Hirakata hummed with the quiet pulse of a city winding down for the night. Neon signs blinked promises of ramen, karaoke, and pachinko, their light spilling onto the wet pavement from an earlier drizzle.

The sidewalks were still busy, though the rush had thinned to scattered clusters of salarymen, students, and the occasional cyclist weaving confidently through the crowd.

Aiko adjusted the strap of her bag and kept her head down, her footsteps quick but measured. She’d learned to walk with purpose when leaving the kyabakura, her work heels tucked into the bag and replaced with practical sneakers.

Her co-workers teased her for it—“too sensible for a hostess,” they’d laugh—but it was a necessity. The club was in a nicer part of town, but drunks and opportunists didn’t keep to one district.

A faint pang of guilt tugged at her as she passed a mother ushering two young children home, their sleepy faces turned up toward her. Aiko forced a polite nod.

The streetlights flickered.

Aiko stopped mid-step, her brow furrowing. Above her, the fluorescent hum of the city dimmed, then cut out completely, plunging Hirakata into darkness. A collective murmur spread among the pedestrians, their confusion rippling outward. Aiko reached for her phone, the comforting weight of it a tether to normalcy.

Nothing.

The screen stayed black, no matter how many times she tapped or held the power button. Around her, others were pulling out their phones, their faces lit briefly by dead screens. Some cursed under their breath; others held their phones up, as though the higher altitude might coax them back to life.

“A blackout?” someone asked behind her.

“But even the cars aren’t working…” replied another pedestrian.

Aiko turned toward the street. The usual line of taxis crawling toward Hirakata Station had become a parade of stalled vehicles. Drivers leaned out of windows, their faces painted with frustration, while passengers climbed out to inspect the sudden failures. A bicyclist wobbled dangerously as their electric-assist motor cut off, forcing them to dismount and push.

What the hell is going on?

*

She started walking again, the shadows of unlit vending machines casting unfamiliar shapes onto the narrow streets. The absence of sound struck her more than the darkness—no humming power lines, no train horns, no ambient music spilling from the konbini up ahead.

The store was swarming with people. Aiko hesitated, staying just outside. Shouts echoed from inside as a flustered clerk, no older than herself, waved his arms in a futile attempt to manage the growing chaos.

“If you don’t have cash, you can’t buy anything!”

“How are we supposed to use cash if the register isn’t working?”

Aiko stepped back, the press of the crowd sending a wave of unease through her chest. Grabbing supplies was tempting—her dorm room was hardly stocked for a disaster—but the energy here was sharp and fraying, the threads of politeness unraveling. She’d seen it before during the rare typhoon: quiet panic blossoming into chaos.

*

By the time she turned onto the narrow street leading to her dorm, Hirakata had transformed into an unfamiliar place. Shadows swallowed the familiar landmarks, and she found herself glancing over her shoulder.

The alley shortcut loomed ahead, a darkened tunnel she typically avoided at night. But her legs ached, and the weight of her bag pulled at her shoulders like lead. She hesitated for a moment before stepping into the gloom, quickening her pace.

The voices hit her ears before she saw the figures.

“I said let me use your phone, mine doesn’t work.”

“Don’t mess with me!”

Aiko’s breath caught as the argument grew louder. Her fingers tightened around her bag strap, and she dipped her head slightly, muttering, “Excuse me” as she passed.

The men didn’t seem to notice her—or maybe they didn’t care. Her sneakers slapped against the pavement, her pulse thundering in her ears until she reached the next street, the full moon casting shadows on the asphalt.

She exhaled, her shoulders relaxing just enough for the fear to give way to irritation. Why did I even take the shortcut? Stupid.

*

Her dorm was silent when she arrived. The stairwell was silent and dark. She clasped the rail tightly as she slowly climbed to the third floor.

The hallway smelled faintly of burnt plastic, and she passed several open doors where neighbors whispered in hushed tones.

“If the electricity doesn’t come back, what do we do?”

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Aiko paused as she opened the door to her apartment, allowing her eyes to adjust to the dark. Through the sliding glass doors to the balcony, the moonlight illuminated her room just enough to see. All was as she’d left it, the futon unrolled in the corner, her textbooks neatly stacked on the desk. She closed the door behind her, the sound unnaturally loud in the quiet.

Her flashlight lay in a drawer by the bed.

It didn’t work.

She sat down on her futon, next to a stack of carefully organized notebooks with the small photo of her grandmother perched on top. Aiko picked up the photo, her thumb tracing the edge of the frame.

“Grandma” she whispered, the words catching in her throat.

Outside, the city stretched out in darkness, a hushed, alien landscape. The world had stopped. What would turn it back on?

*

The dorm was silent except for the occasional creak of floorboards and the faint whispers of voices through paper-thin walls. Aiko sat cross-legged, staring at the flickering flame of the tea candle she’d eventually salvaged from the common room. It wasn’t much light, but it kept the darkness from pressing too close.

