t really scared me in a while. They just drain me and remind me of my own negative feelings in some obscure way.

It was more vivid than I’m usually used to, though. In that way, it almost fascinated me.

I remember starting by pushing the webbing aside, wrapping strands around each other, shaping a path through.

I looked at my reflection in the mirror, took a razor from its packaging, and began shaving as the memories returned.

Much like getting ready in the morning, it was a kind of relaxing nightmare. Gradually, I could feel myself weaving a tunnel through the webbing. Every now and then, I imagined moving past different sections of the building, sliding between the strands trying to strangle me slowly and with comfortable purpose.

Toward the end of the... nightmare, I was really constricted. Every now and then, I forgot to breathe. That’s when the tunnel finally twisted around me—and at the center, a long-legged spider gradually pulled me in.

“Ouch.”

I winced the moment I saw it—a flash of light in my vision, just for a microsecond. As I recovered, I noticed purple bruising stretching from my stomach all the way down to my bottom-right foot. A headache started forming as I tried to remember what happened.

No. Let’s not go there.

That’s when I realized I was under the hot water of the shower. The bathroom was really starting to steam up now. The pain in my arm from the cannula had dulled from the heat of the water.

It’s funny, but in spite of everything, I’m actually looking forward to today. I’ve always had to fight to smile—except when something bad happens to me. I don’t know why. Maybe I enjoy the attention. Or maybe I’m a masochist. Or maybe I just like having a tangible reason to worry.

Either way, I’m happier than I’ve been in months. Since... well...

No. Not now.

I exit the shower, towel off, and head into the bedroom again, searching through the front cabinet. I even feel strangely satisfied, like my feelings had all been vindicated at once.

Why am I smiling?

Inside the cabinet: business trousers, a collared shirt, socks, and underwear—all my size, clean, washed, and pressed...

So... this is creepy, right? They checked my size while I was unconscious and—

“Ouch.”

There it is again. That same damn headache. Another flash of light. This time, it lingers. I see my name momentarily above me in the mirror, along with the word socks just above my hand.

Yes. I’m holding socks. Way to state the obvious, stupid brain.

As soon as the flash appears, it’s gone.

What the hell was that?

“The sedative?” I ask the socks with a shrug.

They don’t reply.

Clean and dressed, I approach the bedroom doorway, dragging the IV stand along with me. I can smell freshly ground coffee and hear movement—probably in the kitchen?

I cautiously open the door and spot the back of a head I think I recognize. “Hello?! Is that you, Mr. Toki?”

“You’re up earlier than expected,” he calls back, still with his back turned.

I swing the door open. He’s standing in a spacious, open kitchen. The dining area and lounge are to the right, a rumpus room with a piano, bar, and study sits on a raised platform to the left.

“Welcome to your new apartment. We’ll take care of your meals for the next couple of days. How do you like your coffee?”

“Uh, milk, no sugar,” I reply, taking a seat at the breakfast bar. Under the grill, I see croissants toasting.

“Shouldn’t I have been sent to a hospital?”

He pauses after pouring the milk. I catch a flicker of his expression. For such a big man in such a relaxing setting, he looks... anxious.

“Unfortunately... no.”

He turns and walks around the counter, handing me the dark elixir before removing my cannula. “Apply some pressure.”

“Fukami,” he says suddenly, tone shifting. “I want you to imagine a wall for me.”

There’s a dead-serious urgency in his eyes. My gut tells me to go along with it. Harmless enough request, right?

“A wall. Okay...”

I figure he’s about to make a metaphor about my collapse, or joining the team. But as soon as I attempt to picture a wall in my mind, the headache rushes in—and with it, a brightening in my vision.

I flinch back on the stool as a label appears above Mr. Toki’s head:

Name: Mr. Norio Toki
Level: ###d##ÿÛ#C

Other kitchen items flash their labels too as I teeter backward. The last thing I see is my coffee:

Consumable: Coffee; espresso, milk, sugarless
Grade: Unknown

I hit the ground with a thud.

“Fukami!”

The stool’s pulled off my legs, and he helps me up.

“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!”

“Let’s sit somewhere safer, Fukami,” he says calmly. “Somewhere you won’t fall. I’ll explain—quickly. Take your coffee and move to the lounge.”

He hurries to the oven, pulling the croissants out. I sigh, pause at the coffee, then finally move to the lounge. I take a sip.

It’s... delicious.

The headache hits again, and the label flashes back into view:

Consumable: Coffee; espresso, milk, sugarless
Grade: Unknown

The word Unknown blinks and flickers—

Grade: B-

A B minus? Yeah... that feels about right.

Still, kind of judgy...

And then—gone again.

Mr. Toki moves around the coffee table, placing a tray down before me.

“It happened again just now, didn’t it, Fukami?”

I set the coffee down and stare at him. “What exactly do you want me to say? I can’t even remember what happened yesterday.”

The headache twinges again—but I push through it.

“Tell me, Mr. Toki. What the hell is going on?”

He opens his mouth, clearly prepared with a speech. He takes a deep breath.

“As you know, we’ve hired you to teach—”

He grunts, blood suddenly trickling from his nose. “Damn it... I guess she can still...”

His hand trembles as he pulls a folded piece of paper from his pocket, shaking worse by the second. He thrusts it at me.

I take the paper and grab a box of tissues from the table.

“You... should—”

His eyes are bloodshot now. “—read that.”

He takes the tissues. I stand, bewildered.

“Okay... Mr. Toki?”

That nosebleed didn’t seem like a coincidence. My stomach sinks.

After a few moments, his shuddering stops.

“Just... Toki is fine. That unpleasantness aside—know this. You start your job the day after tomorrow. The bookshelves over there—that’s your study. The computer’s tied to our intranet. You can request information through the security desk, but keep it within your duties as a teacher. No correspondence can go out. Everything is monitored.”

My heart drops further. Dropping honourifics so suddenly and that desperation with that intense anxiety he sensed in him... “What the hell have I gotten myself into? What is this place... Uh, Toki?”

He winces, clearly struggling to focus.

“All your student files and lesson plans—the next two weeks—are there. Brief yourself before Monday. Miss Takahashi will see you then. Might be sooner. You can never tell.”

He stands, faltering.

“A wall, Fukami... the note. I have to go. When I return, I can’t give you any more than general instructions. I tried to warn you, but now... only the paper.”

Blood runs again from his nose. He leans forward, grimacing, then forces himself upright and marches out of the room—

Leaving me confused and alone.