SHARPER || Chishiya Alice in Boarderland

-34- Shibuya Crossing

Pain.

It's the first thing I register.

A deep, crushing agony that spreads through my body like fire. My ribs scream with every breath, my leg is twisted at a sickening angle, and my head pounds as if something exploded inside it. Maybe it did.

The world around me is chaos. Shibuya Crossing—usually a blur of neon lights and hurried footsteps—is unrecognizable. There's debris everywhere. Twisted metal, shattered glass, the distant wail of sirens. People scream. Someone is sobbing. A horn blares continuously from a car that will never move again. Everything rings. The sound of it presses against my skull until I can't tell if it's coming from outside or inside my own head.

My motorcycle—where is it? I don't know. I don't remember.

Memories claw their way back, slow and jarring. Mari's birthday. The bagel. Her presents. White hoodies. Nio. Takeru standing beside me, laughing. We left together. My brother had been right ther—

Takeru.

A spike of adrenaline cuts through the pain, and I try to move. Try to push myself up. That's when I feel it—the weight. Warm and heavy, pinning me down. I crane my neck, blinking through the blood and dust clinging to my lashes.

And I see him.

Takeru is sprawled over me, his body a shield. Debris covers him—chunks of concrete, shattered beams. His face is pale beneath the grime and streaks of red. Blood trickles from his nose, his ears. His eyes are closed. Too still.

My breath catches, my chest tightening until I can't breathe at all.

No.

I whisper his name, but my throat is raw, my voice weak.

No.
No.

I try again, but it's barely a croak. My fingers tremble as I reach for him, but my arm won't move right. Something is definitely broken.

I panic.

I try to shove at the debris, try to twist out from under him, but I can't. I'm trapped. Trapped beneath my brother, beneath the wreckage, beneath the awful, gut-wrenching thought that the only reason I'm still alive is because he isn't.

I can't process it.

I can't process the paramedics running past us, their voices distant and sharp. I can't process the way the ringing in my ears drowns everything out. I can't process the pain, the pressure, the way Takeru won't wake up, won't move, won't—

I shake my head, vision blurring.

Please.

A figure in an orange uniform finally stops, eyes widening as they take in the scene. They shout something, but I don't understand. Hands touch me, check my pulse, brush against my shoulder, but all I can do is stare at my brother.

Takeru, wake up.
He doesn't.

Shibuya, 11:49 AM

The weight is gone, but I still can't breathe.

The paramedics haul Takeru off me, lifting the debris with practiced urgency, but their movements feel too slow, too careful. I don't want careful. I want them to hurry, to check him, to shake him, to make him open his damn eyes. But he doesn't. His body slumps as they pull him free, limp in their arms.

I gasp, but it doesn't feel like air is reaching my lungs. My ribs scream as they shift me onto a makeshift bed, voices overlapping in a chaotic mess of medical jargon. Hands press against my skin—checking, probing, bandaging—but I barely feel them. I hear them talk about fractures, lacerations, concussion, possible internal bleeding. Someone sticks an IV in my arm. A needle punctures my skin. I should care. I should listen. But I can't.