ℂ𝕊𝕄 (𝔸 ℂℍ𝔸ℕ𝔾𝔼 𝕆𝔽 ℙ𝔼ℝ𝕊ℙ𝔼ℂ𝕋𝕀𝕍𝔼)

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕊𝕦𝕣𝕧𝕚𝕧𝕠𝕣

The night air was cold and still in the quiet outskirts of a small town in Japan. Hideki, a man in his twenties, sat alone in his penthouse living room, his eyes fixed on the dimly lit television. The hum of static filled the room, accompanied by the late-night news flickering on the screen. But something felt wrong—off, as though the room itself had turned against him. The air was thick with tension, an oppressive weight lurking just beyond his senses.

The ticking of the clock on the wall seemed louder than usual. Hideki glanced up from the TV, a frown tugging at his brow. The faintest sound reached his ears.

For days, paranoia had gnawed at him like a festering wound. No matter where he was—on stage, in his car, or even in the security of his hotel penthouse—he felt it. A presence. A shadow always lurking in the corner of his eye. When he tried to focus on it, it would vanish, leaving only the sensation of being watched.

His bodyguards had dismissed it, attributing it to exhaustion. But exhaustion didn't explain the feeling of being hunted. No amount of music or work could drown out the sense that something was stalking him. His once-vibrant performances had dulled, his passion replaced with an ever-present dread.

Now, in the eerie quiet of the penthouse, Hideki sat on the plush couch, phone trembling in his hands, debating whether to call someone for reassurance. Before he could decide, a sudden knock echoed through the room—sharp and insistent.

Knock, knock.

His heart jumped. He hadn't ordered anything, and his guards should have been notified of any visitors.

Hideki: "Guards! I'm busy! Can't you handle it?"

Silence.

Annoyed, Hideki stood and cautiously approached the door. Something wasn't right. He peered through the peephole and froze.

Standing outside, staring directly back at him, was... himself.