Dead Hours — Golden Hours, 8페이지
작가: Inkroost · 발행
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대본
Six panels. Kaito slides the fish tub away from the glowing drink cooler, testing the temperature with the back of his hand. Kaito: "Cooler draft. Too cold." He moves the same tub away from the steaming hot-food case, wincing at the heat. Kaito: "Hot case. Too warm." He cups both hands around the tub in the middle of the counter, fretting. Kaito: "...There's no right spot." Rin turns to her phone camera, narrating; Kaito hunches over the tub behind her. Rin: "Man builds a fish its own climate." Kaito leans in and squints suspiciously at the water, sniffing near the surface. Kaito: "Is the water cloudy? It looks cloudy." Rin films him, half-lidded. Rin: "It looks like water."
이미지 설명
Six panels: Kaito shuttles the goldfish tub away from the cold cooler, then away from the hot-food case, finding no right spot; he sniffs the water suspecting it's cloudy while Rin deadpans that it looks like water.
이 챕터에 대해
3 A.M., rain on the dead-hours store. A frazzled young woman rushes in mid-phone-call, sets a plain water bag holding a single festival goldfish on the counter, and bolts back into the rain without it. Kaito — physically unable to let a living thing be abandoned to die before the morning delivery — declares quiet war on keeping the one goldfish alive until dawn, spiraling all night over how long a goldfish even lives, a fact nobody can verify. He transfers it to a bigger tub, oxygenates the water with a straw, hunts for the one spot that isn't too cold by the cooler or too warm by the hot case, and phones a 24-hour line only to be put on hold — each anxious check landing on the identical dead-eyed beat of Kaito leaning nose-close to the tub and muttering '...still there.' A ladder of night-shift regulars each deliver a verdict that cannot all be true: the tracksuit regular says festival fish never make it to morning, a drunk salaryman swears it's already dead because 'they sell 'em dead,' and a cheerful jogger insists goldfish live twenty years and are basically immortal. Rin quietly livestreams the whole vigil as 'Will It Live,' with one flicker of near-sincerity — that he's the only person alive who'd lose a night so a stranger's fish doesn't die — before raising her phone again. Near dawn, hollow and defeated, Kaito finally stops fussing, sits, and lets his hands leave the tub for the first time — and the goldfish, left alone, darts and thrives, the running beat inverting into pure elation. Then the reveal Rin planted in the first minute pays off: she dropped a water-conditioner tablet into the bag the instant the woman left, on camera, so the fish was always going to be fine and his six-hour war did nothing; and the owner, watching the stream, has texted to say keep it and isn't coming back. The fish is Rin's now, the star of a stream that just hit four hundred thousand viewers. Kaito gets nothing, not even the fish. Dawn light fills the spotless store exactly as the night began — and on the freshly bare counter a new plain water bag with a fresh goldfish already sits, Rin's phone already raised, already live.