Yori

"A solitary figure, lost his way. The rain came down, a steady drum, A soul seeking refuge, numb."

Prologue

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A Home at Last

The heavy rain pounded down in a never-ending rhythm, pelting Yori's umbrella. He grimaced as his shoes squelched through another deep puddle, the icy water seeping in to soak his socks. The weather was terrible. The dark clouds hanging low over the neighborhood made everywhere look like a creepy movie set. Not a single other person was out at this time of night - 11 pm on a Friday.

The glaring orange of the streetlamps only served to make the gloom more oppressive, casting stark shadows that seemed to stretch towards him from every angle. There were no other pedestrians tonight, no other footsteps joining his solitary squelches. Just Yori, alone with the rain and his own thoughts.

Just him, alone on the empty sidewalk as the downpour tried its best to drown him.

Yori huffed out a breath, watching it turn to mist. He should have been studying for exams, or working on an award-winning science project, or composing a sonata to perform at the local concert hall. Something, anything to live up to the lofty expectations placed upon him since childhood. A "gifted" young man destined for greatness, or so his doting parents had constantly reminded him with a proud yet scrutinizing gaze.

Instead, he was on a midnight grocery run for instant ramen and eggs. How utterly, numbingly pedestrian. Yori felt a flicker of unease, but couldn't discern if it was from the chill of the downpour slowly seeping through his clothes or something more existentially disquieting.

He trudged onward, focusing on the rhythmic patter of raindrops hitting his umbrella. One...two...three...four. Just another forgotten, unremarkable soul drifting through the night's cold indifference, searching for a brief sustenance to simply exist until the next day of disappointing his potential.

Maybe he'd burned himself out from all the pressure to succeed. Or maybe deep down, he was just a lazy underachiever after all.

There were a lot of times he'd been called gifted. There was a time when he was in nursery school, for example, reading an elementary book. His teacher witnessed it and gave him extra gold stars. “You're reading above your level!” The teacher preened, crouched beside him. “How delightfully bright.” The other children looked up from their play and whispered in awe.

“What?” Yori murmurs, “Above my level?”

The teacher smiled proudly. “Yes! You are a bright child, your parents must be proud.”

“Is that a good thing?” Yori asked.

“You will get a great job in the future, and make your parents so happy. You are gifted.”

Yori didn't understand what she meant back then. Gifted? But all he remembered thinking about his parents' happy smiling faces. So he promised he would stay gifted. He'd read more.

There were many other incidents. Reading. A+ assignments. His parents repetitive visits to school to watch him excel at academics.

He was recommended to skip a year. But his teacher wanted him to engage with kids his age. Said it was important. He remembers his parents disregarding that and teaching him at home.

So elementary came easily. There was that year when he was selected for honor roll. His parents were happy and smiling again. But on the drive home, they asked why an A wasn't an A+.

“It was hard,” Yori remembers mumbling in the backseat. “Couldn't grasp it.”

“That isn't an excuse, look how pretty your report card looks with all A+. Let's strive for that next time, okay? Make mommy and daddy happy?”

“Yes ma'am.” Yori clutched his report card.

Yori finally realized in the middle of my second elementary year to not bring home anything below an A+. One of the last instances Yori had of what could’ve caused all of this was when Yori brought home his first F. It was a class his parents had forced him to enroll in, he was burnt out from studying too hard and slept through the test. When he asked the teacher to retake it, she said no. He remembered screaming and crying, but the teacher refused.

His parents were called for his behavior.

He spent the entire day in his room with the door locked and the pillows around his ears trying to escape their yelling.

Yori knew his family always loved and cherished him, he didn’t want to believe otherwise. They simply wanted to push him to achieve a better life, to never struggle. Being a manga artist was a poor venture and wouldn't pay enough for him to live a secure life, secure a marriage, settle down.

He didn’t change from middle school to highschool, only found more ways to please his parents, escape their scrutiny and yelling and as time went on he knew himself less and less. Yori spent every day in his room until leaving the house became a rarity. He lost out on socializing, so every word that left his mouth was awkward. He repeated his parents' phrases over and over in situations that called for his own opinion. A perfect, little child, who in his ten years of life didn't know a single thing about himself. He became the perfect child for them.

Then teenager.

Then adults.

Now he didn’t know who he was.

A father, mother, and young child made their way down the sidewalk, water droplets stippling the pavement around their feet. The mother's mouth was turned upwards at the corners in what could be described as a smile. Soft laughter emanated from the child as its small body swung between the outstretched arms of the parents.

For a moment, the child's feet carried it beyond the umbrella's circumference. Instantly, tiny rivulets streamed down its hair, face, clothes. The father plucked the giggling mass into his arms without breaking stride. He brought the bundled form close against his chest, the damp fabric pressing cold against their joined skin.

“Now Yuuki... we know you love the rain.” the father said simply, his own mouth pulling into a shape suggesting amusement. "But it’s too cold, you’ll catch a chill!"

The mother made a noise of agreement. “We’ll have some nice hot dinner at home and a towel to dry off.”

Their footsteps continued evenly down the glistening pavement, leaving temporary impressions in the gathered water. Around the corner, they disappeared from sight.

Yori watched all of this from underneath his own umbrella, a single drop trailing down his cheek. He remained motionless as the droplets pattered against the taut fabric above him. Only when the family had gone did he blink.

...did he like the rain?

Yori looked up at the sky through his translucent umbrella. He tracked a bead's descent, lips pursed.

He didn’t know if he liked the rain or not.

The sidewalk stretched endlessly before him, a monotonous ribbon of gray concrete bordered by looming office buildings. Yori trudged along trying to ignore the families laughter, shoulders sagging under an invisible weight. Each step reverberated dully through the soles of his worn dress shoes, the percussive rhythm of the daily grind.

