Sleep took me like an ambush. One second, I was staring at my screen, piecing together a puzzle that was way above my pay grade, and the next, I was out cold in the world's most uncomfortable chair. My head lolled to the side, neck bent at an angle that screamed, "You're gonna regret this later!"

I don't even remember closing my eyes. One moment I was debating whether I should turn in or keep obsessing over the mess I'd uncovered, and the next, it was lights out. The faint hum of my monitors was the last thing I heard—well, felt, since hearing isn't exactly my thing.

Four hours later, morning kicked in, and let me tell you, it wasn't a kind one. I jolted awake to a stiff neck, a sore back, and the distinct impression that I'd been hit by a truck in my sleep. I groaned as I sat up, blinking at the glowing screens in front of me. The code I'd been staring at was still there, smug and unfinished, as if mocking me for falling asleep mid-crisis.

Great. Another day, another opportunity to figure out how I hadn't completely lost my mind yet.

Stretching my arms above my head, I heard—no, felt—a satisfying pop from my back. My stomach growled, loud enough to echo in the silence of my little apartment. Food. Right.

I pushed myself out of my chair, stumbling toward the corner where my jacket hung on a sad little nail sticking out of the wall. The jacket itself was a bit of a tragedy—holes in the pockets, frayed sleeves—but hey, it did the job.

Wallet? Check. Keys? Check. Will to survive? Barely.

Stepping outside, I was greeted by the crisp morning air, the kind that slaps you in the face and says, "Get your life together, kid." The streets were quiet, just the way I liked them. Early morning in this city wasn't bad—peaceful, almost. No honking cars, no shouting neighbors, just... silence.

I walked to the corner store, hands shoved deep into my jacket pockets. My mind wandered back to the files I'd uncovered the night before. Yanagi Labs. Illegal shipments. Something big—something dangerous.

What the hell was I supposed to do with that? Heroes? Cops? Trusting either of them felt like playing Russian roulette, and I wasn't about to load the chamber for them.

The corner store was as depressing as always. Dim lighting, shelves barely stocked with questionable goods, and a cashier who looked like he hated his life as much as I hated mornings.

I grabbed the essentials: instant noodles (because of course), a carton of eggs, and a loaf of bread. A nutritional masterpiece, right? If anyone out there's running a "Sad Bachelor Diet" competition, I'm winning gold.

The cashier didn't even glance up as I placed my items on the counter.

"That it?" he grunted, his voice as monotone as the overhead lights.

I nodded, sliding the exact change across the counter. No small talk, no awkward pleasantries—just the way I liked it.

The walk back to my apartment felt heavier somehow, like every step dragged me further into my thoughts. My brain wouldn't let it go—the shipment, the files, the danger it screamed.

Was it even my responsibility to do something about it?

Probably not.

Did that stop my brain from twisting itself into a knot over it?

Also no.

Back home, I dumped the groceries on my tiny counter and leaned against the wall, staring at the pathetic contents of my bag. Eggs, bread, and noodles. The breakfast of champions.

I sighed, cracking a couple of eggs into a pan. The sizzle was almost comforting, drowning out the noise in my head for a moment. Focus on the mundane, I told myself. Just get through breakfast without spiraling into another existential crisis.

But even as I scrambled the eggs and threw a slice of bread into the toaster, my mind kept circling back. I couldn't help it. The files I'd uncovered weren't just a random mess of data—they were dangerous. The kind of thing that could ruin lives or worse.

By the time I sat down to eat, the eggs might as well have been rubber. I barely tasted them, too busy chewing over my next move.

Hand it over to a hero? Risky.
Go to the cops? Riskier.
Do nothing? Not an option.

I dropped my fork with a clatter, leaning back in my chair. "Why can't anything in my life just be simple?"

The empty room didn't answer, which was probably for the best.

After finishing my half-hearted attempt at breakfast, I moved back to my desk, sinking into my chair. The monitors flickered back to life as I logged in, my fingers flying across the keyboard with muscle memory alone.

For now, I had work to do. Real work. The kind that paid the bills and kept the lights on.

The job was straightforward—hacking into some corporate database to "retrieve" files for a client who didn't want to ask too many questions. It wasn't glamorous, but it paid the rent.

My fingers moved on autopilot, the rhythm of typing soothing in its own way. It didn't take long to finish. Another clean job, another payday.

As I leaned back, staring at the completed code on my screen, my mind drifted back to the files. Yanagi Labs. The name alone felt like a weight on my chest.

What was I supposed to do?

I spun my chair around, staring at the sad little room I called home. The peeling paint, the creaky floorboards, the faint smell of mildew—it wasn't much, but it was mine.

And yet, the thought of doing nothing—of ignoring what I'd found—gnawed at me.

You're better than this, my mind whispered.

I groaned, running a hand through my messy hair. "Thanks, brain. Really helpful."

It wasn't like I could solve this overnight. But maybe, just maybe, I could figure out a plan.

Or at least, try to sleep on it.

Not that sleep was likely to come easy