It’s going to rain.

　　They say that seventy or eighty years ago, these coral clouds were still a rare sight. Back then, they were all in the sea, not drifting all over the world in the sky.

　　Many scientists claim it’s due to the discovery of some rare element or atmospheric pollution, but not many people believe it.

　　At first, everyone panicked, thinking the apocalypse was coming, but after waiting decades, there was still no sign of classic doomsday creatures like zombies.

　　As time went on, people got used to it.

　　It was just something extra floating in the sky, and so what if it rained a bit more? Planes just changed their routes and kept flying anyway.

　　Money still had to be made, debts still had to be paid, and life still had to go on as usual.

　　After a few days of chaos, everything went back to normal.

　　It seemed no different from before.

　　Thunder rumbled.

　　Henry Parker didn’t have an umbrella and didn’t dare waste time. He turned and sprinted home, but as he ran, he heard a loud boom from far away.

　　This time, the thunder was especially clear, and even the ground trembled.

　　He looked up in the direction of the sound and saw smoke and fire rising from the distant dock, as if something had exploded.

　　People on the street looked at each other in confusion. Some excitedly pulled out their phones to take pictures, while others eagerly moved closer, wanting to join the commotion.

　　Normally, Henry Parker might have gone over to see what was happening too, but now he felt like he was about to be crushed by the double burden of life and being a host. As for excitement—forget it...

　　He sighed, turned left up ahead into a small alley, and quickened his pace.

　　Bang!

　　At the end of the alley, a bottle was kicked against the wall, scattering glass everywhere. Immediately after, it was crushed under a boot.

　　Someone burst out from the corner, stumbling like they were drunk, not even slowing down, brushing past Henry Parker and—smack—slamming right into the wall.

　　Henry Parker froze.

　　What kind of tough guy is this?

　　But unexpectedly, that “tough guy” staggered back from the impact, and when he saw Henry Parker, he suddenly lunged at him.

　　Henry Parker couldn’t dodge in time and was grabbed by the wrist. Then he felt a heavy box shoved into his arms.

　　“What the heck is this?”

　　He stood there in shock, instinctively trying to pull his hand away, but felt something wet. Sticky red liquid was seeping from the man’s sleeve.

　　It was blood.

　　Only now did the thick, overwhelming smell of blood hit him.

　　Henry Parker was suddenly overcome by a wave of dizziness and a splitting headache. He bent over, involuntarily dry-heaving a mouthful of saliva.

　　When he looked up, he finally saw the man’s twisted, ferocious face, his features contorted. The man stared at Henry Parker in shock, as if wanting to say something, but instead coughed up a mouthful of blood.

　　The scene was so bizarre, yet Henry Parker accidentally noticed that in the pool of blood on the ground... there was a little goldfish?

　　It wasn’t even big—just the kind of ornamental goldfish people keep in tanks, plump and cute.

　　“Dude, you’ve got a strong stomach. Can you even eat that? And it’s raw!”

　　Henry Parker was dumbfounded. “Did you get food poisoning or something?”

　　But then, he saw the goldfish flopping in the blood quickly shrivel up, until it turned into a pile of ash-like stuff, dissolving into the blood.

　　As the goldfish died, the man seemed to lose all his strength, collapsing to the ground, no longer breathing. Only thick blood kept seeping from under his trench coat.

　　In the silence, only Henry Parker was left in the alley.

　　And the box that had been shoved into his hands...

　　The box was a bit bigger than a regular Rubik’s cube, heavy in his grip, and when he shook it, it felt like it was full of liquid.

　　It had the unique cold touch of iron and copper, and its surface was engraved with ornate totems Henry Parker had never seen before. But those totems were all covered in the man’s sticky blood, making them hard to see, though they seemed to have an inexplicable magic.

　　Henry Parker swallowed.

　　He felt parched.

　　Just holding it in his hands, he couldn’t help wanting to open it, as if something inside was irresistibly tempting him, making him desperately want to possess it, to have it...

　　He took a deep breath.

　　In this situation, was there really anything to think about?

　　Without hesitation, Henry Parker pulled out his phone.

　　“Hello? 110?”

Chapter 3 Who Writes a Diary, Anyway?

　　“Name.”

　　“Henry Parker.”

　　“Age?”

　　“Seventeen...”

　　In the police station, as Henry Parker was giving his statement, he felt more and more like this conversation was way too familiar—hadn’t he already repeated it several times somewhere?

　　Afraid something might go wrong, after finishing the statement, he even grabbed the officer’s hand and asked repeatedly, “You guys don’t hire hosts here, right?”

　　“...”

　　The officer’s expression twitched. He didn’t bother responding, just poured him a cup of tea and said he could leave after the inspection.

　　Henry Parker sat in the chair, still shaken, and let out a sigh.

　　The alley, the dead man, the little goldfish, the iron box.