Twenty-seven years. Over two decades spent drifting through the currents of life, bobbing aimlessly from one prescribed role to the next. A model student, a diligent employee, a respectable member of society - he'd checked all the boxes without a second thought. Yet now the checklist lay crumpled within him, its rules and milestones suddenly devoid of meaning. Who was he, really?

What did he like? What did he dislike? What did he want to be? Why did he know himself as much as a stranger did?

A rueful chuckle built in his throat, tamped down before it could breach his lips. What a joke, to reach this age with an existential blank where his self should be. The bag of eggs and ramen ruffled in the wet plastic bag in his hand. Why did he always buy ramen? Did he like ramen?

No, it was just convenient. Ramen took 60 seconds. Eggs took 5 minutes. 5 minutes for 3 meals a day.

Of course, he was getting a little sick of ramen. He made no money from his webtoons work. Mostly because he started posting less, then less, then less... He just couldn’t muster the energy up to draw anymore. Did he like drawing? Or was it just rebellion against his parents chosen career?

Yori clenched his jaw, fighting the burning behind his eyes. He dragged his sleeve across his face, expelling the deep breath he'd been holding. The tightness in his chest loosened, if only slightly. It was pointless, this waiting. If he was worth anything, worth knowing, it would have happened already. That's what they always showed in those Netflix films - someone special would come along, a soulmate met at a mundane place like a gas station. Someone who saw the real him and gave his life meaning. But no, Yori was just Yori. A soon-to-be doctor, like his parents wanted. Like society expected.

He repeated the thought, cementing it - just Yori. Not a hero, not fated for grand things like fighting off enemies or saving the world. His days would pass, one indistinguishable from the next, studying, working, existing. No mysteries, no cataclysmic events to shape his unremarkable life into something profound. Yori was ordinary in the way that made a person invisible. A small speck in the vastness of humanity, drifting alone.

Except he wasn’t really ordinary either. At least ordinary people knew who they were.

He just wanted to get home, away from this miserable weather that seemed to mock his very existence. Once inside, he could flop on the couch and lose himself in Frieren. Become one of those brave adventurers for a while instead of the empty husk he felt like lately. Anything to drown out the relentless refrain pounding in his skull - who am I, who am I, who am I?

Maybe if he imagined hard enough, the fantasy world would swallow him whole. Let him be a hero, a knight, a nameless soldier following orders instead of this...this...what even was he? Yori couldn't remember the last time he felt like a real person and not some ghost drifting aimlessly, unmoored from any sense of self.

He could be someone else, something else, anything other than whatever hollowed-out remnant of a person he currently was. Immersing in Frieren's epic quests would make the static fuzz of existential emptiness quiet for a while. Yori didn't know who he wanted to be, but surely it was better than who he currently wasn't.

As he turned the corner. A crumpled shape in the overturned trash bin caught his eye. For a moment he stared, transfixed by the shadowy form, before a flash of lightning briefly illuminated it-

His eyes widened, heart sinking.

A poor cat.

The cat's fur was matted, ribs protruding sharply beneath the skin. Yori could count each one. It lay unnaturally still as he approached, shallow breaths the only sign of life. For a few moments he thought it might already be dead.

He knelt down beside them. Its eyes were closed, body unmoving as Yori hesitantly reached out to brush his hand along its mangy fur. There was no reaction, not even a faint noise. Just the barest rise and fall of its ribcage.

Yori looked around quickly, checking for any identification or collar, but there was none. He couldn't bring himself to simply leave it here to starve or get hit by a car. Slinging his bag of eggs and ramen over one shoulder, he took out the plastic grocery sack. "Don't worry, I'm not choking you," he muttered under his breath as he gently lifted the pitifully light cat inside. "Just need a way to carry you."

The cat's body felt hot, feverish against his hands, making his skin prickle with unease. He tried not to dwell too much on the scruffy fur and protruding bones as he secured the bag's handles over his arm. He hated seeing animals hurt. It wasn’t often, but it made his stomach roil. But he pushed those thoughts aside, focusing instead on getting the cat somewhere safe and tended to as quickly as he could. Then he started speed-walking the rest of the way to his apartment complex.

The rain pounded relentlessly on the wet pavement outside. Yori rushed through the apartment lobby, water dripping from his drenched clothes and soaked hair onto the tiled floor. The old landlady looked up in surprise, her eyes widening at his disheveled appearance.

"Good heavens! Touwa-kun!" she gasped, hand fluttering to her chest. "What on earth..."

"Sorry, Hoshino-san," Yori mumbled, already brushing past her. "Got an emergency. I'll clean up later."

Up the stairs he went, two steps at a time in his haste. His sodden sneakers squeaked with each stride. At last he reached his own door, fumbling with his keys to unlock it. The apartment was dark and cluttered as ever - some nature documentary played unwatched on the TV, empty ramen containers and crumpled clothes strewn about.

Yori kicked off his wet shoes, leaving them in a puddle by the entrance. He hurried into the bathroom, gently setting the plastic bag on the counter. Inside, the small shape hardly moved, just faint shallow breaths visible. He stared at it a long moment, lips pressed tight.

Stepping back into the kitchen, Yori retrieved his phone and dialed the 24-hour vet clinic's number. As it rang, he gazed absently around at the splatters of drying rainwater across the linoleum floor, the piles of accumulated grime and detritus. The line picked up with a crisp, efficient voice.

"Hi, this is Yori Touwa," he said into the phone. "I've got a cat here. Looks malnourished, might be dying..." Yori inched towards the bathroom to keep an eye on the cat while calling.