Grey Spring: Ruins of Tokyo Manji and the Love We Left Behind - Night Shift and Ghosts

I survived. That single fact had been lodged in my head ever since. On a rainy night in the tsuyu season, the Daily Shop Sasazuka branch was quiet. Outside, a light drizzle fell. Through the glass, wet asphalt gleamed under the streetlights. Inside the store, there was only the hum of piped-in music and the faint whir of the refrigerator cases. The world at 2 AM was this silent. Hanagaki Takemichi, twenty-three years old. One hundred seventy centimeters tall. Black short hair slightly disheveled, white shirt wrinkled and worn. His dirty sneakers made soft sounds against the floor as he repeated the same task over and over—arranging products on the shelves. His slender frame seemed fragile somehow, his slightly hunched back betraying exhaustion. In his deep brown eyes, uncertainty flickered even now. A faint old scar on the back of his left hand reflected the fluorescent light in a dull gleam. He lined up cans of coffee on the shelf. One. Then another. It was monotonous work. He didn't have to think. Didn't have to remember. The cold of the can transferred to his palm. That was when it happened. Something shattered in his mind. —A rainy night. The smell of asphalt. Angry voices echoing from somewhere distant. And blood. Bright red blood spreading across the stone pavement. Draken collapsed. That massive body fell slowly, pulled down by gravity. Ryuguji Ken—the vice-captain of the Tokyo Manji Gang—dropped to his knees in the pool of blood. The scene replayed with vivid clarity, frame by frame. And his hands. Stained red. Soaked. Warm. Heavy. "—!" The can of coffee slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor. It clattered and rolled. Several products tumbled from the shelf after it. Takemichi's legs gave out, and he caught himself against the shelf, breathing shallow. His heart hammered in his chest. "Takemichi-san!" Footsteps rushed toward him. It was Katagiri Minoru. Nineteen years old, a part-timer. Tall and lanky, his bangs always falling into his eyes. He wore the Daily Shop apron and leaned down with a worried expression creasing his brow. "Are you okay? Your face looks really pale" Takemichi paused for a moment. He steadied his breathing. Pushed the images in his head back down, deeper. "...Sorry, I just didn't sleep well. I'm fine" He tried to smile. He wasn't sure if it looked convincing. "I see... But don't push yourself too hard, okay? I'll clean up the shelf" Minoru began picking up the scattered cans from the floor. Takemichi slowly got to his feet and remained gripping the edge of the shelf, unable to move for a while. Sleep deprivation. That's what he'd said. That was enough to make everyone accept it. Minoru didn't know what Takemichi had been. To him, Takemichi was just a senior night-shift worker at the store—someone he called "Takemichi-san." That was all. And that was fine. Better that way. Takemichi moved to the register counter and looked out at the rain. Beyond the glass, raindrops struck the pavement. A single person with an umbrella hurried past. That night had been rainy too. 　　＊ At 6 AM, the sky outside began to pale. After a brief handoff with Minoru, Takemichi left the store. He hadn't brought an umbrella. He figured he'd get wet anyway, so he just started walking. The air of the early rainy season morning was warm and heavy. Rain still fell. He felt his white shirt growing damp from the shoulders as he walked toward Sasazuka Station. Seven minutes on foot. A familiar route. A route where he didn't have to think about anything. The exterior of Corpo Minase came into view. A thirty-eight-year-old wooden two-story building with eight units total. The paint on the walls was peeling slightly, and only the potted plants in the first-floor hallway seemed incongruously well-maintained. The landlady, Minase Toshiko, tended them with meticulous care. He climbed the stairs with his wet body and unlocked room 201. Eighteen square meters. One room and a kitchenette. Five thousand two hundred yen a month in rent. When he entered, empty convenience store bento containers were stacked in the sink. A pair of pants lay discarded on the floor. The curtains were drawn, day and night. Takemichi peeled off his wet shirt and collapsed onto the bed. He stared at the ceiling. Nothing. Just a white ceiling. He picked up his phone. Zero notifications. No calls. No messages. When he opened his contacts, several familiar names appeared. Mitsuya Takashi. Kuii Kazuo. Kisaki Tetta—names that no longer existed, yet he still couldn't delete them. He couldn't press send. Not because he didn't know what to say. Not because there was nothing to say. He simply didn't know if he had the right to contact anyone. The Tokyo Manji Gang had disbanded. About two years ago. After the Kanto Incident—a massive conflict between the Tokyo Manji Gang and rival factions—they had won. They were supposed to have won. But the price was Draken. There were other faces he couldn't save. Other names. It was because I was weak that it ended. That's what he thought. But he couldn't cry. It was as if he'd forgotten how. His emotions were frozen somewhere deep inside, refusing to surface. Not dead. Not gone. Just frozen. He set his phone down and closed his eyes. He didn't think he could sleep. 　　