❝In the tale of fate, the red string connects us all, but not every thread leads to a soulmate.❞
In a world where love is entwined with fate, an abandoned conductor escapes the confines of an unnatural train into a universe he's forgotten.
As he nav...
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The first few days in Tokyo were a blur of confusion, hunger, and loneliness. The conductor, or whatever was left of him, wandered through the sprawling city, hollowed out by the weight of his existence. Freedom felt no different from captivity.
He was lost. He had no past, no future, and no name.
Only fragments of memories—a life he had lived before he boarded that cursed train—and a skill of speaking Japanese he did not recall learning.
It was early one morning when he first noticed it: the knot of red string. It was faint, almost imperceptible, attached to the pinky finger of a man he passed on the sidewalk. The conductor's breath caught in his throat. He stopped walking, his gaze following the string's delicate path, stretching across the street and disappearing into the crowd.
For a moment, hope flickered in his chest. Could this be a sign? Could this string lead him to someone who could help?
But when he looked down at his own hands, they were empty. No red string. No connection.
He sighed deeply and continued his aimless walk through the bustling city. Tokyo was a maze of flashing lights, towering buildings, and people who moved like clockwork, driven by their own invisible purposes. The conductor felt out of place, like a ghost drifting through the present, tethered only to the past. His heart ached with the longing for something—anything—that could fill the void inside him.
Each day, he wandered through Tokyo's streets, silently observing the world around him. He'd walk past the stalls in the busy markets, inhaling the scent of freshly cooked food, his stomach twisting in hunger. At first, he had been too proud to beg, too ashamed to ask for help. But eventually, as a week passed by, desperation overcame him.
He scavenged for food in the alleyways, picking at discarded scraps left behind by hurried office workers and tourists. Occasionally, a sympathetic street vendor would hand him a piece of fruit or a bowl of rice.
Though his stomach was never full, he survived. Yet the hollowness inside him remained, gnawing at his soul.
At night, the city lights dimmed, and the world grew quiet. But inside him, the storm raged on. He would find a hidden corner—a park bench, a doorway, or under the canopy of trees in the park—and curl up, clutching his head between his hands as sobs wracked his body.
He had never cried like this before. Centuries aboard the Bound Line had made him cold, and empty, but now that he was free, all the emotions he had forgotten surged back in unbearable waves.
He cried for his lost memories, for the life he couldn't remember, and for the unknown future that loomed ahead of him. He cried for the fragments of his past that haunted him—visions of fights, of running away, of stealing—and for the life he could never return to. And above all, he cried for the hopelessness of it all. He had escaped, but he was still trapped, in a city that was as indifferent to his existence as the Bound Line had been.
But at this moment, it was the New Year, and the clock had just struck 12.
The air around the lake was cold, crisp with the bite of winter. Fireworks cracked in the distance, faint echoes of celebration in a city that felt miles away from the quiet, forgotten corner the conductor had found for himself.
He sat on a bench, his worn black coat pulled tightly around his shoulders, the chill sneaking through the thin fabric. Beside him, a homeless old woman mumbled softly to herself, rocking back and forth with the rhythm of someone who had lived on the streets far too long.
The conductor had found her earlier that evening, her figure huddled by the edge of the lake, her world reduced to the bench and the stars above. He didn't know why he chose to sit beside her, only that it felt right. They hadn't exchanged words—not many were needed in a place like this.
He had nothing to offer her, and she had nothing to ask of him.
As the minutes passed, the conductor felt something strange—a gentle tug in his chest, an unsettling restlessness he hadn't felt in years. He shifted in his seat, glancing at the old woman. She was still mumbling, lost in her own world, oblivious to the fireworks, to the distant sounds of laughter and music.
"I'll be back," he muttered softly, unsure if she even heard him.
The woman didn't react, and so he stood, brushing off the invisible weight that always seemed to hang over him. On the way, he spared a glance at his old conductor hat which was now on the ground with a few coins inside.
The feeling in his chest was growing stronger, like a heartbeat out of rhythm. It tugged at him, pulling him away from the lake and toward the flickering lights of a nearby fair.
He walked slowly, the tugging sensation growing with every step, guiding him without any clear direction. The fair was alive with energy, booths lined with colorful lights, children and adults alike laughing and shouting in excitement. It was chaotic and noisy, a sharp contrast to the peaceful lake, but something about it felt familiar.
And then he saw her.
At the far end of the fair, near a booth with flashing lights, a woman stood with her arms raised in victory. She was laughing, her smile wide as the man running the booth handed her a prize. She accepted it eagerly, her eyes glimmering with triumph.
But the prize—something about it made his breath catch in his throat.
It was a ticket.
Not just any ticket. A very familiar one.
The sight of it hit him like a wave, memories flooding back in fractured images: the Bound Line Express, the cold December night when he first boarded, the endless tracks stretching into the unknown.
His heart raced, the tug in his chest now a full-force pull, as if the universe itself was trying to drag him back toward something he thought he had escaped. He blinked, his mind reeling.
Was it even real? Could it be?
The woman, still grinning, waved the ticket at the man running the booth before tucking it into her pocket. She began to walk away, weaving through the crowd, her figure starting to vanish into the sea of people.
For a moment, the conductor stood frozen, unsure of what to do. His entire body screamed at him to chase after her, to snatch the ticket from her hands, to tear it apart before it could claim another soul. But his feet felt heavy, rooted to the ground.
