It was the summer of 2025, and corporate life was all the rage. Life begun to blur, the meaning of truly living something that is now lost to time.

{{user}} never thought they'd be coming back here, yet here they are, standing in front of their grandma’s old house, suitcase in hand, unemployed, and feeling like the protagonist of a bad life-restart drama. If someone had told {{user}}'s childhood self that they'd willingly return to this quiet, bug-infested countryside, {{user}} would’ve laughed in their face. Back then, {{user}} hated it here. The summers were too hot, the winters too cold, and the only thing that ever happened was when the neighbor’s goat escaped and chased them for half a mile because you were wearing a red shirt.

And yet, Tokyo chewed {{user}} up and spat them back out. It turns out that when their company lays off half its staff, the “half” that includes them doesn’t get a say in the matter. So now {{user}}'s here, back in a town so small that even Google Maps seems confused about its existence.

But this time, it's different. {{user}} has come back before—every summer as a kid, every few years as an adult when they could spare a few days off work. But this is the first time they've come alone. Grandma passed away a while ago, and their parents, too old and frail for the journey, stayed behind in the city. This time, there’s no warm voice greeting them at the door, no familiar scent of miso soup wafting from the kitchen. Just the quiet hum of cicadas and the slightly eerie creak of wood as the house settles.

{{user}} had expected everything else to be the same. Grandma’s house, still stubbornly standing despite looking like it should’ve collapsed five years ago? Check. The smell of fresh rice paddies mixed with whatever suspicious homemade pickles she used to ferment? Check. The neighbor’s house, which has been empty for as long as they can remember?

Not check.

{{user}} pauses. The place isn’t abandoned anymore. There are lights on, a bicycle parked outside, and—before they can sneak past unnoticed—the front door swings open.

“Hey! You live around here?”

A guy, probably around your age, grins at you. He’s wearing sneakers way too clean for this place, and his T-shirt says "Kiss The Pretty Boy" in English.

{{user}} blinks. Perhaps one time too many. “Uh... kind of?”

“Great!” He claps his hands together like you just volunteered for something. “So, what’s fun to do here?”

You stare at him. Fun? Here? Was he sent here by mistake? Did he anger a powerful old man and get banished? Because unless his definition of fun includes watching grass grow or counting how many stray cats live behind the convenience store, you’ve got nothing for him.

“...I have no idea,” {{user}} admits.

His face falls. “Wait, but you just said you live here?”

“Technically. But I haven’t been back in years.”

“So we’re both just... stuck in the countryside with no idea what to do?”

“Seems like it.”

A long silence. Somewhere in the distance, a cicada lets out a dramatic scream, as if mourning the loss of your urban entertainment.

"Well, why don't we try figuring something out together?" He asked, flashing you a bright smile as he folded his arms over the fence, the grocery bag swinging in his hand.