Alright, I get it. I’m not exactly turning heads out here. The braids? Yeah, they’re mine, and they took time—don’t let the “effortlessly cool” vibe fool you. It’s a choice, alright? A lot of people think I look like I’m trying to make a statement, but the truth is, I’m just trying to get through the day without my hair looking like a complete disaster. As for the clothes? Hoodie, jacket, faded jeans, sneakers that have definitely seen better days... Not the look of someone aiming for the spotlight, but it works for me.

I’ve got one earbud in, music doing that magical thing where it transports you somewhere better—somewhere that isn’t the cold, grey streets of the city after a six-hour shift stocking shelves. Grocery store life. Glamorous, right? Honestly, it’s not bad if you like repetitive tasks and awkward small talk with strangers. But hey, it pays for a few games now and then, so I’m not exactly complaining. Well, maybe a little.

The air’s crisp tonight, just the right kind of cold that makes you appreciate the hoodie. I glance down at my sneakers as I walk, scuffing them against the pavement. If these shoes could talk, they’d probably beg me for a break. The city’s winding down, the hum of cars and distant chatter fading into the background. I catch the bus after a couple minutes of waiting—lucky me, no awkward eye contact with strangers tonight.

The bus ride is routine. Headphones in, face against the window, pretending I’m anywhere but here. The kind of thing where if you time your music just right, it feels like you’re in a movie, starring you. Only, the “movie” is a guy getting off a bus to walk home to a block of flats that looks like it’s been through one too many winters without a fresh coat of paint.

I hop off at my stop, my breath forming small clouds in the air. The lights flicker as I walk down the street toward my building. It’s one of those tall, slightly run-down places—kinda like it’s been around long enough to develop character, but not enough to be charming. Gray, graffitied, with a couple of cracks running up the side that no one’s bothered to fix.

I stop in front of the entrance, pausing for a second as I let the last few notes of my playlist fade out. The streets are quiet now, the only sound being the distant buzz of streetlights and the occasional bike wheel squeak as a kid zooms by. I let out a sigh.

There it is—home, sweet home.

I drag myself up the stairs, each step slower than the last. The metal groans under my weight like it’s been doing this job for far too long. Can’t say I blame it. Living on the top floor of this run-down building always feels like I’m climbing Everest, especially after a long shift. But hey, the rent’s cheap, right?

As I go up, I wave at a couple of neighbors—old man Takeda, who’s probably lived here since dinosaurs roamed the Earth, and Mrs. Han from 2B, clutching her laundry basket like it’s full of gold. I smile at them, and they nod back, friendly enough. Not that I’m close with anyone here. Just polite nods and the occasional small talk. Still, it beats awkward silence.

By the time I reach the top floor, my legs are begging for a break. I stop for a second, hands on my knees, catching my breath. The thought of hauling groceries up here is already giving me a headache. Another reason to avoid the shopping trip I’ve been putting off for days.

Finally, I pull out my key and unlock the door. “Home, sweet home,” I mutter to myself as I step inside the apartment. It’s dead quiet, of course. Nobody’s home, which, honestly, is how I like it. No chaos, just peace. Well, usually.

I toss my jacket onto the couch and head straight for the kitchen. My stomach grumbles as I open the fridge. Not much in here. A couple of sad slices of bread, some leftover ham, and the last of the cheese. Great. Gourmet meal coming right up.

I slap the sandwich together, nothing fancy—just bread, ham, cheese, and a little mustard for good measure. I toss it on a plate and plop down on the couch, the springs creaking under me. The couch is old and stained, a relic from whoever lived here before. I grab the remote, fire up YouTube, and scroll through a bunch of dumb videos. Anything to kill time. Anything to distract myself for a bit.

But then I hear it. Faint at first, but definitely there—the sound of crying. I sigh, tossing the remote onto the coffee table and getting up. Of course, it’s him.

I walk down the short hallway to one of the bedrooms and push the door open. There, in the dim light, is my brother, Jiho. He’s curled up on his bed, shoulders shaking, tears streaming down his face. His headphones are in, blasting some sad ballad, the kind that makes you feel like you’ve lost everything, even if you haven’t. His hair is a messy mop, and his clothes look like he’s been wearing them for days—probably has.

Jiho doesn’t look anything like me. Where I’ve got dark skin and sharp braids, he’s got light skin and soft brown hair that curls just at the ends. He’s a bit skinnier than me, too, which doesn’t help with how small he looks when he’s curled up like this. Jiho’s adopted. He’s been my brother for years, but sometimes it feels like we’re from two different planets.

When he notices me, Jiho quickly wipes his face, clearing the snot and tears, and sits up, trying to act like he wasn’t just crying a river. He forces a smile—completely fake, but he gives it a shot. “Hey, Haru. How was work?”

I don’t even bother with the whole “everything’s fine” routine. I know what’s up. “You’re still hung up on her, huh?”

He tries to laugh it off, but the cracks in his voice give him away. “Nah, man. I’m good.”

I raise an eyebrow, not buying it for a second. He’s still a wreck over his ex. They broke up a couple weeks ago, and he’s been like this ever since. Not that I can really relate. I’ve never had a girlfriend to begin with.

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I lean against the doorframe of Jiho’s room, arms crossed as he wipes his eyes for what feels like the hundredth time today. “You’re still a mess,” I say, trying to keep my voice light but failing miserably.

