Chapter Text
Asagiri Gen, a renowned magician known in Japan, made his name in his early teens. From kids to elderly people, the magician has become widely known in Japan, slowly expanding his fame to the whole world. His exceptional talents—creativity, smooth talking, and his peculiar appearance contributed to his occupation perfectly, made him easier to be remembered by the whole world.
The man stated that he began to learn magic from a young age, captivated by the world of magicians, illusion, imagination, and most importantly—psychology. His career took a rough start, being a street magician, then it started to hit off from there on. Getting scouted by one of the smaller agencies, he no longer roamed the street, but smaller and inconspicuous spaces such as bars, underground concerts and all that. From the first time he got invited by a TV program, that was the start of his peak career.
TV Program, guest stars, to the point of publishing his first book—which he wasn't very proud of, but his career has changed to the point of better. No need to perform in smaller spaces, having the opportunities to perform in bigger spaces with large scale audiences, then having a world tour to perform in different countries was no longer a dream waiting to come true.
Having to achieve all of that at his age, 23 years old, was a big achievement. Sure, it was no easy task, having trouble from time to time, but here he was.
Alas, where his fame could only go up in the future, his freedom was robbed from his life. Every decision of life has to be discussed with his manager—which he didn’t get along with, he could no longer walk freely in the open without disguise, and work began so busy that he didn’t have the time to take care of himself.
Coming to his apartment in the early of dawn was no longer an anomaly, it became a routine at this point. Morning bled into afternoon, afternoon into night, until coming home at dawn felt normal—keys biting into his fingers, eyes burning as the sky outside turned pale without him noticing.
He began to learn to take care of himself in fragments of his time, even then it began as a necessity to live, not to enjoy. Coffee comes in routinely in his body system, food eaten cold or not at all, sleep stolen in shallow hours that never reached his bones.
There was no room to rest, no moment to sit without calculating the next call, the next favor, the next fire he had to smile his way through. Even breathing became deliberate, something he had to remember to do between negotiations and lies and carefully measured words. Relaxation turned into a concept rather than a reality, something other people had time for. Gen kept moving because stopping felt dangerous—like if he slowed down even for a second, the weight of everything he was holding together would finally come crashing down on him.
Somehow the magic that he came to love at a young age became his very own poison that choked him down.
“Ukyo-chan!”
But even that, he came to find small salvation in his darkest time. His two bestfriend—who’s engaged—was keeping him sane all this time, especially Ukyo. He met the man in his childhood, but it was brief to the point of barely noticeable. Then they met again in their late life, Ukyo already in a relationship with his boyfriend—Ryusui—reached out to Gen, to which the younger man responded happily.
Ukyo is a man older than him by more than 5 years, meaning he was definitely wiser than Gen ever be, resulting in the older man becoming his very own salvation. Though he still finds it hard not to lie—it was his defense mechanism at this point, the older man was extremely patient with him—bless his heart. Caring him in different ways that made him feel he was no longer the renowned magician, he was just a human named Gen. No longer the Asagiri Gen he was known for.
Though Ryusui was a different kind—species, one might add. The man was wealthy to the point of discomfort, but the true difficulty lies in his nature. The blond man was not only loud, but he outright reclaimed what he wanted right there. Truly such a contrast from his calm boyfriend. Nevertheless, Gen understood the blond man meant no harm for either of them, and he truly loves Ukyo—he could see the glow in his eyes. Well, at least he could get all the love of being their unofficial child—third wheel—from their loving relationship.
Gen was already halfway up the stairs to his apartment room when he heard Ukyo sighed into his ear.
“I’m just saying,” Ukyo said, voice tiny through the phone, “normal people don’t disappear for three days and then come back pretending nothing happened.”
Gen hummed, digging his keys out of his pocket. The metal jangled too loud in the narrow stairwell, echoing off concrete walls that smelled faintly of dust and old rain. “Aaah, but Ukyo-chan, you see,” he said lightly, “normal people also don’t get stuck mediating between mad scientist and trigger-happy military geniuses in their youthes. You know, occupational hazard. So you can tell that I’m built kinda differently.”
“Gen, that’s not an answer.”
“Sure it is, you just don’t want to admit it.”
He reached the third floor, pausing in front of his apartment door. The hallway light flickered once, twice—like it couldn’t decide whether to stay awake. Gen leaned his shoulder against the wall, phone tucked between ear and collarbone, and exhaled.
“I just got back home, by the way,” he added, slipping the key into the lock.
“Alive?” Ukyo asked.
Gen smiled faintly. “Fortunately.”
