It's been years since I came here. I've gotten taller. Stronger, maybe. But I still don't know how old I am.

  Old Man Kumi lives in the alley next to mine. Red nose, always coughing. Homeless like me.

  One day, he looked at me and said, "You're about ten now, aren't you?"

  Is that so? I thought.

  Inside my head, the fifteen-year-old me looks annoyed. "No way I'm that young!"

  The thirty-year-old me just seems lost in thought.

  When I first got here, I tried asking people for help. But no one helped me. Actually, some did, but they were terrible people, so I ran away.

  I thought life on the streets was at least better than that.

  Now I live in the darkness of a district called Low Grant in the city of No Hope. I spend most of my time in a garbage-filled place where sunlight never reaches. I eat by begging in front of shops.

  There's a territory system for begging, and I can only go to my spot twice a week.

  Surprisingly, people around here are nice to beggars, even though the security is bad. If you go to the right spots, they give you plenty of food and drink. So even begging only twice a week, I never felt like I was starving to death.

  Those days started after I suddenly vanished from that fish and chips shop. When I first arrived in this city, I experienced enough starvation—days when I could only eat leftovers twice a week.

  Well, anyway. Now I don't worry that much about food.

  Old Man Kumi always warned me about the food here. "It's all junk," he'd say. "No labels, no ingredients listed. Bad for you."

  He was right. Everything I get is cheap stuff—junk food and snacks that last forever. Probably mass-produced somewhere. Kumi said proper, healthy food costs too much for people like us.

  There are places where you can light a fire to stay warm. But Kumi told me to be careful. "Those spots are controlled by someone," he said. "Go to the wrong one, and you'll get hurt."

  If only I could light a fire in this alley.

  If only I had a microwave. There's one at the church, and sometimes they let me use it. Old Man Kumi taught me to make oat porridge there. Microwave the oats, sprinkle salt and pepper. "Fills you up," he said. "Good for you too."

  But I can't do that every day. I can go to the church once a week at most.

  Once, I got a stove, but a stranger punched me and took it. I didn't fight back. He had a weapon.

  In this city, fighting back is dangerous. I once saw a lady walking on the street with sparkling earrings. A thief tore them off her ears, not caring that her earlobes ripped. That thief was killed later, though.

  Seeing that traumatized me.

  The thirty-year-old me wasn't surprised. But I trembled in fear. The fifteen-year-old me looked scared too.

  Since then, I'm scared to own anything valuable. I know this isn't a safe town like where I used to be.

  After realizing my body was getting terribly weak from street life and bad food, I started wanting to be healthy.

  A long time ago, about two years after coming here, I got so weak that just walking left me out of breath. Going up one flight of stairs meant resting for seconds.

  I thought I was going to die. Malnutrition. My body was breaking down. I couldn't even get up from the street.

  Maybe I should have stayed with those bad people who offered protection. I didn't regret running away, but I couldn't help thinking about it.

  That was when Old Man Kumi helped me.

  He knew a lot about training and health. I listened to him, and my body got better little by little. He taught me to eat oats and eggs. And to brush my teeth. Since then, I've been careful about health and training.

  The back alley at night. I look up at the starless sky from the gap between buildings. It's chilly, but better than hot.

  I wrap myself in a khaki coat that looks like Sherlock Holmes wore. An Inverness coat. Someone gave it to me a long time ago. It's high quality, so adults tried to take it from me many times. But when I shook my head, almost crying "No!", everyone let me keep it. I was lucky.

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  Under the coat, I wear jersey pants. Tattered, full of fuzz balls. My shoes are baggy leather ones with holes. Old Man Kumi helped me find them.

  Time to sleep. But first, my daily routine.

  I start moving. First, squats. Then pull-ups.

  I help take out the trash for a nearby shop. Just three shops. After that, I sit in the alley, cross my legs, and breathe.

  It's something Old Man Kumi taught me. Meditation and breathing.

  As I do it, my mind settles. Enough that I stop minding the haze flickering at the edge of my vision.

