Mei Tanaka adjusted the strap of her backpack as she stood in front of the apartment complex, soaked from the sudden summer downpour. The building wasn’t much — faded paint, a flickering porch light, and rust creeping up the iron railings — but to Mei, it was freedom. Her first apartment. Her own space. Her new beginning.

She balanced her sketchpad against her hip as she fumbled with the keys. The landlord had warned her the lock was tricky. Click. Nothing. Click. Twist. Finally, the door creaked open.

Inside, the place was small but clean. A kitchenette tucked into the corner, a futon rolled up against the wall, and a wide window that opened onto a narrow balcony with a view of… nothing in particular. Still, Mei smiled.

She dropped her bags and rushed to the low table, flipping open her sketchpad. The pages were filled with images of a single character — a tall, lean young man with messy dark hair and sharp silver eyes. She had drawn him in dozens of settings: standing beneath cherry blossoms, lounging in a café, sleeping on a rooftop. He was the protagonist of a manga she'd been working on secretly for three years. A character she never showed anyone. A character who lived only for her.

His name was Aoi. A wandering swordsman from a fantasy world, quiet and intense. Her perfect man — or at least, the closest she'd ever get to one.

Thunder rumbled as Mei peeled off her wet jacket and moved to the window to shut it. That’s when she heard it.

Footsteps. Above her.

Her apartment was on the second floor, and there was only one more floor above. She hadn’t thought much about neighbors yet. The landlord had vaguely mentioned a tenant upstairs — a quiet guy, never caused trouble.

She glanced up, hearing the soft thud of movement overhead. Then she froze.

A shadow moved across the ceiling. Not just any shadow — a tall one. With messy hair.

Mei’s heart skipped. No. It’s just coincidence. She turned back to her sketchpad and laughed at herself.

But later that night, as she lay in bed, she heard him again. Footsteps, pacing. Then… humming.

Low, calm, beautiful. And strangely… familiar.

Her fingers twitched for her pencil. Without thinking, she reached for her sketchpad and drew. The humming echoed through the ceiling as her hand moved quickly, almost automatically.

She didn’t know why, but one thought lodged in her brain and refused to leave:

What if Aoi lives upstairs?

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