Her stomach growled. She glanced at the remnants of her rations: a bag of stale senbei crackers and half a bottle of water. It wouldn’t last her much longer.

The distant sound of a muffled argument pulled her from her thoughts. Aiko sighed and rubbed her temples. It was only the second day since everything stopped, but the dorm already felt like it was fraying at the edges.

A sharp knock at her door startled her.

“Aiko? Are you in there?”

It was Haruka. Aiko hesitated, staring at the door as though it might disappear if she ignored it long enough.

“I know you’re in there,” Haruka added, her tone firm.

With a resigned sigh, Aiko stood and slid the door open. Haruka stood in the dim hallway, holding a candle that cast shadows across her worried face. Her usual cheerful expression was gone, replaced by something more fragile.

“There’s a meeting in the common room,” Haruka said. “We’re discussing how to handle supplies and safety.”

Aiko folded her arms. “I don’t think it’ll make a difference.”

Haruka frowned. “You don’t even want to hear what people have to say?”

“I already know what they’ll say. Share food, stick together, be hopeful. It’s pointless.”

Haruka’s jaw tightened, and she stepped closer. “Please, just come. If nothing else, you can listen.”

*

The common room was a dim, flickering space lit by an assortment of candles and oil lamps. The smell of melted wax and sweat hung in the air. Around twenty students were crammed into the room, their voices rising and falling in waves as they argued.

“We need to share what we have,” one young man said, his tone pleading. “If everyone hoards, we’ll run out before we even know what’s happening.”

“Share?” another snapped. “Are you going to share when someone steals your rice? Or when they decide they need it more than you do?”

“What about going out to look for food?” a girl suggested hesitantly. “If we go in a group, maybe we can—”

“Go out?” A boy interrupted her, his voice incredulous. “Do you want to get stabbed? People are already fighting over scraps out there. It’s not safe.”

Aiko stood at the back of the room, her arms crossed as she scanned the faces around her. Most of them were pale and frightened, their voices tinged with desperation. Aiko had seen that look before—at train stations during delays, in crowded stores during typhoons. Panic thinly veiled by forced politeness.

Haruka stepped forward, her hands raised. “We need to stay calm,” she said, her voice cutting through the noise. “If we work together, we’ll have a better chance of getting through this. Fighting won’t help anyone.”

For a moment, the room quieted. Then a boy near the front shook his head. “That’s easy to say until someone decides they need your food more than you do.”

Haruka faltered, her shoulders sagging slightly, and Aiko felt a pang of guilt. Haruka was too idealistic for this situation. Too trusting.

*

After the meeting, Haruka caught up with Aiko in the hallway.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Haruka demanded.

“What was there to say?” Aiko replied. “Everyone’s too scared to think clearly. It’s a waste of time.”

“That’s not fair.” Haruka’s voice rose, her frustration breaking through. “At least they’re trying to do something. What are you doing? Sitting in your room and waiting for everything to fix itself?”

Aiko’s temper flared. “I’m not sitting around. I’m being smart. Trusting a bunch of panicked people to save you is how you get hurt.”

Haruka stared at her, her expression a mix of hurt and disbelief. “You really think that’s all there is to it?”

Aiko didn’t answer.

Haruka shook her head and walked away, leaving Aiko alone in the flickering shadows.

*

Later that night, hunger gnawed at Aiko’s stomach. She sat on the edge of her futon, staring at her dwindling supplies. Her mind replayed the events of the meeting, Haruka’s words echoing louder than she wanted to admit.

You can’t survive this alone, a small voice in her head whispered.

She shook her head. She could, and she would.

Grabbing her backpack, she carefully packed her knife and lighter. The thought of venturing outside made her chest tighten, but staying in the dorm wasn’t an option anymore.

The streets were darker than she had ever seen them. Without the hum of power or the glow of streetlights, the city felt alien, like a hollow shell of itself. Aiko stuck to the shadows, her senses on high alert.

*

When she reached the convenience store, her heart sank. The front doors had been smashed open, and the shelves were nearly bare. A few people lingered inside, their movements frantic as they grabbed whatever was left.

Aiko crouched behind a parked bicycle, watching as a man snatched a bag of instant noodles from a woman and bolted out the door. The woman screamed, but no one came to her aid.

Aiko debated whether to risk entering the store. She tightened her grip on her backpack, weighing her options.

“Out here alone, huh?”

The voice came from behind her, low and steady. Aiko spun around, her knife drawn before she could think.

A man stood in the shadows, his face obscured but his posture relaxed. He raised his hands slightly, a small smirk playing on his lips.

“Easy,” he said. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

Aiko didn’t lower the knife. Her heart thundered in her chest as she tried to assess the situation, every muscle in her body coiled like a spring.

“Bold of you to come out at night,” the man added. “People aren’t exactly friendly right now.”

Aiko’s grip on the knife tightened, her pulse quickening as the stranger stepped closer, his shadow merging with the dark.