Yuzu had always thought the economy was something too big to fail. A machine too massive, too deeply embedded in the daily lives of billions to simply stop working. It was midday, though the usual hustle and bustle of Tokyo had been repced by an eerie quiet. Tokyo had always been a city of bright lights and endless motion, a pce where money flowed like a lifeline through its towering skyscrapers, packed trains, and neon-lit convenience stores. Now, it was a husk of itself, the lights flickering uncertainly, casting eerie shadows over streets littered with abandoned belongings and hastily scrawled graffiti warning of 'No food here' or 'Don’t trust anyone.'

  But the unraveling had started quickly. Supply chains had colpsed as truck drivers abandoned their routes, factory workers fled, and imports ceased almost overnight. Grocery store shelves were emptied within hours, and without restocks, food shortages became immediate and severe. Panic buying turned into looting, and before long, riots erupted as people fought over dwindling supplies. Then, with mass panic in full swing, even the banks had fallen silent. ATMs were frozen with error messages, stock tickers dispyed meaningless numbers on abandoned screens, and the ever-busy financial districts now stood eerily quiet, their power suits and briefcases repced by desperation and scavenging.

  Yuzu pulled her hoodie tighter around her face, her long bck hair tangled and unkempt after days of neglect. The midday sun cast harsh, elongated shadows over the desote street, its heat making the stagnant air feel heavy, almost suffocating. Her stomach growled, but she ignored it, her attention fixed on the scene unfolding in front of her.

  A man stood under the flickering remnants of a once-bright advertisement screen, its broken LED lights sputtering random colors. His hands trembled as he held out a gleaming gold watch, his sunken eyes filled with desperation. Across from him, a vendor clutched a single can of soup, the bel peeling, the metal dented, but worth more than the man's luxury timepiece. The distant honking of a car, long abandoned in the middle of the road, echoed through the silence of the city, punctuated by the occasional distant shout or the ctter of something falling in an alleyway. Tokyo, once alive with endless motion, now felt like a graveyard of forgotten excess.

  "Please," the man begged. "This watch is worth thousands—real gold, Swiss-made!"

  The vendor scoffed. "Can't eat gold, buddy." He shook the can slightly, taunting. "You want this or not?"

  Yuzu bit her lip, stifling a bitter ugh. The contrast was absurd, almost comedic, except there was nothing funny about watching a man realize, too te, that money meant nothing now. Around her, Tokyo had transformed into a surreal nightmare. Neon signs still flickered weakly, advertising products no one could buy, while shattered gss crunched underfoot from looted storefronts. Billboards loomed overhead, frozen in time with smiling faces promoting luxuries that had lost all meaning. The once-bustling streets were now filled with desperate negotiations, makeshift markets, and abandoned cars that had been stripped for anything valuable. The world had flipped its priorities overnight, and those who hadn’t adapted were left clutching useless relics of a past life.

  The ATMs had stopped working days ago, their screens now lifeless, error messages frozen in time. Banks locked their doors, some with hastily written notes taped to the gss: "Closed indefinitely. Good luck." Their digital systems were overwhelmed or abandoned entirely, leaving people to smash windows in frustration, only to find empty vaults.

  The stock market had plummeted into nothingness, though no one even talked about that anymore. It felt like a relic of a past life, as distant and meaningless as ancient history. Grocery store shelves were stripped bare, their metal racks eerily exposed, businesses were either looted or shuttered, and the only form of trade that mattered now was whatever people were desperate enough to exchange, canned food, medicine, clean water. The rules of value had been rewritten overnight, and civilization itself was barely holding on.

  In the alleys and backstreets of Tokyo, a new kind of economy had taken hold: the economy of fear. It was no longer about the value of an item in a stable world. It was about survival, about what people thought they needed to get through the next day, the next hour. Water bottles were priceless. Cigarettes were worth more than gold. Instant ramen had become a currency of its own, packs of them clutched tightly by those who had been smart, or ruthless enough to hoard them early. Yuzu had even heard rumors of people trading antibiotics like they were precious gems, while others fought over the st remaining lighters and batteries like their lives depended on it. Because they did.

  She wrapped her arms around herself as she walked past a group of people haggling in the shadows of a broken vending machine. "One roll of toilet paper for a handful of painkillers." "Half a bottle of whiskey for a fshlight that actually works." She had never been good at bartering, and now it felt like a required skill, a necessity for survival. The rules had changed overnight, and she was still trying to catch up.

  At the entrance of a convenience store, one of the few that hadn’t been completely gutted, a man stood guard with a baseball bat, eyeing anyone who got too close. The sign on the door, scrawled hastily in permanent marker, read: "CASH IS USELESS. TRADE ONLY. NO EXCEPTIONS." The people who still had supplies weren’t selling them for yen anymore. They wanted goods, tools, protection—things with real, tangible value. Yuzu hesitated, reaching into her bag to see what she even had to offer. A protein bar, a half-empty water bottle, a spare phone charger, utterly worthless in a world where electricity was no longer guaranteed.

  She sighed and kept walking, her stomach twisting with hunger, her thoughts swirling with unease. People had always been selfish, but desperation made it worse. She had seen fights break out over a single can of food, had heard stories of entire families holed up in their apartments, refusing to open their doors even when neighbors begged for help. Greed had taken on a new form, no longer about wealth, but about survival.

