One day, out of nowhere, someone tried to take my life.

I was just a below-average, completely unremarkable college student. I’d been living on my own for two years after moving away from my parents, and for the first time in my life, I found myself targeted by a real lunatic.

It all started when I was walking through town with a friend. We were just talking when an older guy I’d never seen before suddenly yelled out at us.

"Hey! You!"

It wasn't like we bumped shoulders, or I gave him a dirty look, or I did anything to provoke him. We were just walking down the sidewalk chatting, when suddenly he grabbed my shoulder with a yell. His fingers dug in so hard it felt like he was gouging into my collarbone, and it hurt like hell.

So I twisted my body around, groaning "Ow, ow, ow!" as I brushed his arm off and faced this stranger. But no matter how hard I looked, I didn't recognize him at all. It was a total "who the hell is this guy?" moment.

Beside me, my friend was looking back and forth between me and the guy with a bewildered look, asking, "Uh, what? You know him?" But without saying a word, the guy grabbed his shoulder bag and came straight at me.

"You bastard! I'll fucking kill you!"

Honestly, in that moment, I thought I was gonna die.

Fortunately, his weapon was just a regular bag, so the fact that it only caused physical blunt pain was a relief. I had no idea what was going on, so I dropped into a defensive stance, crouched down, and covered my head with my arms, yelling, "Wait, what the hell! Stop!" Seeing this, my friend finally couldn't stand by anymore. He grabbed the guy's arm and held him back, shouting, "Hey, stop it!"

Looking back, my friend and I talked later about how lucky it was that the guy didn't have a weapon then. If he had pulled a knife or something, I would've felt terrible—not just for myself, but if my friend had gotten stabbed trying to protect me.

Luckily, a burly guy standing nearby stepped in to help mediate, so we managed to restrain the man without injuring him. As I panicked and tried to explain to the burly guy and my friend, "I don't know this person at all!" two police officers arrived—someone must have called them—and started questioning us. I told the cops that I had no idea who the man was and that he had suddenly stopped and attacked me, and my friend backed up my story.

On top of that, the burly guy testified from a distance that I was on the receiving end of a totally unprovoked attack, which helped a lot.

The real issue was that older guy. Even after the burly guy let him go and the second police officer was holding him back from going wild, he kept screaming hysterically, "He killed my daughter! Let me get revenge!" Even though I hadn't done anything, it felt extremely awkward and uncomfortable.

My friend even joked, "Dude... did you kill his daughter?" but I frantically shook my head and denied it: "No, no, no, hell no!"

Looking back and forth between the crazy guy and my bewildered self, the cop gave me a subtle look that implied I should follow him, asking, "Mind if we ask you a few questions over here?" So I reluctantly went along with the officer.

By the way, my friend came along with me, which I was really grateful for. Before we parted ways with the burly guy, I bowed deeply and thanked him. "Haha, don't worry about it," the guy said as he walked off. In a way, his muscular, sculpted physique left a stronger impression on me than the attacker did.

So they questioned us in a spot where we wouldn't block foot traffic, but my story remained consistent: I had zero connection to that man. I explained that I was just an ordinary, unremarkable college student who was planning to go to karaoke with my friend and grab lunch nearby when I got wrapped up in this mess. The cop gave a dry laugh and said, "That's rough." Still, it was his job, so he interviewed us thoroughly. But since it was blatantly obvious to anyone that the man was the crazy one, I was released after about twenty minutes.

I ended up giving them my contact info and the name of my university, partly so they could update me on how the man was handled and in case they needed to call me in later.

A few days after that incident, as expected, the police called me back in. When I went, the officer looked apologetic and told me that the man's family had begged them to ask me to withdraw the charges. He said whether to file charges or not was entirely up to me, but when I asked why on earth I should drop them, the officer told me a bit about the man's background.

Turns out, the older-looking man was actually only in his forties. A few years ago, he lost his daughter in a car accident, and he’d lost his mind ever since. Apparently, he’d gone completely out of control during the trial. The driver who ran over and killed his daughter was currently serving time in prison, but the man had been lashing out at young guys who roughly matched the killer's build.

Hearing that he might have genuinely mistaken me for the guy who killed his daughter and tried to take drastic action freaked me out a little. That's how mentally unstable the man was.

His situation was tragic, but it had nothing to do with me. Still, thankfully, I only had a few scrapes and no permanent physical damage.

So instead of pressing charges, I made the police promise to keep a strict eye on the man.

"...So yeah, turned out the old guy just had the wrong person."

I told my friend what I’d heard from the police. "Dude, that's insane. Well, at least you're alive," my friend said, patting my shoulder. He treated me to Yoshinoya—not quite a full celebration, but a meal to toast my safety.

Just a few days after that crazy experience, I started feeling a strange gaze on me. It started recently, on my commute to university: I'd frequently feel eyes on my back. Whether I was on the train or walking alone, I became so sensitive that I couldn't help turning around. Call it a sixth sense, but I had this feeling that danger was closing in on me.

My intuition was right.

One day, after parting ways with my friend, I was being swayed on a crowded train when I suddenly spotted the source of that gaze.

It was that man.

He was staring straight at me with an expression like a blank Noh mask.

