A familiar warmth spread across the rooftop as Ilya and Nero leaned against the back of one of the benches, the concrete beneath them still holding onto what little heat the sun had managed to provide that day. From up there, the city felt distant — muted by height and wind — the constant noise of Gaijin reduced to a dull, ever-present hum.

  Both of them unpacked their lunch bags, retrieved earlier from the cafeteria. Nero’s expression twisted into mild disgust the moment he peeled back the lid of his box and read the small tag glued to its side, while Ilya absentmindedly checked his phone for messages that never seemed to come, with the exception of his mother telling him to buy bread.

  — Rice and chicken again? Seriously? — Nero muttered, shoving the lunch box toward Ilya with exaggerated disappointment.

  Ilya nudged it back without even looking, pocketed his phone, and opened his own meal. He pulled the metal cutlery from a transparent ziplock bag and started eating, unfazed, still riding the lingering haze of sleep stolen during class. After enduring a few more seconds of Nero’s low complaints, Ilya reached out and flicked him lightly on the forehead, his expression unchanged.

  — Stop being so damn picky, will you? The food’s better than last year, when they used to serve that weird-ass soup. — He adjusted the lunch box on his lap and tucked the empty ziplock bag beneath it, keeping it from flying away when a sharp gust of cold wind swept across the rooftop.

  Nero clicked his tongue but eventually surrendered, opening his lunch box and eating with the air of someone accepting an unavoidable fate. Time passed slowly — the kind of slow that only school lunches seemed capable of producing — until both of them finished, packed their cutlery, and made their way back down to the cafeteria to wash and store everything again.

  — So, where are you heading after school, Ilya? — Nero asked over the sound of running water as he rinsed his box. — Straight home, or are you finally gonna stop skipping the music club you were forced into?

  Ilya grabbed a sponge from the counter and poured detergent over it, scrubbing the empty plate. Ilya replied back, intercepting Nero’s usual invite to a gaming session after school.

  — I’ll buy some bread at the Outer Ring. If you wanna come with me, just say it.

  Nero froze mid-wash, then shook his head vigorously, arms crossing into a dramatic X.

  — Outer Ring? Ain’t no way, bro, we’ll get robbed! And security down there sucks — what if a Sheuth jumps us and starts ripping our limbs one by—

  — You watch those videos way too much. — Ilya cut in calmly. — Getting robbed is more likely, but I’m just going a few meters past the gate. It’s not like I’m wandering into the depths of the Red Hood community or whatever they’re calling it now.

  He finished washing and slid the lunch bag into a locker marked with his name.

  — Fine, but don’t walk around with your phone out, okay? — Nero said, drying his hands. — And call me later. An update dropped yesterday on Eartharia. I’ll carry you through the grind, since you’re trash.

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  — Whatever you say, bro. — Ilya muttered, though the corner of his mouth lifted despite himself.

  The sunset after school engulfed the city in a gradient of pink, purple and orange, creating a palette worthy of a painting. The roads were filled with vehicles, stuck in a line of noise and frustration, while Ilya walked down the busy sidewalk. This is the most crowded time in a day, when most citizens are returning to their homes after a long day of activities.

  As Ilya went down to the Outer ring, the surroundings gradually transitioned into cheaper and older buildings, long alleyways and trash on the floor and walls, almost like the city was taken over by garbage, at least in the eyes of someone who lives in the Middle Ring.

  The difference can be noticed not only by what humans made, but also on the few animals that live around this part of the city. Pigeons and raccoons are present way more frequently than where Ilya is used to, and that creates a smell not so satisfying.

  However, the student kept looking forward, already past the gate, and it did not take long until he reached the bakery. Nero had insisted on taking Ilya’s backpack with him, since the Outer Ring always appears in the news, with the same topic every single time. Murder, assault, all kinds of evil that make humanity sink on its own pool.

  — Wassup, Ilya dude, what can I get for ya’? — The young attendant spoke, cracking his fingers and greeting Ilya with a handshake. It feels too intimate to Ilya, somehow. The athletic young man behind the counter had a caramel skin which glistened under the sunset light that entered the bakery by the front door, his eyes colored as amber, and braided hair which was constantly adjusted.

  Ilya shook his hand back, and pointed to a pile of bread rolls stacked up behind the counter. The smell contrasted with the streets outside, like an Oasis in the middle of an empty desert.

  — Can I get a pack of those, please? — Ilya answered calmly, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a black wallet.

  The attendant nodded, typing quickly on an electronic machine, then placing it on the counter, in front of Ilya.

  — For sure. A pack of sixteen is around five naishus and twenty domos. — Said the attendant, Kaisho, with a friendly smile on his face.

  Ilya paid with a card from his wallet, which is quite empty, compared to flashy people like Nero. He only has a credit card, some paper money and a picture of his family when he was a kid. He slides the credit card back in the wallet, then proceeds to pocket it and thank the young attendant.

  — Thanks, Kaisho, I’ll be back— I mean, when the bread runs low.

  Kaisho let out an amused laugh, shaking Ilya’s hand again, ruffling the dark-haired boy’s hair.

  — Nah, you can come back anytime, I’m here to chat too. This place’s boring as shit when you have no customers. — Kaisho said while turning around to pack the bread rolls, closing the bag with a sticker, then giving it to Ilya.

  Ilya nodded in acknowledgement and turned to leave, waving back. Kaisho gives the other boy a small wave, then goes back to messing with his phone, hoping the bakery owner won’t show up out of nowhere.

  Meanwhile, Ilya left the bakery, holding the bag of bread under his arm. The sky was now darkening, and only a hint of the sunset gradient lingered on the horizon. The street is emptier in the Outer Ring, even if it’s just a few buildings past the gate. After all, who’s born there rarely dares to go past the Middle gate, which connects the Middle and Outer ring. The rule is clear, the higher, the richer and better to live in, but also extremely more expensive.

  Even people from the Middle are treated as bourgeoisie by those from down there, and the High Ring is a lair for the richest, but also the most humiliating scenery in the city, with buildings capable of scratching the sky, shopping centers as big as a whole region in the poorest areas, and people who can buy countries.

  It felt unnaturally cold. At least five more minutes until the gate came to reach, but something felt off. Ilya sensed his weight anchoring him to the ground, making his steps heavier somehow. The air was dry, his shadows stretching under the flickering street lights. Under Ilya’s shoes was something wet, contrasting the dry weather, while the sound of scraping, ripping and chewing could be heard beside him.

  When the boy turned, he saw a long alleyway, blocked by a crouched figure, its back turned to Ilya with a hunched spine, emitting wet sounds of chewing in the darkness. Its skin was black, and the creature had no clothes, only a thin layer of fur that barely covered its spine.

  The creature continued feeding itself, both of its arms turning and tilting whatever it was eating. It cast no shadow, its large ears resembling those of a bat. Ilya was frozen, and the only thing that moved in his body was his hand, clenching around the top of the plastic bag.

  The creature’s ears twitched at the sound of plastic, and it stopped eating. Five seconds passed. The faint crinkle was enough.

  Ilya’s breath hitched, and the thing slowly turned its head, revealing a pair of completely pitch black eyes, deep and even more anchoring. The young student dropped the plastic bag. The sound nearly echoed through the alleyway.