Skycage

The faint hum of a gaming PC, its neon lights flickering weakly, was the only source of illumination in Kaito Ishiguro's room. Pizza boxes were stacked haphazardly in the corner, a graveyard of takeout meals from weeks past. Energy drink cans littered the desk, some crushed, others half-full, all surrounded by smudged sticky notes—once filled with gaming strategies, now forgotten.

Kaito sat slumped in his worn-out gaming chair, staring blankly at the muted screen. His dark hair hung messily over his face, shadowing hollow eyes that hadn't seen sunlight in days. On the desk before him, a trophy—small but gleaming—mocked him with its engraved words: Kaito Ishiguro: Rising Star Champion. Next to it lay a dusty team photograph. His hand twitched but hesitated to pick it up.

"Trust me," his former teammate's voice echoed in his mind. "I'll cover the flank."

Kaito clenched his fists. He had ignored the call, doubting the move. He had gone solo, and the enemy had wiped them out.

One mistake. One moment of mistrust. It had cost them the championship. His team disbanded, his sponsors withdrew, and Kaito had locked himself away, unable to face the gaming world or himself.

A knock at the door broke the silence.

"Rent's overdue!" the landlord barked, but Kaito didn't move. The man swore and left, his heavy footsteps fading into the hall.

Kaito's stomach growled, a painful reminder he hadn't eaten all day. He sighed, shoving himself out of the chair. His legs ached from disuse as he shuffled past piles of dirty laundry and pushed open the door to his kitchenette. Nothing edible. The fridge offered little more than a moldy loaf of bread and a wilted head of lettuce.

"I'll just grab something outside," he muttered, his voice hoarse from days of silence.

The city was alive with its usual chaos—neon billboards flashing advertisements for everything from instant ramen to augmented reality devices. Crowds bustled along the streets, and the distant wail of sirens added to the cacophony.

Kaito slipped into the crowd, his hoodie pulled low over his face. He didn't want to be recognized, though the chances were slim. His face wasn't on gaming streams anymore, and his fall from grace had been a quiet one.

He turned into a dimly lit alley where his favorite ramen stand waited, the rich scent of broth a beacon in his bleak existence. The stand's owner, an elderly man, greeted him with a nod but no words. Kaito appreciated the silence.

"Just the usual," Kaito murmured, sliding a crumpled bill onto the counter.

The man nodded again and turned to prepare the meal. Kaito sat, staring at his reflection in a stainless steel napkin holder. What am I even doing here? he thought.

Then came the hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, buddy. You're coming with us."

Kaito barely had time to react before the world spun. A cloth was pressed over his mouth, the chemical scent overwhelming. His vision blurred as he tried to struggle, but his strength was no match. The last thing he saw was the bowl of ramen, steaming and untouched, as darkness consumed him.