Shinichi Fujihara had dreamed of this day for years. The sun beamed down on Tokyo as he stood in front of a modest apartment building, gripping the keys to his new life.
After grueling study sessions, countless mock exams, and sleepless nights filled with instant noodles and anxiety, he had finally made it. Admitted into his first-choice university, living alone in the city—freedom at last.
No more nagging parents.
No more curfews.
Just peace, privacy, and the promise of adulthood.
He took a deep breath and looked up at the weathered number above the door: 303. The hallway smelled faintly of wood polish and distant curry. Not exactly glamorous, but it had its charm. Sliding the key into the lock, he stepped inside.
It was... empty.
Not just in space, but in soul.
A single futon lay folded in the corner. His desk and bookshelves had yet to arrive. The tiny kitchenette looked untouched, as if even the stove had no idea what it was meant to do.
Shinichi dropped his backpack with a sigh of satisfaction and collapsed onto the floor.
"This is it," he whispered to no one. "My new life."
By the end of day one, reality had already started to bite.
His first attempt at cooking rice had turned into a starchy paste stuck to the bottom of the pot. Doing laundry turned the whites into... something slightly pink.
He didn't even own bleach. And taking out the trash required navigating a set of complex garbage separation rules that felt like a college course of their own.
Budgeting was worse. The money his parents sent was supposed to last the month. He had already blown a third of it on kitchen tools he didn't know how to use and enough convenience store meals to feed a small army.
Living alone was not the peaceful dream he had imagined.
It was a chaotic, poorly scripted survival show.
And yet, as he sat on the narrow balcony that first evening, watching the city lights flicker on, Shinichi couldn't stop himself from smiling.
No one to tell him to study.
No one to check his grades.
He had made it. And that had to count for something.
He closed his eyes, letting the warm spring air wash over him.
...
...
The next morning greeted Shinichi with the blaring sound of his phone alarm—something he had forgotten to adjust now that he no longer had to catch an early train to high school.
He groaned and rolled over, only to realize his futon was half-unfolded, and he'd slept with one sock on and the window wide open.
He sat up, hair sticking out like a pinecone.
"Right," he muttered. "Time to be an adult."
First on his list: breakfast.
He stared at the half-filled fridge—milk, eggs, one bruised tomato—and decided to make the only thing he could: scrambled eggs on rice.
Except… the rice cooker still smelled like yesterday's disaster. He rinsed it half-heartedly, tossed in some rice and water (was it a 1:2 ratio?), and hoped for the best.
Ten minutes later, the cooker beeped with ominous pride. He opened the lid and winced.
"Why is it crunchy on top… but soupy on the bottom?"
Still, food was food. He shoved the strange meal into his mouth, eyes watering slightly at the texture, and made a mental note to find a tutorial later.
Next: laundry.
He gathered his clothes into a large plastic bag, read the washing machine manual three times, then gave up and just hit the biggest button. The machine roared to life like a jet engine. He took that as a good sign.
The sense of accomplishment lasted a full five minutes—until he noticed bubbles leaking from under the machine.
"…Please don't flood. Please don't flood…"
By the afternoon, Shinichi was sprawled on the tatami mat, staring up at the ceiling fan that didn't spin. He felt like an old man after a war.
Living alone was turning into one challenge after another. There was no one to split chores with, no one to make him tea, no one to tell him what to do when the toilet paper ran out mid-use. He had texted his mom three times already—and regretted each one.
"You'll be fine," she had replied with a winking emoji.
"It's good for you to learn these things on your own."
"I am learning," he muttered, "that I miss home-cooked meals."
Then he heard it—through the wall on his left. Laughter.
High, bubbly, and very, very familiar.
He paused, eyes narrowing.
"No way... That laugh…"
He shuffled over to the wall, pressing his ear against the plaster like a spy in training. The voice giggled again, clearer this time.
It was her.
"Hinoka Aoyama?"
What were the odds?
And as if fate enjoyed irony, just as he backed away from the left wall in stunned disbelief, a thud came from the wall on his right—followed by a quiet, apologetic hum.
Low. Soft. Hesitant.
His heart skipped a beat.
"That's… Koizumi?"
His childhood friends. His two closest companions. The girls who had once spent nearly every afternoon in his living room, arguing over snacks or dragging him into their made-up games. The same girls who had, years ago, made that ridiculous promise.
"When we grow up, we'll see who's most worthy to marry you, Shinichi!"
He'd laughed. They hadn't.
He hadn't seen them since middle school ended. Life had pulled them to different schools, different paths. They had stopped calling. So had he. Time had made the memory blur—until now.
Now, they were literally a wall away.
On both sides.
He slumped to the floor, eyes wide, heart confused.
"No. No, no, no. This can't be happening."
As if in response, a voice rang out from the left again.
"Huh? That sounds like someone dropped something!"
Shinichi flinched.
He stood up too fast, tripped over his laundry basket, and knocked over a pile of books he hadn't unpacked.
The knock came seconds later.
Three gentle taps.
Then, from the other side: another knock. Slightly delayed. Softer.
"Shinichi?" came a muffled voice from the right.
No.
Nope.
Not today.
He tiptoed backward, bumping into his sad excuse for a rice cooker.
"This is a dream," he whispered. "Just a stress-induced hallucination."
The knocks continued.
Then silence.
Then—like a synchronized orchestra—both doors to his left and right opened at the same time.
Two girls leaned out.
Two sets of eyes met his.
Two hearts—unspoken, familiar, undeniable—came crashing back into his life.
"…Hi?" he managed.
Hinoka grinned, wide and radiant.
"Well, look who finally moved in!"
Koizumi, more hesitant, offered a small, nervous smile.
"…Long time no see, Shinichi."
And just like that, peace was officially over.