The door creaked open. His apartment greeted him with the familiar: dim lighting, half-drawn curtains, the lingering scent of instant coffee and citrus cleaner. Shoes kicked off by the door where he’d left them days ago. A jacket draped over the back of a chair like it had given up halfway through standing.
Everything looked normal.
Good.
He stepped inside and nudged the door shut with his heel, locking it out of habit. The click sounded louder than usual. Or maybe he was just too tired to the point of sounds becoming too sensitive in his ears.
“You sound off,” Ukyo’s tone shifted, deep. Shit, Ukyo always noticed. “You eat yet?”
Gen swallowed hard, preparing an incoming attack. Rather than lying, it’s better to revert his attention. “Define eat.”
“Gen.”
Damn, he won’t take the bait.
He wandered into the kitchenette, dropping his bag on the counter. His phone stayed pressed to his ear as he opened the fridge and stared into it like answers might magically appear between the bottles and containers. A lone pudding cup stared back at him accusingly.
“It’s okay, Ukyo-chan,” Gen said. “Probably, or I should just sleep it off.”
“I don’t want our next gathering at the hospital. Eat, Gen.”
“I will, probably.”
Ukyo went silent for a moment. That, more than anything, made Gen’s smile falter.
“ … Is it about your manager again?”
Gen closed the fridge door a little too hard.
“Wow,” he said breezily, “at this rate I might be jobless and go to the street again. Ukyo-chan is stealing my job now~ I’m supposed to be the mentalist here!”
Ukyo let out a snort, then Gen swore he could hear movement on that side. “In that case, me and Ryusui shall adopt you. Problem solved.”
“Now now, I’m delighted to hear that, especially considering Ryusui is loaded with money~ But I think I shall refuse out of the kindness of my heart! I’m in high demand afterall.”
“Oho?” Gen could hear the shift in Ukyo’s tone, slightly higher than usual. “Then shall we see who’ll win? Ryusui’s cash or your worth?”
“UKYO-CHAN, THAT’S MEAN! You know I can’t win against your mighty boyfriend!”
Then came his soft laugh from the older man, it made Gen snickered first then continued to accompany him, letting out small laughter. Then there was a pause on the other end of the line. Gen could feel the tension forming after their soft bickering, the kind Ukyo used when he was choosing his words carefully.
“You know I’m serious, right? I’m worried about you, Gen. All of this. Your workspace, your health, your mental state. You don’t have to keep pretending you’re alright with me,” Ukyo let out a sigh and continued. “You know that, right?’
Gen leaned back against the counter, tilting his head up to stare at the ceiling. The faint crack above the light fixture looked a little longer than he remembered.
“Pretending is my brand,” he said softly. “I’m still working on it, give me more time. Or else the fans would riot.”
“... Gen.”
He chuckled, but it came out thin.
“Relax, Ukyo-chan,” he said. “I’m fine, just more tired. You ever get that feeling where your brain won’t shut up even when your body’s already clocked out?”
“All the time,” Ukyo replied. “That’s called stress.”
“Ah. So that’s what we’re calling it now.”
Gen pushed off the counter and wandered toward the living room, phone still glued to his ear. The couch sat exactly where he’d left it, cushions slightly uneven from the last time he’d collapsed onto it. The coffee table was cluttered with papers he hadn’t bothered organizing—notes, scribbles, half-baked ideas written in three different pens.
He dropped onto the couch, sinking into the cushions with a long exhale.
“Aaah I just want one week,” Gen said suddenly. “One peaceful week for myself. Just to relax at home and meet up with you guys. Maybe having to eat out in peace.”
Ukyo snorted. “The last one may be doable.”
“Let me dream.”
Silence stretched between them—not uncomfortable, just… heavy. Gen stared at the ceiling again, listening to the distant hum of traffic outside, the muffled sounds of other people living their very normal, very uncomplicated lives.
Then something shifted.
It was subtle. Barely more than a flicker in his peripheral vision. But it made Gen froze.
“... Ukyo,” he said slowly, quietly.
“Yeah?”
“Hypothetically,” Gen continued, eyes fixed on the kitchen cabinet. “If someone were to the point of exhaustion, lack of food, facing stress, could it be possible that there’s hallucination involved somehow?”
“It’s not hypothetical at this point,” Ukyo said flatly.
“Would you recommend sleeping it off?”
“Why all of a sudden?”
His eyes caught movement again. It wasn’t loud. Just a flicker—too deliberate to be a shadow, and yet too solid to be an imagination.
“... For mental purposes.”
