The sound of a clock woke me.
Not an alarm—but a deep chime from the sky. At exactly 6:00 a.m., it rang across Tokinomachi, announcing the start of a new day.
I slowly got up from the sleep capsule. My back ached, my neck stiff. These beds weren't made for comfort—just enough to keep you from collapsing on the street and losing time as punishment.
Still in yesterday's clothes, I sat quietly. Then glanced at my wristband.
⏳ 54 Years 364 Days 22 Hours 06 Minutes
Eight hours of sleep had cost me almost a full day of life.
"Get up, rookie. If you're late to the Distribution Center, you won't get a shift."
Rei's voice called from outside the capsule. I'd nearly forgotten she promised to pick me up. Half-awake, I stepped out and followed her.
The sky of Tokinomachi remained the same—deep purple, cracked with glowing lines of slow-moving sand, like a reversed hourglass bleeding time.
We passed through an underground station and took a silent lift to the surface. The walls were lined with auto-lit panels, glowing faintly as we ascended.
When the doors opened, I saw it clearly for the first time—this wasn't a city. Not like Earth.
Skyscrapers stretched up into the void, made not of steel but of gears, glass, and shimmering clocks. Timeglass—a living material that pulsed faintly. People rushed by with cold, desperate focus. Everyone wore the same thing: a timeband on their left wrist.
In the middle of it all, a massive digital board glowed:
Central City Time Distribution Hub
Rei tapped my shoulder. "Burn this into your head. Here, work buys you life. Do nothing, and time keeps ticking. Until you're out."
I nodded. My throat felt dry.
Inside the building, hundreds of people stood in line. Everyone stared at a large screen showing the available jobs:
🧹 Southern District Cleaner – 8 Hours – Reward: +3 Days🏗 Warehouse Loader – 10 Hours – Reward: +4 Days📦 Instant Message Courier – 5 Hours – Reward: +1 Day🧾 Manual Archive Scribe – 12 Hours – Reward: +5 Days
"Take the courier job," Rei said, pointing at the lightest one.
"Why?"
"Because it won't kill you from overwork. And you're new."
I signed up. My timeband chimed softly—a temporary contract appeared, listing job details, reward, and punishment.
No salary. No breaks. Just time.
[Active Contract: Instant Message Courier]Duration: 5 HoursLocation: Eastern DistrictReward: +1 DayPenalty if Failed: -2 Days
Rei didn't come with me. "Time to survive on your own," she said.
The job was straightforward—run between offices and deliver encrypted messages. But the streets were narrow and the buildings vertical. I had to climb stairwells—no lifts in the lower districts. Electricity cost time, and down here, no one could afford either.
For five hours, I ran. Walked. Sweated. My legs burned, my lungs screamed. I even delivered one package to the wrong address.
"If that leaks, I'll be sued! Want to pay me back with your time?!"
All I could do was bow and apologize.
Finally, when I delivered the last message, my timeband glowed.
+1 Day added.
I stared at it for a long moment. It felt like nothing—for all the effort I gave. But still... it was something. More life. More time.
I walked home slowly, passing vending machines and stores that accepted only one currency: Chronos—minutes carved from your lifespan. One Chronos equaled one minute.
In a shadowed alley, I saw an old man collapse. Pale. Shaking. No one stopped.
His timeband flashed red:
⏳ 0 Years 0 Months 0 Days 00 Hours 00 Minutes
Then, everything went cold.
A figure in black appeared—tall, thin, with a helmet shaped like an hourglass. Face hidden.
Shokutai.
They appeared like shadows, lifted the body, and vanished.
As if time itself had consumed him.
I couldn't breathe. I couldn't move.
That night, I returned to my capsule. My body was sore, my head empty.
My timeband now read:
⏳ 54 Years 364 Days 22 Hours 12 Minutes
One day of work… and I had only earned one more hour than yesterday.
And tomorrow, I would have to do it all over again.
In this world, time is everything.
But for someone like me—who never knew how to value it—learning to survive was the first, most painful lesson.