Chapter Text
Kenji Sato was the kind of man no one noticed twice. Thirty-four years old, five-foot-eight on a good day, with a belly that stubbornly resisted every half-hearted gym membership he abandoned. His hair was thinning, his shirts always a little too tight, and the highlight of his week was when the vending machine didn’t eat his coins.
Still, life wasn’t bad. Just… beige. That morning he’d received a promotion at the insurance firm, though “promotion” meant a slightly larger desk and slightly more paperwork. His coworkers had clapped politely in the breakroom. His supervisor had muttered something about “expecting great things.” And by the end of the day, a mountain of new responsibilities had already landed on his inbox.
Office drama lingered in the background, as always. The young hotshot from sales sneering about “old men in middle management,” the passive-aggressive post-it notes about fridge etiquette, the quiet rivalries over who got the corner cubicles. Kenji wasn’t a fighter. He let it wash over him, shrugged, and told himself that stability was better than excitement.
Now he walked home through the dusky streets of Tokyo, tie loosened, a convenience-store coffee steaming in his hand. The air smelled faintly of exhaust and fried food. Salarymen hurried past with identical black briefcases, like ants scurrying back to the nest. Kenji blended in perfectly, one more shadow in the tide.
It was supposed to be an ordinary evening.
Then, as he passed the pedestrian crossing, movement caught his eye. A tiny, soot-gray kitten darted across the asphalt, tail puffed, eyes wide with panic.
Kenji didn’t think. He just moved. Coffee cup clattered to the ground, scattering brown arcs across the concrete as he lunged forward.
His hands closed around warm, trembling fur. The kitten mewled, claws scratching his wrist. For a heartbeat, relief flooded him — he’d gotten it, he’d saved it.
And then he heard it. The shriek of tires. The thunder of an engine far too close. The shadow of a truck looming, unstoppable, bearing down on him.
Kenji squeezed his eyes shut. Any second now, he’d be plastered across the pavement, his name forever remembered as nothing more than “that guy who got hit by Truck-kun.”
This was it. The moment every late-night anime binge had prepared him for. He’d open his eyes in another world, probably with a sword, maybe a harem, definitely some overpowered cheat skill to make up for thirty-four years of mediocrity. His heart thudded. Destiny had finally found him.
…Except the impact never came.
There was a scream of twisting metal, the thunderous crash of concrete cracking, and then silence. Kenji cracked open one eye. The truck wasn’t on top of him. It had swerved, slammed into a retaining wall, and now sat at a hideous angle, steam hissing from the hood.
The kitten wriggled free, darting to safety. Kenji stumbled to his feet, legs shaking, staring dumbly at the wreck. And then his stomach dropped. The windshield was shattered, the cab crumpled inwards.
The driver.
Through broken glass and smoke, he caught a glimpse — not some faceless middle-aged man, but a young woman slumped over the wheel. Barely mid-twenties, maybe younger. Her hair spilled dark against the dashboard, blood staining her temple.
Kenji’s chest went cold. He hadn’t died. He hadn’t been chosen. Instead, in saving a kitten, he’d somehow doomed a stranger.
Had he… killed her?