“Then yes, there might be a chance of hallucinations. Why?”
Gen didn’t answer right away. His eyes stayed fixed on the dark gap between the counter and the fridge, every nerve snapping awake despite the exhaustion weighing him down. His hand tightened around his phone, knuckles whitening.
“Hang on,” Gen murmured, voice dropping. “I think I might have a guest.”
“A person?!” Ukyo asked instantly, voice higher than intended.
“Nope, possibly an animal.” Slowly, he reached for the nearest thing on the shoe rack—a compact metal rod he kept for very unfortunate encounters. Dawn light barely filtered through the curtains, turning the kitchen into a mess of shadows and sharp edges. His pulse thudded in his ears as he took a careful step forward—completely disregarding Ukyo’s rambling about his unexpected guest animal.
Another movement.
Gen raised the rod.
Then he saw it.
A flash of white. Too smooth. Too clean. And—a tip of green?
He stopped short.
“... That’s not a rat,” Gen whispered unconsciously.
“What?” Ukyo said sharply, withdrawing his previous rambling.
Gen squinted, racing as the shape shifted yet again, just enough for him to catch it—pale limbs, impossibly small, a mess of spiky white hair with the tips of green catching the light like it had no business existing in his kitchen.
Nope. Absolutely not.
Gen unconsciously releases his grip on the rod with a shaky breath, resulting in a heavy thud that might give him a warning from his nearby neighbor. His brain screamed hallucination, but his instincts overruled it immediately. Hallucination or not, hitting that thing might feel like a terrible idea.
“ …Ukyo-chan,” Gen said, forcing a laugh he didn’t feel. “I’m gonna call you back tomorrow.”
“Gen, what’s going on?”
“Probably nothing,” he replied smoothly. “And if it is something, I’d rather confirm it with my clear head before traumatizing you.”
Then there was a pause.
“... Please don’t do anything stupid.”
“Will do,” Gen lied easily, his tone came a little higher pitched than he intended—and ended the call.
The sudden silence rang in his ears.
Gen stood there for a heartbeat longer, listening. The thing in the kitchen hasn't made a move since he finished the call. That somehow made it worse.
Slowly his eye caught an empty glass bottle sitting near the sink, clean, sturdy, and maybe just wide enough. Perfect, he thought. Containment first, then he can look it up later.
He took a breath, steadying himself, then moved.
The motion was fast and ungraceful, adrenaline overriding precision than ever. The moment he saw movement, he overrides his speed over balance, tripping over to the kitchen desk as the bottle came down with a sharp clink, trapping the small figure beneath it. The cork skittered away across the counter as Gen stumbled back, heart hammering.
For a second, nothing happened.
Then he finally caught the figure he’s been wary of as the figure inside shifted.
It was not a rat, or an animal.
Inside, there was a tiny person.
Not a doll. Not a trick of light. A person—scaled down, furious, very much alive. He was panting with an angry expression, hands in front of his chest as he even out his heavy breathing, eyes sharp glaring at him through the glass bottle separating them.
“... Okay,” Gen muttered, finally letting out the breath that he's holding. “So I am losing it.”
Then the tiny person tapped the glass once. Deliberately.
“Oi,” he said, voice clear despite the size difference. “You gonna keep staring or are you planning to let me breathe?”
Gen could feel his shoulder tense in shock.
That voice wasn’t imaginary at all. It was clearly annoyed.
Gen leaned closer, studying him like a magician confronted with a trick he didn’t understand. The tiny person was wearing a white lab coat, white hair with tipped green that reminded him of a leek. But what’s worse is not the hair color, instead it was the hair itself. Spiked in every direction, hair that personally might’ve offended gravity itself.
Yeah, no. No normal human being has hair like that. I must be dreaming.
“... Right,” Gen said, nodding slowly to himself. “Stress leads to an imaginary friend, truly ad-bay.”
The tiny man scowled up at him, mouth moving as if mid-complaint, but Gen had already decided this wasn’t real. Dreams were like that—overly detailed, strangely hostile, and always showed up when you were too tired to deal with them.
Gen carefully moves the bottle on the kitchen counter, leaving a tiny hole to comply with his imaginary friend request, a tiny hole to let him breathe, but not big enough to let him escape.
If this tiny person is the manifestation of his hallucination, then tomorrow the tiny person should be gone from his vision. But his higher brain function was also thinking of another possibility that if the tiny person is really a real life creature, then he would rather avoid being on scandal for being a murderer—don’t know if it really counts as a murder—after getting so far in this life.
The next morning—no, this morning.
