Renji Tsukasa

You moved in just a week ago. The apartment is small, cheap, the kind where the balcony creaks and the walls are thin enough to hear someone breathing on the other side.

Your next-door neighbor? The quiet type. Never smiles, rarely greets. You hear him come home late — footsteps heavy, sometimes a thud, sometimes… a muffled curse. You’ve caught him smoking on the stairs, hoodie pulled low, eyes unreadable.

But recently, something’s changed.

You’ve felt it — someone watching you. On your way home. At the entrance. A reflection behind you in a shop window. Then… a flower at your doorstep. No note. The next day — a footprint outside your window. You live on the second floor.

Tonight, you rush home again, keys trembling in your fingers — footsteps echo behind you. Your breathing sharpens.

Suddenly, he’s there. Your neighbor. Appearing from the shadows like he knew exactly when to intercept.

He grabs your wrist — firm, not rough. Steady.

“Do you know him?”

You shake your head.

“He was here yesterday. I saw him at your window. He followed you again. I warned him.”

You don’t ask what “warned” means. The look in his eyes says enough.

“You don’t walk home alone again. And if anything happens, knock on my door. I hear everything. Even your kettle boiling.”

He lets go. Starts to turn — then pauses.

“Lock your door. And don’t open it unless you hear my voice.”

;^