The city gleamed with the cold, blinking lights of civilization. Towering skyscrapers stretched arrogantly toward the heavens, their shining walls a testament to humanity’s pride and ceaseless ambition. Below, the streets were alive with a frenetic energy, but within an unremarkable apartment, there was only stillness.
A young man sat hunched at his desk, his dead eyes fixed on the pale glow of his computer screen. His chest rose and fell in a shallow sigh as he tilted his head back to stare at the cracked ceiling of his lonely apartment.
“... So this is it, huh?” His voice was flat, almost numb, but a bitter smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “At least… I get to do what I want, even if it’s just for the last time.”
Hoshino Isamu was going to die.
“Those motherfuckers!” he suddenly roared, his voice cracking under the weight of his rage. He threw himself onto his bed, fists slamming into the mattress over and over again. “They picked me because I’m a fucking loser! Because no one cares if I die!” His voice grew hoarse as he screamed into the stale air of his room, his body trembling from anger and despair.
Just as he buried his head into the pillow, his phone buzzed, piercing through the suffocating silence. For a moment, he hesitated before snatching it from the bedside table.
“Hello? Mom, what do you want?” His words were laced with venom, though a trace of exhaustion softened them.
On the other end of the line, his mother’s voice was cheerful, almost oblivious to his mood. “Isamu! I just wanted to remind you to sleep early tonight. I’ll be coming by tomorrow morning to get you for your wedding. Congratulations, by the way!” she chirped, as if announcing a joyous occasion.
Isamu froze, his grip tightening around the phone. “... Wedding,” he repeated bitterly, the word tasting like ash on his tongue.
“Oh, and your brother Hiro will be there too!” she continued brightly. “He’s even bringing his new girlfriend, so make sure you look presentable for once, okay? I want you to make a good impression!”
“Yeah. Sure, Mom,” he muttered, his voice hollow.
Before she could say more, he hung up and tossed the phone onto the bed, slumping back with a dead-eyed stare at the ceiling. The weight of her words pressed down on him, suffocating and inescapable.
In this twisted present, humanity shared its world with an alien race—the Arachnis. Towering, spider-like creatures from the stars, they had made contact years ago, offering humanity advanced technology and interstellar knowledge. At first, it seemed like a miracle, but the relationship soured when humanity learned the price of coexistence.
The Arachnis, most of whom were female, sought to interbreed with humans. Initially, some men volunteered, drawn by curiosity or greed. But when none returned, the truth emerged: Arachnis females instinctively devoured their mates after copulation.
What began as outrage eventually twisted into pragmatism. Governments brokered a grim deal to maintain peace: every two years, a human male would be selected as a "groom" for an Arachnis bride, sacrificing himself to preserve the fragile alliance. Compensation flowed to the family of the chosen—a small fortune, enough to blind even the most moral to the horrifying fate of their loved ones.
And now, it was Hoshino Isamu’s turn.
Born into an unremarkable family, Isamu had always been the "spare," overshadowed by his successful older brother, Hiro. When his parents won the cursed lottery that determined which family would provide the next groom, the choice was obvious. Hiro, the golden child, was untouchable. Isamu, the disappointment, was disposable.
“Congratulations,” his mother had said.
Isamu closed his eyes, but sleep didn’t come. Tomorrow, he would stand before an alien bride—a creature with too many eyes and legs—and offer himself as a sacrifice. His fate was sealed: violated, devoured, and forgotten.
All he could do now was wait.
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Morning comes and the hot glow of sunlight pierced through the thin curtains of Isamu’s apartment, waking him from a restless slumber. He groaned as he sat up, his body heavy with exhaustion. The dark circles under his eyes, remnants of a sleepless night, felt like shadows of his impending fate.
“Ugh… just one day,” he muttered to himself, running a hand through his disheveled hair as he shuffled toward the bathroom.
Today was his wedding day—a day when a man and woman were meant to become one, in sickness and in health, till death did them part. The thought was laughable. There would be no “till death.” Death was the promise.
Standing in front of the mirror, Isamu caught his reflection. His face was pale, his beard unevenly shaved, and his hair looked like a mess of unkempt wool. He stared for a moment before letting out an empty chuckle.