“Well,” he said pleasantly, “this has been a fascinating glimpse of my subconscious.”
“OI—!” The tiny man snapped, pounding the glass even harder. “Hey! Don’t just leave me—!”
Gen stretched slowly, letting the exhaustion crashing back over him now that the immediate threat had been downgraded to utterly nonsense in a few minutes. He rubbed at his eyes, stifling a yawn.
“Clearly,” he continued, turning away. “I’ve crossed the line from ‘overworked’ to ‘full-blown stress dream’. I might add this to my next book.”
He took a step toward the hallway leading to his bedroom.
“Gen! You idiot, this isn’t a dream—!”
Gen paused only long enough to glance back over his shoulder. He was a little intrigued over the exhaustion. The tiny person knew his name, was it because the tiny person was the manifestation of his kind of dream? Either way, it was kind of funny, but he was dead tired.
“Mmm,” he hummed thoughtfully. “Goodnight,” he said while yawning loudly.
Then his step stopped for a bit. “I’ll deal with you in the morning,” he added kindly. “Or you’ll probably vanish on your own. Either way, problem solved.”
“HEY! YOU CAN’T JUST—!”
Gen was already walking away, completely ignoring the tiny person yelling.
He flicked off the kitchen light, plunging the room into shadow, and made his way toward the bedroom on autopilot. His body was done negotiating.
“Goodnight,” he said lazily. “And please don’t haunt me.”
The door to his bedroom clicked shut, then he slumped down to the bed. His ears could hear fragments of voice calling him from outside, but his tired body was shouting enough already. Not long after, he drifted away from his consciousness, fully entering the dreamworld not knowing the tiny person had been shouting his name from across the room.
In the dark kitchen, the tiny man pressed his face to the glass, eyes blazing in rage. “... Unbelievable,” he muttered. “Absolutely unbelievable.”
He rattled the bottle again, but it barely moved.
“ASAGIRI GEN, YOU BETTER WAKE UP SOON OR I’M GOING TO START BREAKING THINGS!”
The bottle, unfortunately, did not move.
Gen woke up to the sound of his alarm vibrating against the bedside table.
The light filtering through the curtains was wrong—too bright, too steady, the kind that meant he’d slept straight through the morning. For a moment, he simply lay there, staring at the ceiling, mind blank and mercifully empty. No immediate disasters, no lingering dreams, just the dull heaviness of too little rest and too many unfinished thoughts.
Not only that, his body felt heavier than he remembered, probably because he wasn’t eating anything before going back to bed. His face was covered in his previous makeup session which he didn’t bother to wash this dawn—he was too exhausted.
He reached over, silenced the alarm and rolled onto his side with a quiet groan. The light was soft, pale—early enough that the world still felt undecided.
Then his body moved without thinking, routine took over before his brain fully caught up.
First, the bathroom. Cold tiles under his feets, then the sharp scent of toothpaste. Water splashed against his face once, twice, three times before he went to remove his leftover makeup. Then he studied his reflection in the mirror—shadows under his eyes, hair slightly unruly but manageable, and his pale skin contrasting his face.
He looked as pale as a ghost.
“But at least still functional,” he muttered to himself.
He showered quickly, letting the heat wake his muscles. Dressed in practiced efficiency— shirt, slacks, cuff adjustments, fingers smoothing fabric automatically. Not to forget he started applying makeup to his face, not much—only to cover some dark parts of his face, after all his makeup artists will cover the rest of it later. By the time he stepped back into the living space, he felt assembled. Not rested, but assembled.
That would have to do for now.
Gen padded into the kitchen, tying his tie loosely around his neck as he moved. He noticed a stack of bread not that far in the kitchen counter, opened the bread box and pulled out a slice, popping it into the toaster.
Ordinary sounds filled the room. The click of the lever. The low hum of the refrigerator. The distant murmur of traffic outside.
Comfortingly mundane.
He leaned against the counter, scrolling through his phone absently while waiting.
Oh, that reminds him of yesterday's talk with Ukyo. He might need to call him back later at night, if he’s not busy around that time that is. But then again, he needs to go grocery shopping any time soon, because his fridge was literally empty, except for a lonesome pudding that he’s been saving for to enjoy after a hard day.
Hmm, maybe tomorrow he’ll enjoy that pudding.
He really did enjoy cooking. His dad was an amazing chef, while his younger self was a kitchen hazard at that time. After fleeing to Japan, he came to learn the joy of cooking to feed himself, but sometimes he wanted to try the recipes online—but it came in much bigger portions. Gen was a dainty little fellas, while he was on a taller side, he has a small appetite and had to watch his weight steady.