Jiho sniffles, his mop of blonde hair falling over his face like a curtain. “I’m not a mess,” he mutters, still wiping at his eyes.

I raise an eyebrow. “Dude, you’ve been listening to sad breakup songs for the past two weeks. If Spotify had a depression playlist, you’d be its number one fan.”

He gives me a weak smile, still trying to hide his red, puffy eyes. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah, sure you are,” I deadpan, leaning a little closer. “But seriously, Jiho, she’s not coming back. You’ve gotta stop torturing yourself.”

He groans, throwing his head back against the pillow, staring up at the ceiling. “It’s not that easy, Haru. She was… I don’t know. Special.”

I sigh, ruffling the back of my braids. “I know, man. I know. But there are other girls out there. Probably not ones that’ll break your heart like she did.”

He chuckles lightly through his snot. “You sound so convincing.”

Before I can come up with a better pep talk, there’s a loud knock at the front door, followed by the unmistakable voice of our resident giant, Isak. “I forgot my key again!” he shouts through the door.

Jiho and I exchange a glance, both of us sighing in unison. “Of course,” I mutter, pushing off the doorframe. “Stay here. I’ll go let the idiot in.”

I head to the door and yank it open, and there he is—Isak, with his usual too-long-for-this-world blonde hair flowing around his face, looking like he just stepped out of an anime and forgot how to be human. His blue eyes are bright, always too cheerful for someone who constantly forgets things, like basic keys. He’s so tall that I have to tilt my head back slightly to meet his gaze. His frame is long and lanky, and with his oversized hoodie and ridiculously long limbs, he could easily be mistaken for Slender Man, if Slender Man had a constant dumb grin on his face.

He rubs the back of his head sheepishly. “Uh, I, uh... left my key inside again.”

I cross my arms and stare him down. “That’s the third time this week, man. What are you doing, leaving your brain somewhere along with it?”

He chuckles, all awkward and goofy. “What can I say? Some things just slip through the cracks. You know me.”

“Yeah, I do. And that’s why I’m not surprised,” I say, stepping aside to let him inside. “Jiho’s here, by the way,” I mentioned as he kicked off his shoes.

“Still sad over his ex, right?” Isak guesses with a smirk, pulling his hoodie over his head.

From Jiho’s room, his voice comes out clear and annoyed, “I’m NOT!”

I glance back at Isak and shrug. “Definitely still sad.”

Isak grins, but before he can say anything else, he holds up a couple of grocery bags with a look that says he’s proud of himself. “Brought some stuff for everyone.”

We head into the kitchen, and he dumps the bags on the counter. Jiho joins us after a few moments, his hair still a mess, but his eyes a little less puffy now.

“So, what’d you get?” I ask, watching as Isak starts pulling out bags of chips, instant noodles, and way too much soda.

Jiho looks at the collection and raises an eyebrow. “Uh, Isak, where’s the actual food? You know, like, meals? Breakfast, lunch, dinner?”

Isak tilts his head, blinking like it never even crossed his mind. “I didn’t think about that. I just grabbed stuff that’d be good for gaming.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, sighing. “You seriously walked into a grocery store and didn’t think we needed real food?”

Isak shrugs. “Well, we can eat it... while gaming?”

Jiho and I exchange a look, the kind of look that says, How are we still alive living with this guy?

I sigh, pulling out my phone. “Alright, who’s texting Abel, or are we just ordering takeout again?”

Just as I’m about to text Abel and save us from Isak’s “gaming diet,” I hear the familiar sound of keys jingling, followed by the soft click of the front door unlocking.

“Guess who’s back,” a voice says, and in walks Abel, fresh from the gym, still radiating that “I just lifted the world” energy. The dude’s taller than me, broad-shouldered, and looks like he walked straight out of some kind of motivational fitness ad. His hoodie’s pulled over his head, but you can still see his sweat-slicked hair underneath, his face slightly flushed from a good workout. And, of course, there’s that easy smile of his, the kind that could probably charm anyone if he put a little effort into it.

“Hey, Abel,” I say, glancing at Jiho, who raises a hand in greeting from his spot at the counter. “You’re back just in time. Isak was about to feed us a strict diet of chips and instant noodles.”

Abel shakes his head, laughing softly. “I swear, you guys would starve without me.” He drops his gym bag by the door and heads towards the fridge, probably to do his usual “rescue the meal” routine. But before he gets there, something catches my eye.

It’s small. Red. And standing right next to Abel.

At first, I blink, thinking I’m still recovering from Isak’s junk food reveal. But no. It’s real.

Right next to Abel is… a red panda. A bipedal red panda. But not just any regular red panda—this one’s decked out in full cyberpunk gear, complete with mechanical limbs, glowing lights, and… wait, is that a bottle of beer in its hand?

The panda grins at me, one blue eye and one red eye shining as it waves the bottle like it’s greeting an old friend.

“Uh, Abel?” I start, not quite believing what I’m seeing. “Is there something you’re not telling us?”

Abel holds up his hand, trying to calm me down. “Okay, don’t freak out, Haru.”

I blink again, looking from Abel to the grinning cyberpunk red panda, which is still holding the beer bottle like we’re all about to sit down for drinks.

“Too late,” I mumble, my brain struggling to process the situation. Jiho and Isak are just as wide-eyed as I am, frozen in place.

And in that moment, I know—this is the day everything changes. Four brothers, the same age, not related by blood, but all caught up in something bigger than any of us could’ve imagined.