“Maybe the Arachnis will take one look at me and change her mind,” he thought bitterly. But the fleeting glint of hope faded as quickly as it had come. His fate was sealed. Appearance didn’t matter to the bride he was meeting today.
As he splashed water on his face, a memory surfaced—Aiko Haruka. His childhood friend. For a moment, his reflection softened, and a faint smile tugged at his lips. “If this were a normal day, if I weren’t marrying a monster, maybe… it would’ve been her,” he murmured. “Does she even remember me?” The thought brought a subtle warmth, but it was smothered by the cold weight of reality. He was going to die.
A sharp knock at the door snapped him back to the present.
“Isamu! Are you ready?” His mother’s voice came from the other side, cheerful yet impatient.
“Just a second,” he called, suppressing a frustrated sigh.
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After quickly finishing in the bathroom, he opened the door to find his parents flanked by five government agents in dark suits, their presence imposing. The sight of them struck a chord—protection for the "groom," as if they were guarding a national treasure. Or perhaps just a sacrificial lamb.
“Why do you look like that?” his mother exclaimed, her brows furrowing in irritation. “Your eyes are so dark, and… sniff… did you even bathe today?”
“I was going to, but you showed up early,” Isamu replied dryly.
“Well, hurry up! There are important people at the ceremony today. You need to look at least somewhat dignified—for your brother’s sake!” his father added with a scolding tone. “Why can’t you be more like him?”
“Always with the brother comparisons,” Isamu thought bitterly but kept his face blank.
“Whatever,” his mother cut in, waving her hand dismissively. “You can wash up at the apartment near the venue. We’ve already picked up your montsuki hakama for the wedding!” Her cheerful tone was nauseating.
The agents ushered them into a sleek limousine waiting outside. Isamu stared out the window as they drove, the city blurring past him, its bustling life carrying on without a care. No one outside knew, or cared, that today he was walking to his death.
They arrived at an apartment near Meiji Jingu Shrine in Shibuya. Inside, he washed himself, donned the traditional montsuki hakama, and allowed a makeup artist to conceal his dark circles. When he saw himself in the mirror, he barely recognized the man staring back. For a moment, he looked like a proper groom—a man on the verge of starting a new life. But he knew better.
Because today, Hoshino Isamu was going to die.
Minutes later, they arrived at the shrine. It was packed with people—celebrities, politicians, businessmen, and even Arachnis dignitaries. A crowd gathered near the entrance, cheering and clapping as Isamu stepped out of the car. The noise was overwhelming, the applause deafening.
For a fleeting moment, he felt a strange sense of purpose. Perhaps dying like this—honored and celebrated—wasn’t the worst way to go. But that moment shattered when he spotted a familiar face in the crowd.
“HEY, ISAMU! OVER HERE!”
It was his brother, Hiro, waving enthusiastically. By his side stood a woman Isamu recognized instantly.
“Aiko?” The name escaped his lips, barely audible over the noise.
“Oh, it’s your brother and his girlfriend!” his mother said, stepping out of the car beside him.
Hiro approached, grinning. “I wanted to introduce you to my girlfriend—though, I guess you already know her. Aiko!”
The world tilted beneath Isamu’s feet. His childhood friend, the girl he had once imagined a life with, was now his brother’s girlfriend.
“Yeah, sorry I didn’t tell you earlier,” Hiro continued, scratching his head sheepishly. “I’ve been so busy with work… but you and Aiko stopped dating years ago, right?”
Isamu clenched his fists, a thousand bitter words forming in his throat. But he swallowed them down, forcing a strained smile. “Yeah… we stopped dating a long time ago.”
“I’m sorry, Isamu,” Aiko said softly, her voice trembling. “I didn’t know how to tell you after… after you were selected.”
“It’s fine,” he said quickly, cutting her off. “I understand. Let’s just go, Mom.”
He didn’t look back. He couldn’t.
At the shrine’s entrance, the koshiki-sha led the bride to him. She emerged slowly, towering over the gathered crowd. Her height was staggering—easily nine feet—with eight delicate legs that moved with surprising grace. Her carapace gleamed a pure, iridescent white under the sunlight, each movement reflecting a strange, ethereal beauty.
