Dead Hours Inkroost
Dead Hours
Footprints · Ch.54
Right to left
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This series reads right to left — start each page from the top-right panel.
Wide night view into the convenience store from just inside the sliding doors. The tile floor is freshly mopped and bare. Kaito stands mid-floor with a mop and bucket while Rin sits on her stool at the counter.
Three panels: Kaito wrings out the mop and lists what he has finished, Rin films him, and he looks out over the empty gleaming floor.
A low view up the middle aisle: a single line of wet shoe prints walks away from the doors across the clean floor and stops dead, with nothing beyond it.
Five panels: Kaito searches the aisles, checks the back of the store and the staff door, finds nobody, and tells Rin the prints walk in but never walk out.
Two panels: Kaito crouches beside the last footprint with one hand flat on the floor, muttering. Rin films his back.
Three panels: the tracksuit regular comes in from the rain with his bag of cans. Kaito asks if he saw anyone ahead of him. The man says the tile does that on its own.
Four panels: Kaito calls head office on the beige landline about prints that come in and never go out, and ends up waiting on hold.
Six panels: a drunk salaryman insists a man has been living behind the shelves for years. Kaito points out the shelves are ninety centimetres deep.
Two panels: Kaito crouches at the last footprint again, the phone handset now trapped on his shoulder. Rin notes he has been in the same crouch for forty minutes.
Three panels: Kaito looks out through the glass at the rain-soaked footpath, which is completely unmarked. The prints start inside the doors.
Four panels: a cheerful jogger claims the prints are hers from yesterday afternoon. Kaito points out she has only just walked in.
A silent full-page panel: a wide view down the length of the counter with Kaito alone at the far end, the mop beside him, looking toward the middle aisle.
Two panels: Kaito crouches at the last print a third time, more hollow now, the prints fading. Then a silent close-up of the last print evaporating.
Five panels: sitting on the floor beside the fading prints, Kaito says someone walked in and stopped and never left. Rin says it is not a person, and that things stop without announcing it.
Three panels at dawn: grey light fills the store, the middle aisle floor is completely bare, and Kaito accepts that the prints simply dried.
Two panels: the same crouch as before, but in dawn light over a bare clean floor, and Kaito is faintly smiling. Rin watches him.
Five panels: Rin holds out her phone and describes the ten o'clock footage. Kaito carried the crate in up the middle and walked back along the dry counter side. The prints were his.
A silent full-page panel in morning daylight, the same view as page one, with a fresh line of wet footprints walking in from the doors and stopping halfway.
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/ 18
Wide night view into the convenience store from just inside the sliding doors. The tile floor is freshly mopped and bare. Kaito stands mid-floor with a mop and bucket while Rin sits on her stool at the counter.
Three panels: Kaito wrings out the mop and lists what he has finished, Rin films him, and he looks out over the empty gleaming floor.
A low view up the middle aisle: a single line of wet shoe prints walks away from the doors across the clean floor and stops dead, with nothing beyond it.
Five panels: Kaito searches the aisles, checks the back of the store and the staff door, finds nobody, and tells Rin the prints walk in but never walk out.
Two panels: Kaito crouches beside the last footprint with one hand flat on the floor, muttering. Rin films his back.
Three panels: the tracksuit regular comes in from the rain with his bag of cans. Kaito asks if he saw anyone ahead of him. The man says the tile does that on its own.
Four panels: Kaito calls head office on the beige landline about prints that come in and never go out, and ends up waiting on hold.
Six panels: a drunk salaryman insists a man has been living behind the shelves for years. Kaito points out the shelves are ninety centimetres deep.
Two panels: Kaito crouches at the last footprint again, the phone handset now trapped on his shoulder. Rin notes he has been in the same crouch for forty minutes.
Three panels: Kaito looks out through the glass at the rain-soaked footpath, which is completely unmarked. The prints start inside the doors.
Four panels: a cheerful jogger claims the prints are hers from yesterday afternoon. Kaito points out she has only just walked in.
A silent full-page panel: a wide view down the length of the counter with Kaito alone at the far end, the mop beside him, looking toward the middle aisle.
Two panels: Kaito crouches at the last print a third time, more hollow now, the prints fading. Then a silent close-up of the last print evaporating.
Five panels: sitting on the floor beside the fading prints, Kaito says someone walked in and stopped and never left. Rin says it is not a person, and that things stop without announcing it.
Three panels at dawn: grey light fills the store, the middle aisle floor is completely bare, and Kaito accepts that the prints simply dried.
Two panels: the same crouch as before, but in dawn light over a bare clean floor, and Kaito is faintly smiling. Rin watches him.
Five panels: Rin holds out her phone and describes the ten o'clock footage. Kaito carried the crate in up the middle and walked back along the dry counter side. The prints were his.
A silent full-page panel in morning daylight, the same view as page one, with a fresh line of wet footprints walking in from the doors and stopping halfway.