  As she turned a corner, she spotted an old bookstore, its wooden sign slightly tilted, the kanji carved into it worn down from years of weathering. The scent of aged paper drifted through the open door, a contrast to the metallic stench of the streets. Inside, an elderly woman shuffled between the bookshelves, adjusting stacks of novels as if the world outside hadn't fallen apart.

  "Ah, Yuzu, there you are," the old woman said, peering over her gsses with a knowing smile. "You look like you haven't eaten properly in days. Come in, child. I've got some warm rice and tea waiting for you."

  Yuzu hesitated, then stepped inside, the warmth of the shop wrapping around her like a forgotten memory. She gnced at the elderly woman and smirked. "I'm surprised you haven't died yet, Mrs. Takahashi."

  The old woman scoffed, adjusting her gsses. "And I'm surprised you still have the energy to make jokes on an empty stomach. Now sit down before you colpse."

  Maybe, for just a little while, she could pretend things were normal—let the scent of old books and warm rice drown out the chaos outside, let the soft clinking of tea cups repce the distant sirens and shouting. The bookstore smelled of paper and dust, the kind of comforting mustiness that spoke of stories long forgotten and time moving slower within its walls. The old wooden floor creaked under her weight as she settled into the small, cushion-lined chair near the counter. A teacup, slightly chipped but still elegant, steamed in front of her, carrying the faint floral scent of jasmine. Just for a little while, she could be a student again, sitting in a quiet shop, pretending the world outside wasn't crumbling.

  "So, how's college?" Mrs. Takahashi asked, pouring tea into Yuzu's cup with the slow precision of someone who had all the time in the world.

  Yuzu let out a dramatic sigh, slumping against the counter. "Oh, you know, just the usual soul-crushing abyss of spreadsheets and financial statements. A meaningless existence of pain yuzu."

  "That's no good, y'know. You should strive to be studying hard so that maybe you can save the world."

  "I'm majoring in accounting, Mrs. Takahashi, not magic. What am I gonna do, file a tax return on the pnet so it changes its mind? Besides, not like I'm gonna continue because of that damn floating rock in the sky."

  Mrs. Takahashi chuckled, shaking her head as she poured more tea. "Well, at least you're keeping your sense of humor. Not much else to do these days but ugh, right?"

  "So, how about you, Mrs. Takahashi? Are you doing okay? Is the food supply good?"

  Mrs. Takahashi shrugged, stirring her tea leisurely as if discussing the weather. "Eh, well, even if it wasn’t, there’s plenty of meat on the streets. Just cook it up."

  Yuzu nearly choked on her tea. She set her cup down slowly, eyeing the old woman suspiciously. "I’m not a cannibal, Mrs. Takahashi."

  Mrs. Takahashi smirked, taking a sip of her own tea. "Didn’t say you were. Just saying, desperate times, dear."

  Outside, the streets were littered with motionless bodies, casualties of panic, hunger, or violence. Some had been hastily covered with newspapers or old bnkets, while others remained exposed, grim reminders of how quickly civilization had unraveled. The once-bustling intersections of Tokyo were now eerily silent, save for the distant wails of the desperate and the occasional sound of gss crunching underfoot as looters picked through the remnants of stores long since emptied. The acrid scent of smoke and decay hung in the air, mixing with the metallic tang of dried blood, creating a cocktail of despair that had become the city's new signature.

  Mrs. Takahashi pced a steaming bowl of rice and miso soup in front of Yuzu, the aroma a stark contrast to the foul stench wafting in from outside. The old bookstore, with its walls lined with yellowed pages and aging wooden shelves, felt like an isnd of the past, untouched by the world's colpse. The soft ctter of porcein and the rhythmic ticking of an old clock were the only sounds accompanying their meal, aside from the occasional distant scream filtering in through the cracked window.

  "Eat up before you start looking like those poor souls out there," Mrs. Takahashi said, adjusting her gsses as she sipped her tea.

  Yuzu poked at her rice with her chopsticks, sighing dramatically. "You're acting like I wasn't already skin and bones before this apocalypse started."

  Mrs. Takahashi scoffed. "You were, but at least you had a spark in your eye. Now you look like a half-drowned cat."

  Yuzu snorted, shoveling a spoonful of rice into her mouth. "Charming as always, Mrs. Takahashi."

  The old woman chuckled, her wrinkled face creasing into a warm, knowing smile. "Someone's gotta keep you grounded, child. Now, tell me, are you pnning on just wandering the streets looking for free meals, or do you have an actual pn?"

  Yuzu leaned back against the creaky chair, blowing on her soup. "Oh yeah, big pns. Gonna build an empire trading instant noodles and expired convenience store snacks. Maybe start a cult, call it the Church of Cup Ramen."

  Mrs. Takahashi shook her head, chuckling softly. "At least you haven't lost your sense of humor. But remember, Yuzu, when everything falls apart, it’s the small things that keep people human. A meal, a book, a conversation." She gestured toward the walls of books surrounding them. "Stories help us remember who we are. Even in times like this."

  Yuzu took another bite, letting the warmth of the food settle into her empty stomach. Outside, the world was crumbling. But here, in this tiny bookstore with an old woman who still believed in tea and quiet conversations, things felt almost normal. Almost.