Hiroshi let out a relieved breath and absentmindedly rubbed a hand over his throat.

What a crazy evening.

The stranger, Matsuo, as he had introduced himself, really was a god. At least, there was now a frightening amount of evidence suggesting that he was. And if that was true, it also meant that all the things Hiroshi had previously regarded with a healthy dose of skepticism when it came to religion, tradition, and old stories might actually exist as well.

Just thinking about it made his head start to ache.

No.

Tonight was definitely not the right time to take apart his entire worldview.

He had avoided the worst of it. The tournament was no longer his problem, Matsuo was gone, and with any luck, he would never have to deal with gods, supernatural powers, or any kind of celestial competition ever again.

That thought at least helped ease some of the tension from his shoulders.

Exactly.

The matter was settled.

And Hiroshi wasn't an ungrateful person. Maybe he would visit a nearby shrine over the weekend and leave an appropriate offering. Better safe than sorry.

Now that he knew gods actually existed and could apparently decide to personally appear in his living room whenever they pleased, it probably wouldn't hurt to take some of the traditions his grandparents had taught him a little more seriously again.

Satisfied with that decision, Hiroshi looked at the clock.

His expression fell.

The new episode of his anime had, of course, ended long ago.

For a moment, he stared at the time in disappointment before shaking his head. It wasn't the end of the world. The episode would surely be available online by the next evening at the latest. Maybe it was even better this way. After a day like this, he probably wouldn't have been able to enjoy it properly anyway.

At least his ramen were still waiting for him, completely unharmed.

Hiroshi quickly finished getting ready and prepared his late dinner. A short while later, he was sitting at the table with a steaming bowl in front of him, practically devouring the ramen.

And really, what was stopping him from having ramen again tomorrow? Maybe another beer too?

After this evening, he had earned every single reward.

With that comforting thought, Hiroshi eventually cleaned up, changed, and went to bed.

Before turning off the light, he took one more deep breath.

He would simply file this evening away as what it had been: a completely insane experience that he would probably never tell anyone about.

And hopefully his first and last encounter with the supernatural.

Hiroshi closed his eyes.

Just before he fell asleep, Matsuo appeared once more in his mind. The white hair, the unusual eyes, and that final look before he had simply vanished into thin air right in front of him.

Then exhaustion took over.

When Hiroshi opened his eyes the next morning, he stretched comfortably beneath his blanket.

He felt surprisingly well-rested.

Why had he been so exhausted yesterday again?

For a few sleepy seconds, he simply lay there. Then the memories returned.

Matsuo.

Hiroshi sat up abruptly, his gaze shooting around the room.

No one.

His closet was closed, there was no white-haired god sitting at his table, and nothing else suggested that anyone was in his apartment.

He was alone.

Hiroshi let his shoulders drop.

"It's over," he murmured.

He reached for his glasses on the nightstand and put them on. Time for his usual morning run.

Next, he picked up his phone to check the time and his notifications, just as he did every morning.

His gaze fell on the screen.

Hiroshi froze.

No.

That couldn't be right.

He grabbed the phone properly and stared at the time as though the numbers might correct themselves if he looked hard enough.

They didn't.

His morning run should have been over by now.

So should breakfast.

Normally, he would have to leave the apartment in five minutes.

Hiroshi's eyes widened.

He had overslept. Hiroshi jumped out of bed.

No, no, no.

How could this have happened?

He never overslept!

If he skipped his run, didn't shower, and postponed breakfast until later, he might still make it. He just had to hurry.

Hiroshi yanked open the closet and reached for a clean shirt. One sleeve caught on a hanger and pulled two more shirts down with it, leaving them crumpled on the floor.

Normally, he would have picked them up immediately.

Today, he stepped right over them.

That alone felt wrong.

While buttoning his shirt, he simultaneously tried to step into his slacks and nearly tripped in the process. His hair was sticking out in every direction from sleep, so he did his best to tame it with damp hands.

Brush teeth. Wash face. Deodorant. Glasses.

His mind rattled through the necessary steps while he rushed back and forth between the bathroom and living area.

By the time Hiroshi hurried out of his apartment, he was already almost twenty minutes behind his usual schedule.