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← The Third Apron · Ch.53
Text Version A written companion to this chapter — for accessibility, screen readers, and search.

3 A.M., rain on the dead-hours store. Kaito finishes mopping the sales floor to a flawless dry shine, and ten minutes later a single line of wet shoe prints is walking up the middle gangway, away from the doors, stopping dead halfway with nothing beyond it. No return trail. Nobody in the aisles. Nobody came in. Unable to accept that a person walked into his store and stopped and never left, Kaito declares quiet war on seven footprints and spends the entire dead shift trying to establish who made them, spiralling over how a trail can have a beginning and no end. All night he crouches at the last print with his hand flat on the tile beside it and mutters the same dead-eyed '...stops here.' He searches every gangway, checks the staff door, finds the footpath outside completely unmarked, and waits out head office's hold line, while a ladder of night regulars deliver flatly contradictory verdicts nobody can verify: the tracksuit regular says the tile always does that and prints come up on their own as it dries; a drunk salaryman swears somebody has been living behind the shelves for years and he has seen him; a cheerful jogger insists they are her own prints from yesterday afternoon. Rin livestreams the whole vigil as 'Who Walked To The Door', with one flicker of near-sincerity late on, that it is not a person and that things stop without ever announcing it, before raising her phone again. Near dawn the prints finally dry off the tile and vanish, and Kaito, hollow, takes the same crouch one last time over bare clean floor with a small settled almost-smile: '...gone.' Then the reveal Rin planted in the first minute pays off. She turns the phone around and plays the ten o'clock clip: Kaito hauling the supply crate in from the doorway, straight up the middle gangway, setting it down halfway, and walking back along the dry counter side. Seven in, none out. He spent six hours investigating himself. 'Who Walked To The Door' hits four hundred thousand viewers; Kaito gets the correct answer and it is him, and nothing else. Dawn light fills the spotless store from exactly the angle the night began, the floor dry and bare, and a fresh line of wet prints walks in from the doors and stops halfway, Rin's phone already raised, already live.

Page 1

A wide establishing shot looking into the store from the entrance on a rainy night. The aisles run away toward the lit wall of coolers at the back and the counter runs along the left. The whole vinyl floor has just been mopped and gleams, completely bare. Kaito stands in the middle of it with a mop and bucket. Rin sits on her stool at the counter with her phone. The street outside is dark and wet. KAITO: Done.

Page 2

Panel 1. Kaito wrings the mop out over the bucket behind the counter, sleeves pushed up, quietly satisfied. The floor behind him is bare and shining. KAITO: Crate's in. Bin's in. Floor's done. Panel 2. Rin on her stool, phone raised, filming him with a completely flat expression. RIN: Got it. Panel 3. Kaito stands the mop against the counter and rolls his shoulders, looking out over the empty floor with rare contentment. KAITO: Nobody comes in at this hour anyway.

Page 3

A low floor-level view up the middle gangway toward the lit coolers. On the freshly mopped tile there is now a single-file line of wet shoe prints, dark and glossy, walking away from the doors and stopping dead partway with clean empty floor beyond the last one. There is no return trail and no print anywhere else. Kaito's legs and the mop stand at the edge of the frame. KAITO: ...someone's in here.