The crowd hushed as the shrine’s ceremonial drums began to beat, their deep, rhythmic echoes reverberating through the air. Isamu stood at the entrance of the shrine, flanked by his parents and the solemn government officials who had escorted him. Around them, the dignitaries and guests shifted their attention, all eyes drawn toward the shinzen kekkon—the sacred wedding about to unfold.
The shrine’s atmosphere was heavy with the mingling scents of fresh pine, sandalwood incense, and the faint sweetness of cherry blossoms. The majestic gates of Meiji Jingu loomed overhead, a towering testament to centuries of tradition.
The priestess, clad in immaculate white robes with scarlet accents, motioned for the procession to begin. Isamu’s heart pounded in his chest, a mixture of dread and resignation tightening his throat. His parents walked a step behind him, their faces unreadable, though his mother occasionally glanced at him with forced encouragement.
The Arachnis bride followed at a deliberate pace. Her towering, elegant form moved with a grace that silenced even the whispers of the curious crowd. Her eight legs barely made a sound against the stone path, their sharp points stepping carefully as though she were mindful of the fragile humans around her. Her veil was a fine, silk-like fabric that shimmered faintly in the sunlight, cascading down her face and draping her shoulders like a gossamer curtain.
Isamu’s eyes flicked toward her but quickly darted away. There was something unnerving about her, yet something that made it hard to look away. The rhythmic sway of her steps and the regal way she held herself gave her an otherworldly presence—monstrous, yes, but undeniably captivating.
They passed through the torii gates, the crowd following at a respectful distance. The shrine’s inner courtyard was adorned with hanging shide—paper streamers that fluttered gently in the breeze. The sound of a shamisen joined the drumbeats, its melancholic melody weaving through the air, adding a haunting beauty to the solemn occasion.
At the center of the courtyard stood a low, ornate altar adorned with offerings: sake bottles, rice, and fruits. Two priests, their expressions calm and ritualistic, waited near the altar, while a third stood ready to conduct the ceremony.
Isamu was led to his place before the altar. His movements were stiff, each step heavier than the last. His palms were damp, his breathing shallow, but he forced himself to keep going. The Arachnis bride followed, her massive form casting a shadow over the polished stones.
The priest raised his arms, calling for silence, and began the opening chants, his voice resonating like a low hum. Isamu barely registered the words, his mind clouded with the weight of the moment. He glanced to the side, where his parents stood, their faces now a mix of pride and unease. He felt a hollow ache in his chest.
The priestess stepped forward, carrying two cups of sake. She presented one to Isamu and the other to the bride, who delicately extended one of her segmented arms to take it. Her movements were precise, almost graceful, as though she had practiced this human custom many times. Together, they lifted the cups in unison and drank, symbolizing their union.
As the chanting continued, the priestess placed a folded paper before the bride. Slowly, she extended one leg to touch it—a symbolic gesture of her vow. Isamu mirrored the motion, bowing low to the ground as he offered his own vow.
When the ritual steps were complete, the priest turned to Isamu. “It is time,” he said solemnly, motioning toward the bride.
Isamu stood frozen for a moment. His heart hammered in his chest. He had prepared himself for this moment, yet every fiber of his being screamed at him to run.
The bride stepped forward, towering over him. She moved with a strange delicacy, as if aware of the weight her presence carried. The veil shifted slightly with the breeze, but her face remained hidden, shrouded in mystery.
The priestess approached the bride and gestured to the veil. “With this unveiling, the two shall truly meet,” she intoned.
Isamu clenched his fists at his sides, his nails digging into his palms. He could feel the collective gaze of the crowd burning into him, waiting for his reaction, waiting for the moment he would see the face of the being who would take his life.
The bride raised a clawed arm, her movements slow and deliberate. The silk veil glimmered faintly as she began to lift it. The crowd leaned in ever so slightly, the air thick with tension.
Isamu held his breath, his pulse thundering in his ears. In that moment, time seemed to stretch unbearably, the world narrowing to just the two of them.
The veil hovered, suspended, just before the moment of revelation.