＊ He didn't know how much time had passed. The room had been filled only with the sound of rain when suddenly another sound mixed in. A heavy thud. Then the sound of cardboard being torn open. Something being set on the floor. Drawers opening and closing— It was from the next room. Room 202 of Corpo Minase had been vacant for a long time. He hadn't heard any sounds of life through the thin walls in months. A move-in? Takemichi pulled the blanket over his head and turned away. It didn't matter. He didn't need to know. If he just kept his eyes closed— "Hey, neighbor! You should go say hello!" A voice carried from the hallway. It was the landlady, Minase Toshiko. Seventy-two years old, small-framed. But her voice carried with surprising strength. In his first week living here, Takemichi had learned that she was the one who knew the most about what was happening in this apartment building. "Hanagaki from room 201! You've got a new neighbor!" Takemichi froze under the blanket. He didn't want to go out. He didn't feel capable of talking to anyone. He couldn't muster the confidence to put on a smiling face. Not now. Not yet. He stayed silent. Toshiko said something else in the hallway for a while, but eventually she seemed to give up. Her footsteps faded away. The sounds of the move-in continued—boxes being shifted, shelves being assembled, windows being opened. Takemichi remained still under the blanket. Then. He heard it. From beyond the wall—faint, barely audible—a hum. Just the melody. No lyrics. Light and soft, somehow familiar. Like humming, just the smallest of sounds. Takemichi's body went rigid. (This... melody...) He knew it. He'd heard it somewhere. Deep in his memory. At the bottom of the place that had been frozen for two years—something that had sunk there. Under the blanket, Takemichi held his breath. The hum from beyond the wall continued. Calm and gentle, and yet— His heart beat once, hard. It was a sensation he hadn't felt in a long time. His heart pulsing with a strength independent of his will. The frozen thing inside him seemed to tremble, just slightly. (Who is it?) He didn't know. He hadn't seen them. Hadn't heard their voice. Only this hum. Only this melody. And yet his body remembered. This tune. This presence—he knew it. Somewhere, somehow, he knew it for certain. Takemichi curled up tighter under the blanket, unable to move. 　　＊ That same night, in an alley off Udagawa-cho, a short distance from Shibuya Center-gai. In the rain, six young men surrounded a passerby. All wore special attack jackets. Black fabric with embroidery. On their backs, a large "卍" symbol—the mark of the Tokyo Manji Gang. But beneath it, another name was stitched: "WALDSTATT." The man they'd cornered had no choice but to hand over his wallet. One of the youths snatched it and laughed with his friends. The leader, a sharp-eyed youth of about twenty, pulled out his phone. He wore the special attack jacket with more familiarity than the others. "You know about Hanagaki Takemichi?" One of his friends tilted his head. "Takemichi? From the Tokyo Manji Gang?" "A hero. Because of him, the Tokyo Manji Gang could fight to the end" The youth scrolled through his phone screen. Instagram—a photo-sharing app. The hashtag "#TokyoManjiRevival" was beginning to spread thinly through the sea of posts. Still few. But growing. "Someday, we'll definitely bring him in" The rain in the alley showed no sign of stopping. 　　＊ In the Sasazuka apartment, Takemichi was still under the blanket. The hum from beyond the wall had stopped at some point. In its place, quiet sounds continued—the end of the move-in, the sound of cardboard being folded. Takemichi looked up at the ceiling. The pulse from earlier still lingered in his chest. Faint but certain. For the first time in two years, something had moved. It frightened him. To be honest. If he got close to someone, he might lose them again. Might fail to protect them again. Draken's face surfaced. The image of blood pooling on stone. But that hum—he knew it. He knew that melody. He still didn't know who lived in the next room. He didn't have the courage to find out the answer. Not yet. Only the thin light of early morning filtered through the gap in the curtains, pale and delicate. For the first time in a long while, he thought it was beautiful.

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Episode 1

Name: Grey Spring: Ruins of Tokyo Manji and the Love We Left Behind
Author: Novelia

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