But at the very least, he lets himself free when he is with Ukyo and Ryusui. The size of the latter man’s mansion was enormous and it was surrounded with packs of butler and maid, letting himself free to be a kitchen hazard at trying new recipes he found online—giving the leftovers to the butlers and maids who aided him.
The sound of popping turned his attention to reality. The toaster popped.
He drifted his gaze from the phone, his other hand reached for the toasted bread only to stop middle-way when his eyes caught something in between.
He paused.
There was something on the counter. Correction, there was someone on the counter.
The bottle.
Gen blinked slowly, making sure that his eyes were working properly. But it was. The bottle was still there, and so was that someone.
Inside it—
The tiny man slept as if the world had never been unreasonable to him at all. His white coat was folded beneath his head like a makeshift pillow, his left hand holding it in place. The green-tipped spikes of his hair fanned out in impossible defiance even at that scale, casting small, uneven shadows against the glass. His other hand rested over his chest, rising and falling in slow, steady rhythm. His expression was unguarded, unaware of the pairing eyes staring at him in disbelief.
Gen stared, but he didn’t dare to move closer.
He just stood there, one hand holding his phone while the other holding his newly toasted bread, watching the faint rise and fall of the small figure’s chest.
Still here.
That’s real.
Still impossibly small.
Gen raised his phone slowly, took a quick picture of the small man. He was waiting for it to be a small shadow or somewhat like a ghost, but in fact it was real. The picture was showing the tiny man sleeping soundly.
He approached the counter slowly, as if sudden noise might wake him—though he wasn’t sure why that thought made him hesitate.
Up close, there was no mistaking it.
Not a trick of light.
Not a freaking doll.
It was breathing.
Much alive.
He felt something strange settle in his chest. His breath hitched. Panic started to give in, but his throat had not let out any sound. While he swore his expression was neutral as hell—even though there was no one looking at him, he could feel his soul leaving his body.
WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?
Magic doesn’t really exist, it only exists in the imagination of the human mind. He knows that more than anyone, after all he was a literal magician. Real magic doesn’t exist, and so did fantasy creatures. In that size, he should be a fairy, but there were no wings on his back, unless it was tucked behind his shirt. Or perhaps it’s a dwarf? But a dwarf shouldn’t be that small of a creature, it should be bigger and definitely not the size of a human palm.
NO, NO, THAT’S DEFINITELY HUMAN!
Again, real magic doesn’t exist. Magicians like himself rely on magic tricks to make the audience see magic, at the end of the day it all comes down to psychology. But is there any scientific discovery of a human sized palm?!
The vibration of his phone shook his train of thoughts, snapping him to reality. He almost let out a grunt when he stared at his phone. Damn, it was time to go to work. While he was still shocked by the tiny man, he couldn’t possibly take a sudden leave without any good reason. Couldn’t possibly ask for a leave because “I found a tiny man in my apartment”. Not to mention, his manager will probably make a big deal out of him, he doesn’t have the energy to argue with him today.
But he didn’t want the tiny man to leave just yet, at least until he satisfies his curiosity first. Though, it’s better if the tiny man didn’t bring him trouble when he got back home today.
He took a bite of his bread, only to realize he should probably feed the tiny man. Seeing the tiny man didn’t manage to leave the bottle this morning, he probably won't leave. Even if he managed to, there should be nothing in this apartment that he could consume if he’s hungry, other than the lonesome pudding and some bread. Gen will probably get back around dawn again, so he should at least leave something to eat.
Then he tore off a small piece of bread of his and gently nudged it into the bottle, beside the sleeping figure.
The tiny man shifted faintly but he didn’t wake up.
Gen watched for a second longer than necessary. He truly didn’t mean harm, but he felt like the tiny man was responsible for some of his brain cells now.
“... Don’t suffocate,” he muttered lightly, though he was sure he did poke some hole to the bottle to let the air distribution work.
He picked up his bag.
At the doorway, he glanced back once more before leaving. The bottle gleamed softly in the light. Inside it, the tiny man continued to sleep, completely unaware.
Gen adjusted his tie for the last time.
“Right,” he said to the apartment. “We’ll continue this later,” he murmured softly, closing the apartment door slowly, careful of letting out the tiniest of sound.
He didn’t mind if his electrical bill increased slightly, as it was important to give the tiny man some light for the tiny man's vision—though there was nowhere he could go. But it was the least he could do for him.
And he left, continuing pondering the tiny man as he walked to work.