Derealization

Jin Shu walked to work, absentmindedly trying to smooth his hair with a clumsy upward motion — but in the end, he only made it messier. Still, it hardly bothered him.

His phone held his favourite playlist; he’d carefully selected every track because he couldn’t walk to work to just anything. Each song had to fit perfectly with the imaginary scene playing out in his head. Finally, he adjusted his headphones, squinted at the sun, and hissed softly as the bright light stabbed at his eyes. Rubbing them with his palm, he set off again.

The chorus kicked in right at that moment — and it was perfect. Exactly the right moment. A vivid scene flashed through Jin Shu’s mind: a majestic reaper, shrouded in shadows, dramatically confessed that he’d been the mastermind villain all along, weaving plots and shattering destinies. The image unfolded in his inner eye — detailed, dramatic, mesmerising. Jin Shu smirked to himself, clasped his hands behind his back, and kept walking, feeling a pleasant warmth of good mood spreading through him. He still had about half an hour to walk to work, and this time of day was always the best part of his day.

As he walked, the familiar world seemed to blur, crack along the seams, and fall apart into fragments — only to reassemble into a completely different picture. Suddenly, he was standing on a picturesque street in the city of Hou, a place known to every adventurer. Here, everyone took quests leading to the Great Underdark nearby. Legends said that deep within those depths dwelt the drow — terrifying yet strikingly beautiful elves who could bestow a blessing upon anyone who managed to pass all the trials. No one knew what those trials were, but Jin Shu would have been thrilled to find out.

He looked around, twitched his fox‐like ear, and was about to speak when a faceless figure — a peasant, by the look of him — called out rudely:

“Hey, you! Have you completely lost it? Watch where you’re going! We’re supposed to be a decent town, and then people like you show up... Ugh!”

The world shuddered again, like a glitch in the code, and reality abruptly shifted colours: instead of vivid hues, there was dull grey; instead of elven ears, there were just ordinary human ones. The music still played in his headphones, but now it only emphasised the dissonance between his fantasy and reality.

Jin Shu glanced around and met the gaze of an older man, who clicked his tongue disapprovingly when he noticed the young man had nearly stepped onto the road at a red light.

Jin blinked once, twice, then rubbed his eyes again.

“Sorry... I didn’t get enough sleep,” he muttered quietly.

His head hurt more than usual today, and a strange, heavy feeling was spreading in his chest — as if something were squeezing his heart, urging him to hide away from the world and just let the tears come. He shook his head, pushing those thoughts aside, waited for the green light, and finally crossed the street. The textile factory building was already in sight.

Riding up in the elevator, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and tried to fix his tie — but it came undone again. After a couple of futile attempts, Jin just sighed and left it as it was, turning this little imperfection into his signature style.

Entering the neat, bright office, he greeted his colleagues сдержанно in the kitchen while he made himself a cup of coffee. Today, he felt especially drained and sleep‐deprived.

Every time his vivid dreams were so abruptly cut short, his mood plummeted, and his heart clenched with some inexplicable melancholy. He pressed his lips together, trying to convince himself it was just the coffee — after all, everyone knew it wasn’t good for the heart.

The door slammed shut, and the sound came out like a weary “I’m home at last.” Jin Shu stepped over the threshold, caught his toe on the edge of the rug, but didn’t even try to keep his balance — he just took two more steps by inertia, as if tripping was part of the plan.

“Yeah... super epic,” he muttered with zero enthusiasm and glanced around the room.

Towers of energy drink cans rose up everywhere; crumpled sticky notes lay scattered across the table; and a single sock peeked out from under the sofa, as if it was hiding from all the chaos. Jin Shu looked at the mess like he was seeing it for the first time, even though he knew every detail by heart — and that was exactly why he’d stopped noticing it.

He shuffled over to the bed, skirted around a pyramid of cans, and flopped face‐first onto it without taking off his shoes. The mattress accepted him with a quiet, almost sympathetic creak.

“Five minutes,” he whispered into the pillow, his voice sounding muffled, as if he were already halfway into sleep. “Just five minutes of not thinking...”

And the world went dark.

The Hou square buzzed like a disturbed beehive: vendors called out to passersby, cats darted between crates, and somewhere in the distance, barrels rumbled. Jin Shu stood right in the middle of all this chaos, chest puffed out proudly, his tail swishing cheerfully from side to side. It had already knocked three bundles of dried herbs off the nearest stall — but he didn’t even notice.

Now he's completely unaware that he's in a deep sleep. For him, this world has become reality, and nothing else. He didn't remember that there was a real world with its office routine, Excel spreadsheets, and a ton of energy drinks in the apartment. He didn't know. He wouldn't have remembered.

In front of him loomed a merchant — or at least, Jin Shu was sure it was a merchant: a figure in a cloak, hands on hips, voice grumpy. The face, though, blurred into a strange, hazy smudge, as if someone had smeared watercolor paint over it, and instead of eyes, there was just a dark stripe. But Jin Shu was used to it: in this world, faces always looked like that, as if it was done on purpose so he wouldn’t get distracted by little details.

“You... who even are you?” the blurry silhouette grumbled.

“Me?” Jin Shu grinned wide, tilted his head slightly, and then suddenly barked cheerfully: “Woof‐woof!”

The merchant froze. Even the noise of the square seemed to quiet down for a second.

“Was that... what was that just now?”

“Oh, that’s just how I greet people on especially solemn occasions!” Jin Shu waved a hand, nearly knocking over a clay jug with his tail. It wobbled but stayed put — lucky for once. Jin leaned toward the merchant and whispered conspiratorially: “You know, it’s clearly written in my deity’s sacred scrolls: if the day starts with ‘woof‐woof,’ good luck is guaranteed. Personally verified. Three times.”

Then he reached for a thick book on the stall, wanting to point at a particularly nice paragraph to back up his words. But the lines danced before his eyes, turning into incomprehensible swirls and hooks, as if the language was written in some ancient, very temperamental dialect. Jin frowned for a second, then shook his head and declared cheerfully:

“Well, this here says... uh... something really important. Very important. About tails. And about good luck. I’m telling you, it’s true!”

He straightened up again, adjusted the red ribbons that wound themselves around his hair as if alive, and went on:

“Hey, do you have anything... you know, something that makes your tail fluffier? Or maybe a potion that makes lizards listen when you tell them conspiracy theories? I met one the other day — very promising, but she ran away.”

The merchant slowly reached under the counter and silently handed Jin Shu a small vial.

“Take this. It’s not a potion. It’s a sedative. For me.”

Jin Shu grabbed the vial happily, shook it, held it up to the light where the liquid shimmered in all shades of scarlet, and nodded like an expert:

“Great color! It’ll definitely help. I’ll put it in a prominent place in my shrine... well, I mean, on the shelf next to my collection of pretty pebbles. Thanks, you’re a very wise person!”

And with a swish of his tail that finally did knock a clay mug off a neighboring stall (though Jin Shu didn’t notice), he strode cheerfully onward, muttering to himself:

“Okay, now I need to find someone who’ll be willing to listen to my theory about why spiders have eight legs while I only have two... But I’m working on it. Maybe if I wag my tail three times and say ‘woof,’ they’ll give me a hint...”

The same lizard from before scurried by — the one that had run off so hastily last time. Jin froze, stretched his neck, and yelled joyfully:

“Hey! Wait up! I’ve got an important discovery: if you sit still for at least five seconds, I’ll be able to figure out what you’re thinking! Or at least take a good guess!”