  ***

  I've been seeing a haze at the edge of my vision for a while now. Maybe it started recently. Or maybe it's been there all along, and I just didn't notice.

  It moves. I can sense it even in the dark. It's always nearby.

  Even when I try to sleep, sometimes I open my eyes and the haze is right there. It gives me the chills. The fifteen-year-old me looks scared too. The thirty-year-old me looks interested.

  "Hey, Phony! Come here a sec. My back itches."

  Old Man Kumi poked his head out from his alley. He has a scary face, but that's just how he looks. He's not angry. He just looks like a born villain.

  "Yeah," I said, and went to scratch his back.

  "Sorry," he said. "As thanks, you can read my books."

  He lets me read his books sometimes.

  "You know, I'm the only one in the world who teaches you stuff and shows you the source, right? Be grateful," he always says. So I am.

  "I'm the only homeless guy with books," he also says. But I've seen others reading. "Don't say that," he told me once, so I don't.

  He says he's a bookworm.

  "A bookworm? Where's the worm?" I look around.

  "It's not a real worm, kid. It's like a name for an illness or something."

  "An illness!?" My eyes widen. "Is it contagious? Be careful!"

  I'm worried it might spread to me. I care about my health. From then on, I stay out of range when Old Man Kumi coughs.

  Inside his tattered tent, there's a space full of books!

  "Wow, so many. Did you get more?"

  "Yeah. Sold a few, bought some new ones. But this is nothing. Before I came here, I had a hundred times as many."

  Over 40 books!

  Some in weird languages, some in English. English works in the Dark District. It's a melting pot. Whites, Blacks, Hispanics, Asians. Prostitutes, junkies, kidnappers, murderers. Volunteer swindlers. Anything goes.

  I looked at the books.

  The Devil Within

  The Dobe Wizard

  Adventures of the Headless Knight

  Boy Meets Ghoul

  (*#&%@*

  There was one book I couldn't read at all.

  I liked it. The thirty-year-old me can read most books, but not this one. The cover is beautiful and old. Thick as a dictionary.

  The fifteen-year-old me liked it too. The thirty-year-old me looked ambitious, like he was saying 'Take that one.'

  It was tattered. If I'm not gentle, pages might fall out.

  "You don't have to take just one," Kumi said. "Don't worry about damaging it. Take it!"

  "Really!?"

  "Yeah!"

  I took the unreadable book and a book on reading and writing. The unreadable book stayed unreadable, but it was funny. The letters made no sense, and I'd forget them immediately.

  Still, I liked it. I started flipping through it every night before sleep.

  Then, the book started appearing in my dreams.

  In the dream, the title is [XXXPHOENIXXX]. A semi-transparent hand flips through it. Sometimes the scene changes, and I'm in a cafe. The hand slaps a waitress. She's surprised but doesn't see the hand.

  XXXPHOENIXXX. It looked like my name, so I liked it.

  That's when it started.

  Day by day, the haze at the edge of my vision began to look like a [Hand].

  An invisible, transparent arm. Is it a ghost?

  At first, I thought so. But when I focus, the arm is always nearby. I was scared it might wave at me if it knew I saw it.

  Eventually, it appeared in my dreams too. In the dream, I can move the arm with my mind.

  But in reality, I was terrified. I tried to ignore it.

  Sometimes the hand would touch my shoulder. I almost screamed.

  Am I cursed? I was scared to death. I couldn't try to move it like in the dream. I felt it would strangle me if I tried.

  I pretended not to see The Invisible Hand.

  At the same time, I started seeing bubbles in the air. I didn't know what they were.

  Meanwhile, I learned to read and write a little.

  I kept practicing with the training book Kumi gave me. People started calling me "Training Maniac." Kumi found it funny and brought me more books.

  Around the time Kumi said it was autumn and he needed winter clothes...

  Old Man Kumi died.

  He suddenly disappeared. The police took his body away quickly. I didn't even see it.

  It was too sudden. It didn't feel real.