The clock ticked 11:45 PM in the bustling city of Oukami, where the neon lights flickered through the dark, casting strange shadows on the pavement. In the midst of it all, Yuuto Kuroda, the self-proclaimed "God of the Night Shift," yawned as he slid his apron over his head. His black hair, messy from a day's worth of sleep, barely stayed in place as he tied the strings. His tired eyes were barely open, but his hands moved with the precision of someone who had done this too many times.
"Late again, Kuroda," the manager, Mr. Inoue, grumbled from the back office. "You know the drill—no overtime tonight. Got a full house coming in at midnight."
"Got it, boss," Yuuto replied, his voice flat and uninterested. The truth was, Yuuto didn't care much about anything. He was just here to get by, working the night shift at a small ramen shop tucked away in a corner of the city. But there was something about the night that made him feel... different. As if the city was his alone, and everyone else was just passing through.
The door swung open with a ding, a regular customer walked in—a weary, middle-aged man who always sat in the corner booth. Yuuto's eyes briefly flicked toward him, but he didn't speak. Not because he didn't want to, but because he couldn't. You see, Yuuto wasn't just an ordinary guy working a late-night shift. He was, in fact, a God—one who had been cursed to live as a mortal for reasons unknown, forced to work the same menial job night after night, year after year, until his punishment was over. He didn't remember why it started, but he knew it wouldn't end until he earned his freedom.
He sighed, looking out at the empty streets from the small window behind the counter. The night was quiet, but he could feel it—somewhere, out there, things were shifting. It was always like this before something big happened, a change in the fabric of reality itself. Yuuto had grown accustomed to it, knowing the city was never as still as it seemed. And the longer he worked this shift, the more the whispers of fate and destiny tugged at him.
"Another bowl of miso, Kuroda," the man in the corner ordered, snapping Yuuto from his thoughts.
"Coming right up," Yuuto said, his hands already moving before the words left his mouth.
As he prepared the ramen, he felt it again—a ripple, like a shadow slipping through his senses. Something big was coming, something that would change everything. But for now, all he could do was serve ramen and wait. After all, he was the God who worked the night shift, and waiting was what he did best.