Limen

The city looks the same as always.

It feels like Berlin, and like Hong Kong, with traces of Yokohama and Amsterdam mixed in. Yet it matches none of them.

Even so, people give it a name. They force it into a familiar city they remember—just so they can recall it.

A foggy night. The boundaries between streets blur. Buildings overlap, and distance loses its meaning. Far and near exist at the same time. People begin to misperceive. They think: I’ve seen this place before. I know this place. This is where I belong.

The sound of pipes with no meaning. Right before opening the door. The sounds outside have not yet come together. A low bass vibration echoing in the distance. The scrape of metal somewhere. The sound of tires cutting through water. Short conversations in languages unknown. Each sound is small, yet layered. There is no fixed rhythm.

Limen was open, as always. Down the stairs to the basement, and the door opens. Beyond it lies a space moving to a different rhythm. Behind the counter stands vivi.

A guest says to vivi,

“…I ended up coming again.”

vivi nods. It isn’t a reply, but a confirmation that the world is still connected.

The one who entered was a regular. Someone murmurs softly, “Proof.” “That one—always pushes to the limit.”

Short-cut hair. Low-rise pants and a short top with a metallic sheen. Skin exposed—not to be seen, but to move. Each movement catches light in gloss. Glitter reacts a beat later. Still, yet not stopped. The sound exists first. Proof stands at its center.

Proof smiles. “You know…”

One step closer. “Let’s play a game.”

Light in tone. But that lightness pulls the space with it. “Say something you’ve never done. If you have, you drink.”

vivi smiles and asks, “Never Have I Ever?”

For a moment, Proof’s gaze sharpens. “Someone who’s never told a lie they couldn’t tell anyone.”

vivi drinks. Proof drinks too. Time slips slightly out of sync. No one minds.

“I’ve never left this city.” They both drink.

There’s another rumor about this place. That it’s a hideout for people from the future. Those from the future say: “Only here, time isn’t fixed.” Those from the past say: “Only here, the future isn’t determined.”

Proof makes a proposal. “Shall we have a drinking contest tonight?”

vivi pauses, just slightly. “Proposals” aren’t unusual here. But a “contest” is just a bit off. “With what stakes?”

Proof smiles. “The loser answers every question.”

Glasses line up. The liquids are clear, indistinguishable. But vivi knows—nothing is ever truly “the same” here.

It starts with something light. Then something strongly carbonated.

Next, a liquid with no name. Proof drinks slowly. vivi drinks fast. That is the only difference.

After three glasses, Proof is laughing. By the fourth, the way she laughs changes. By the fifth, she begins to forget the questions. And vivi remains unchanged. At least, until then.

Proof asks, “Where are you from?” vivi answers, “Planet Eyes.”

Proof pauses, then laughs. “Nice place, huh. How old are you?” “Nineteen.”

Silence. Proof tilts her glass.

“Same here. For now.”

They continue drinking. The pace at which the glasses empty begins to slip out of sync.

Proof asks, “Still going?” vivi nods. But the nod appears just slightly delayed.

Sixth glass. vivi’s gaze slips away once— not behind the counter, but somewhere that isn’t anywhere.

Seventh glass. vivi’s movement stops. The hand placing the glass lingers in midair for a fraction of a second.

Then she says, “Just a little…” The words cut off midway.

At that moment, vivi “falls.”

The shop does not disappear. It “decomposes.”

Concrete loses meaning. Pipes are no longer part of a city. Light ceases to be a place—it becomes layers of time.

Beyond the counter, another city overlaps. Not Berlin, not Hong Kong. Yet only their “past” remains.

There are people. But their outlines won’t hold. Faces change every few seconds. Proof’s form collapses as well. Yet existence remains.

vivi is seeing it.

But the “observer” itself is unstable.

Not a shop. Not a city. Only “Limen” remains.

Within it, a voice. “This place is not yet fixed.”

Another voice. “There hasn’t been enough observation.”

Yet another. “That’s why you were needed.”

vivi cannot understand. Yet without understanding, she “knows.”