(Wait, why the hell is that guy here?)

I tried to think of why he'd be on the same train, but I couldn't come up with any reason other than him following me. I mean, I'd met him in a nearby town, so there was a slight chance our daily living areas overlapped, but seeing him staring at me like that made that possibility seem pretty thin.

I quickly averted my eyes. As soon as the train reached my station, I bolted out of the car and rushed through the ticket gate. Leaving the station, I immediately ducked into the shadow of an alley to observe the station exit from afar. Sure enough, a moment later, the man came running out. After frantically looking around as if searching for someone, he went back into the station like he’d given up.

That was, without a doubt, the behavior of someone stalking me.

Once I got back home, I immediately called the police box where the nice officer worked.

"U-Um! That old gu... That man was just following me..."

I hadn't realized it myself, but when I spoke, my voice was stumbling and filled with panic. The officer gently calmed me down, saying, "Take a breath first," so I explained everything again.

The officer went quiet for a moment with an "Ah..." and then said, "We'll check on it from our end. Are you at home right now, Mr. So-and-so? We'll call you back, so please stay somewhere safe." When I tried to reply, my tongue tripped and I blurted out a weird squeak.

A little while later, he called back. When I answered, he said, "Just as you thought, Mr. So-and-so, it seems Mr. Such-and-such is out of his house. If you don't have plans to go out, please refrain from walking around outside today." He added that they would contact me again if they found the man, so I bowed into my phone and said, "Please do."

A few hours later, the police called to say they had detained the man. He insisted he had just gone out shopping, but with my statement, he was given a strict warning. However, all the police could do legally was issue warnings and restraint orders. If he decided to act violently again, they could only respond after he actually made a move. In other words, the police couldn't do anything until something actually happened to me.

The officer sounded apologetic as he suggested, "So maybe changing your living area..." By the way, the man's family was actually quite reasonable, and hearing about this incident, they offered to cover my moving expenses. In that case, I agreed to move, but I needed time to look for an apartment. So it was decided that once I found a good place, the police would mediate with the man's family to handle the moving costs.

"...So yeah, that's what happened."

When I told my friend the details as usual, he just gave me a dry chuckle.

"Talk about bad luck."

Saying that, he used his meager part-time job earnings to treat me to conveyer-belt sushi. I really felt that true friends are a blessing. When I asked for his advice on moving, he helped me look for good apartments online.

After viewing a few places, I finally found a new apartment. My plan was to contact the police as soon as I got home so they could pass the expense claim to the man's family—but on my way back, it finally happened.

"FOUND YOUUUUUUU! YOU BASTARDDDDD!"

A roar like something straight out of a mob movie shook the air. My shoulders leaped in shock, and I nervously turned around. The apartment I was currently living in was down a quiet, deserted alley, and there stood the man right in the middle of the road as twilight fell. It was dark, but there was still enough sunlight left to discern the color of his clothes. And I saw he was brandishing a knife.

(Oh, I'm actually gonna be killed.)

The second that thought crossed my mind, I was already running. They say people freeze up when terrified, but I surprised myself with how fast my legs moved.

"GET BACK HERE, YOU BASTARDDD!"

The man was screaming, but I ran mindlessly until I reached a main street and blended into the crowd. While running, I pulled out my phone and dialed the police box right away. Because I was running, I kept hitting the wrong buttons, but on my fifth or sixth try, I finally opened my call history and hit redial.

The moment the officer picked up, I yelled with all my strength, "Please help me!" For some reason, he kept asking back, "Mr. So-and-so? What happened?" but I frantically repeated, "Help me, a man is chasing me!" When I talked to the officer later, he said my voice was almost entirely heavy panting and breathing sounds, so he had a hard time understanding what I was saying.

When he asked where I was, I answered honestly, "Near my apartment!" but he asked for the nearest train station instead.

He told me there was a police box at the station, and remembering there was one, I took off at a full sprint after he told me to shelter there if I could.

When the police box came into view, the message had clearly gotten through; a scary-looking officer standing outside ushered me inside to protect me, while he reported something over his radio.

After a short while, the tough-looking cop said, "You're safe now," to which I let out a lame, "Huh?" It turned out the man was about to be secured. In fact, pedestrians who saw him walking around holding a knife had called 911, so other officers heading to the scene caught him first. Apparently, that guy had been carrying the knife around even before he found me.

Given the weapons violation on top of everything else, he was finally arrested for real this time.

Well, he'd probably be sent to a psychiatric hospital for a while, but I was supposed to receive a formal apology from his family, along with cash for moving expenses and compensation. Even so, considering the man's tragic backstory, I had mixed feelings, but the police officer told me I should accept it as fair compensation for almost getting murdered, so I gratefully took it.

"...And that's the whole story."

I told my friend everything, confident that it was finally over.

"Dude, that's insane. I don't even know what to say, but that's crazy."

My friend lost his vocabulary, replacing it with endless repeats of "that's crazy" as he pitied me. Since I had gotten a sudden windfall at the cost of my life, I decided to treat my friend this time.

Well, I doubt I'll ever have an experience like this again, but it was a valuable lesson in seeing just how completely the death of a loved one can break a person.