Page 4

Panel 1. Kaito hurries down the first gangway between the shelf runs, head turning, checking the row. Empty. KAITO: Hello? Panel 2. Kaito at the far end by the lit coolers, looking back down the length of the store. Nobody in sight. Panel 3. Kaito tries the plain flush staff door in the back corner, hand on the handle, glancing over his shoulder. KAITO: Locked. Panel 4. He comes back to the counter, unsettled, pointing back toward the middle gangway. Rin sits unmoved with her phone. KAITO: Seven prints. Walking in. None walking out. Panel 5. Rin, half-lidded and flat, not looking up from her phone. RIN: Nobody came in. KAITO: Then who's standing there?

Page 5

Panel 1. A low view up the middle gangway. Kaito crouches beside the last of the wet prints with one hand flat on the dry tile just past it, staring down, exhausted and deadpan. Clean bare floor beyond it. KAITO: ...stops here. Panel 2. Rin stands a few paces back with her phone raised, filming his crouched back, a tiny smirk on her face. RIN: Who Walked To The Door. Six hours.

Page 6

Panel 1. The sliding doors open onto the wet dark street. The tracksuit regular walks in: a tall man with a shaved head in a grey zip-up tracksuit, carrying a clear plastic bag of empty cans. He steps around the wet prints without much interest. Panel 2. Kaito points urgently down at the line of prints, looking up at him. KAITO: Did you see anyone ahead of you? Panel 3. The tracksuit regular shrugs, eyes half closed, entirely unbothered. TRACKSUIT REGULAR: Tile does that. TRACKSUIT REGULAR: Comes up on its own when it dries.

Page 7

Panel 1. A straight-on view across the counter at the main register. Kaito lifts the beige corded landline handset off its cradle on the wall behind him. KAITO: Head office. They'll have the camera feed. Panel 2. Kaito with the handset pressed to his ear, other hand flat on the stainless counter, explaining with total seriousness. KAITO: Seven prints. In. Not out. Panel 3. Rin leans on the customer side of the counter, phone raised, filming him across it. RIN: They're going to say it's the tile. Panel 4. Kaito stands very still with the handset against his ear, eyes gone glassy, the cord hanging slack. KAITO: ...still holding.

Page 8

Panel 1. A drunk salaryman in a rumpled dark suit with a loose crooked tie leans heavily on the counter, jacket over one arm, jabbing a finger toward the middle gangway. SALARYMAN: Oh, that's him. Panel 2. Close on his flushed face, delighted and certain. SALARYMAN: Fella's been living in here for years. SALARYMAN: I've seen him. Panel 3. Kaito frozen behind the counter, deadpan, one hand gripping the edge. KAITO: Living where. Panel 4. The salaryman sways backward and gestures grandly at the shelf runs. SALARYMAN: Back of the shelves. Nice and warm. Panel 5. Kaito stares off toward the aisles with a comedic sweat drop. KAITO: The shelves are ninety centimetres deep. Panel 6. A wide view: the salaryman wanders out toward the doors and the rain while Kaito stands small and stricken behind the counter and Rin films him. RIN: He'd have to be very committed.

Page 9

Panel 1. The same low view up the middle gangway as before. Kaito crouches beside the last wet print with one hand flat on the tile, dead-eyed, the beige phone handset now trapped between his shoulder and his ear with the cord stretched across the frame. KAITO: ...stops here. Panel 2. Rin holds her phone up at arm's length to film him, a small smirk on her face. RIN: Forty minutes. Same crouch.

Page 10

Panel 1. A view from the footpath outside looking in through the glazing at night, rain falling, the shop lit within. Kaito stands just behind the glass by the sliding doors, peering out and down. KAITO: Nothing out here. Panel 2. Close on the wet concrete slabs outside the doors, rain pocking the surface, completely unmarked. No footprints of any kind. Panel 3. Kaito flattens one palm on the inside of the glass, staring down at the bare wet slabs. KAITO: They start inside the doors. KAITO: Nobody walks in dry and gets wet.