In that instant, everything returns. The counter. The glasses. The light.

vivi is sitting there. She hasn’t collapsed. She’s just slightly delayed.

Proof smiles. “Still strong, huh.” vivi replies, “…Just a little.”

That “just a little”— it’s unclear what it refers to.

In the lounge at the back, the owner, Veska, is there. Without moving, she moves the space itself.

She asks, “Did you see it?”

vivi does not answer.

Veska continues, “It doesn’t only open on foggy nights.”

The door opens. Sound enters first.

“Ahhh, it’s been forever! How have you been? I’m here!”

The air shifts by one layer. The one who entered is Niko. They appear both male and female—and neither. They are there as a “fully realized show business entity.”

Hair, makeup, clothing, posture, tone of voice— everything is intentional. And so complete that the intention itself becomes visible.

Niko walks straight to the counter. Their gaze never once stops.

One of the quiet guests is visibly shaken. The hand holding the glass freezes. (Who is that?)

That thought shows clearly on their face.

But the moment they truly see Niko approaching, the expression changes. They are overwhelmed by Niko’s “perfection.” There is no space left for irritation or resistance. Everything seems pre-designed in advance. As a result, the guest falls silent.

Niko leans an elbow on the counter. “Oh, vivi’s here.”

vivi pauses slightly. “Welcome.”

Niko smiles. “What’s with that distance? Isn’t that a bit cold?”

That lightness instantly shifts the atmosphere of Limen into something else entirely.

The air of show business. The air of a dressing room before a shoot. The air of an airport lounge in transit.

A voice comes from the lounge in the back. “You’re late.”

It’s Veska. Niko looks over. And smiles, just slightly.

“Oh, there you are. You’re still alive.”

Veska smiles back. “You too.”

Only for that moment, the air becomes “the past.” vivi cannot understand it. Yet a sense remains—as if she somehow knows.

Niko sits at the counter. Then glances around once.

“This place… it’s funny how it’s still ‘running.’”

Veska replies,

“Rather than running, it’s surviving.”

Niko laughs. “Yeah, that. You always say it like that. This place looks gentle, but it’s the worst kind, isn’t it?”

The quiet guests have completely stopped talking. Yet they don’t leave. Or rather, they can’t—their curiosity wins.

vivi sets down a glass. Niko starts drinking casually. It empties quickly.

“Isn’t this a bit weak?”

vivi replies, “It’s standard.”

Niko smiles. “That word—‘standard’—is the least trustworthy one.”

Veska asks, “What kind of job tonight?”

Niko lowers their voice slightly. “A mission. One that’s not finished yet.”

At that word, the atmosphere of Limen sinks for a moment into “another layer.”

vivi realizes. This person sounds like they’re joking—but they’re not.

Niko continues. “But anyway, I just stopped by. A reconnection after a while.”

Veska nods. “Still busy, I see.”

Niko shrugs. “Busy… well, you know, if I stay fixed, I die.”

Only that line carries a slight weight.

The conversation that follows moves quickly. Fragments of past scenes. Cities without names.

Unfinished missions. Records that are fading away.

But this isn’t explanation. It’s closer to “resynchronization.”

Watching them, vivi understands. These two are not having a conversation. They are playing parallel versions of the same time.

Niko laughs. “Back then, it was total chaos, right?”

Veska smiles. “It still is.”

Niko sets down the glass. “Well, I should go. If I stay any longer, I’ll start to drift.”

Veska gives a small wave. “See you.”

Niko stands. But at the door, they turn back once.

“It’s amazing this place is still here.”

Veska replies, “As long as you keep coming.”

Niko smiles. “What a convenient place.”

And then they leave. The door closes.

The sound of the city returns for a moment. But it quickly smooths out again. Limen becomes quiet.

vivi wipes a glass.

Veska is sitting not at the counter, but slightly away from it.

For the first time, vivi realizes: This place has only “visitors.” No one lives here.

That is simply how this place is designed.