That was no reason to panic.

At least, that was what he tried to tell himself.

He would walk faster to the station, pick up something for breakfast at the convenience store on the way, and maybe catch an earlier connection than expected. If everything went perfectly, he could make up some of the lost time.

Except nothing about that morning went perfectly.

The display above the elevator already showed that it was on the ground floor.

Hiroshi pressed the button.

The number remained still for a moment before slowly beginning to climb.

One. Two. Three.

The elevator stopped again on the fourth floor.

Hiroshi stared at the display.

When the doors finally opened in front of him, several residents were already inside. Hiroshi squeezed in with them and watched with growing desperation as the elevator stopped twice more on the way down.

He mentally crossed the convenience store off his list and headed straight for the station.

His stomach was already protesting, but that was a problem for later.

Then he saw the pedestrian light ahead turn red.

Hiroshi stopped.

He could already see the entrance to the station on the other side of the street.

He looked left, then right.

No cars.

For one tiny moment, he seriously considered simply crossing.

His foot had already started moving forward. Hiroshi stopped himself.

No.

He was not going to start ignoring traffic laws because he was ten minutes late.

When the light finally turned green, he quickly crossed the street.

Things didn't get any better at the station.

His usual train was, of course, long gone.

Hiroshi automatically took his usual place behind the second digital display anyway and was relieved to see that the next train was due in two minutes.

It arrived on time, and for one brief moment, hope returned.

Then he looked inside.

Full.

Not simply crowded. So full that Hiroshi wondered how it was physically possible to fit another human being inside.

The waiting crowd behind him began moving and promptly answered that question.

Hiroshi was pushed into the carriage along with the other passengers. Within seconds, he found himself wedged between a man in a suit and a student wearing headphones.

At every stop, Hiroshi was shoved left, pushed right, and eventually lost all sense of where he was standing inside the carriage.

When his station was finally announced, he prepared to get off well in advance.

Or at least he tried to.

"Excuse me. I need to get off here."

No one reacted.

"Excuse me, please."

He carefully tried to push his way forward, but at the same time, new passengers were already forcing their way through the open doors.

For one terrible moment, Hiroshi was convinced he was going to miss his stop.

With the kind of determination he normally reserved for complicated tax cases, he squeezed his way through the crowd and stumbled onto the platform at the last possible second.

The doors closed behind him.

Hiroshi breathed a sigh of relief.

Once he reached the surface, he continued toward the office at a pace somewhere between fast walking and a decidedly undignified jog in business clothes.

By the time Hiroshi finally reached the office building, his usual arrival time had long since passed.

Now he just needed to take the elevator upstairs.

But he stopped in front of the closed doors.

OUT OF ORDER.

Hiroshi stared at the sign.

In all the years he had worked here, the elevator had never broken down.

It was as if the whole morning were cursed.

Hiroshi grimaced.

After yesterday, he would rather not use that word.

"What is going on today?"

With a sigh, he opened the door to the stairwell and trudged up the stairs.

By the time he finally reached his floor, his shirt was sticking slightly to his back. He pulled out his phone.

8:43 a.m.

Twenty-three minutes later than usual.

Hiroshi squared his shoulders, adjusted his glasses, and tried to smooth his disheveled hair with one hand.

Maybe no one would notice. He stepped into the office.

"Good morning, Yamada-san."

Nakamura-san looked up from her screen.

Her gaze moved to Hiroshi's hair, then to his slightly wrinkled shirt, and finally to the clock on the wall.

Her eyebrows rose.

Takahashi-san looked up as well.

"Yamada-san?"

Hiroshi stopped.

"Yes?"

Takahashi-san studied him with concern.

"Is everything all right?"

Hiroshi instinctively wanted to say that of course everything was fine.

Then he looked at his workspace.

There was no coffee on his desk.

He hadn't eaten breakfast.

And he was twenty-three minutes late.

For the first time in years, Hiroshi Yamada felt as though he had no control over his morning.

He adjusted his glasses.

"I overslept."

Nakamura-san and Takahashi-san stared at him as though he had just told them he'd joined a circus overnight.

Author's Note

It really does seem like his morning is cursed... 👀
What a strange coincidence. ;)