Page 11

Panel 1. A cheerful jogger comes in shaking off the rain: a young woman in a pale windbreaker with a towel around her neck and her hair in a short high ponytail. She steps straight over the wet prints. JOGGER: Oh, those are mine! Panel 2. Kaito behind her, one finger raised in objection, entirely flat. KAITO: You just walked in. Panel 3. Close on the jogger, eyes shut in a grin, hands spread, completely certain. JOGGER: From yesterday afternoon. They come back up. Panel 4. Kaito stands over the line of prints staring down at them with a comedic sweat drop while Rin films from behind. KAITO: Three people. Three answers. RIN: None of them checkable.

Page 12

A silent full-page panel. A wide view along the counter run from the far end, looking back toward the sliding doors. Kaito stands alone at the end of it, small in the frame, the mop leaning against the counter beside him, his head turned toward the middle gangway and the line of prints. Rain runs down the glazing at the far end. No dialogue.

Page 13

Panel 1. The same low view up the middle gangway a third time. Kaito crouches beside the last wet print with one hand flat on the tile, his stare hollow now and the eyebags deeper. The prints have gone noticeably fainter as they dry. KAITO: ...stops here. Panel 2. A silent close-up of the last print on the vinyl tile, its edges gone soft and feathered as it evaporates, bare dry floor beyond it. No dialogue.

Page 14

Panel 1. Kaito sits down on the tile of the middle gangway beside the fading prints, knees up, back against a shelf run, worn out. Rin sits on her heels a little way off with her phone. KAITO: Someone walked into my store. Panel 2. Close on his tired face in profile, looking down the line of prints toward the doors. KAITO: And stopped. And never left. Panel 3. Rin, half-lidded, phone lowered to her knee, not looking at him. RIN: It's not a person. Panel 4. Kaito turns his head toward her, deadpan, but something moving behind the eyes. KAITO: Then what stopped? Panel 5. Rin looks straight ahead down the gangway, flatter than usual, the phone still lowered. RIN: Things stop. They don't announce it. RIN: Anyway.

Page 15

Panel 1. Flat grey dawn light through the front glazing, the wet street outside pale and legible now. A wide interior view of the quiet empty store. RIN: Sun's up. Panel 2. A low view of the middle gangway floor in the grey light. The tile is completely bare, dry and unmarked. Every print has evaporated. Panel 3. Kaito stands over the bare clean floor, his shoulders finally dropping, the fight going out of him. KAITO: They dried. KAITO: That's it. That's the whole thing.

Page 16

Panel 1. Exactly the same low framing up the middle gangway as the earlier beats, but in grey dawn light and with the tile completely bare and clean. Kaito crouches in the same pose with one hand flat on the empty floor, and instead of the dead stare there is a small settled almost-smile. KAITO: ...gone. Panel 2. Rin stands over him in the dawn light, phone lowered at her side, watching him with an unreadable flat expression. RIN: Mm.

Page 17

Panel 1. Rin turns her phone around and holds it out toward Kaito, the screen a plain even glow. RIN: Ten o'clock. Panel 2. Kaito stares at the offered phone, his face going completely blank in the grey dawn light. Panel 3. Rin, flat, the phone still held out, her other hand in her hoodie pocket. RIN: You carried the crate in from the doors. RIN: Straight up the middle. Set it down halfway. Panel 4. Close on Kaito's face as the realization lands, eyes hollow, mouth slightly open. KAITO: ...and I walked back along the counter side. KAITO: Where it was dry. Panel 5. Rin lowers the phone and shrugs, entirely unbothered, already turning back to the counter. RIN: Seven in. None out. RIN: Four hundred thousand people watched you look for you.

Page 18

A silent full-page panel that mirrors the first page exactly: the same wide view from the entrance looking up the aisles toward the coolers, but in flat grey daylight with the street outside pale and dry. Kaito stands at the counter with the mop put away and Rin sits with her phone already raised and filming. On the bare tile of the middle gangway a fresh line of wet shoe prints walks in from the doors and stops dead halfway, with clean empty floor beyond the last one. No dialogue.