❝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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Hotaru stood frozen on the platform, his heart racing as he stared at the figure ahead. The sun illuminated the surroundings, casting a warm glow over the cobblestone streets and the quaint little town that seemed to stretch beyond the train station. He had been so sure. This was the moment—the moment everything was supposed to fall into place, to make sense.
But as the figure turned around, Hotaru's breath caught in his throat. It wasn't the young woman or soulmate he had expected. Instead, he was met with the sight of an older woman, perhaps in her mid-50s. Her skin was weathered from years under the sun, her hands rough and calloused, like someone who had worked the land her whole life. She wore a simple dress, sturdy boots, and a wide-brimmed hat pushed back slightly on her head. Her eyes, however, were fierce, sharp, and immediately locked onto him with a mix of anger and concern.
" You dumbass!" she shouted, closing the distance between them with surprising speed. Before Hotaru could react, she reached him and delivered a solid slap to the back of his head.
"Where the actual fuck were you? It's been five hours since you left."
Hotaru staggered slightly, blinking in fright as her words registered. He turned to look over his shoulder at the train, just in time to see the last car slipping out of sight.
In the distance, the conductor waved his hat toward him in a slow, almost mocking farewell. The train rumbled away, disappearing into the horizon like it had so many times before.
He turned back to the woman, utterly bewildered. "What?" he began, but she cut him off, her face twisted into a fierce scowl.
"Do you listen to me, Hotaru Junpei?" she said, her voice a mix of frustration and relief. "How old do you think you are? You're only twenty. You shouldn't be getting on and off of trains like this."
The former conductor blinked, his mind struggling to process her words. She knew his name. How? He looked at her, really looked at her now—the lines on her face, the deep set of her eyes, the way she stood, arms crossed as if she had been waiting for him for hours. She had the same stubborn look as he did, the same hazel-brown eyes that reflected the light just so. And the way she called him so casually—it was unfamiliar.
He looked down, seeing a last faint glow of the red string that was now extended to the sky, endlessly.
