The first machine was found in an alley near the station.
A red-painted metal box, with white letters on its side that read:
“Prophecy Vending Machine — 100 yen to know your future, 24 hours ahead.”
It all began when an office worker, curious, dropped in a coin and received a slip that read, “At 3 p.m., you will spill coffee.”
When it came true, she posted about it on social media—and from there, everything spread.
Soon, the machines began appearing all over Tokyo.
Every day, long lines formed.
People laughed, marveled, and sometimes trembled as they waited to learn their own future.
“Your confession will succeed.”
“You’ll forget your umbrella.”
“You’ll forget your password.”
“You’ll miss your train.”
The prophecies were mostly trivial—yet they came true with uncanny accuracy.
One day, a man stood before one of the machines.
His name was Keisuke Sano, a middle-aged salaryman at an ad agency.
His life was dull, unchanging. Without thinking, he pulled a 100-yen coin from his pocket and dropped it into the slot.
Clunk.
A slip of paper slid out.
He glanced at it casually—and froze.
“You will die after reading this prophecy.”
The paper slipped from his fingers.
A joke? Some cruel prank?
But the chill running down his spine was all too real.
He called in sick the next morning. Stayed home.
Googled “prophecy vending machine death case.”
No results. No one else had ever received that same message.
“It’s a coincidence. A glitch. Just a stupid machine.”
He kept telling himself that—yet couldn’t stop watching the clock.
That afternoon, he almost slipped while signing for a delivery.
In the evening, he forgot to turn off the stove, filling the room with smoke.
On his way to buy groceries, a shadow darted across the empty street.
Every small event became an omen.
His heart ached from the fear itself.
11:45 p.m.
He sat on the sofa, TV off, barely breathing.
“Fifteen more minutes… if nothing happens—”
Then, his phone buzzed.
A notification.
“Would you like to confirm today’s prophecy result?”
It was from the official app linked to the vending machine.
He had registered his code number without thinking—and now, it demanded “execution confirmation.”
Hands trembling, he opened it.
Prophecy: You will die after reading this prophecy.
Status: Completed.
His vision went dark.
He clutched his chest—and collapsed.
The next morning, the news reported:
“Company employee found dead at home. Cause of death: acute heart failure.”
In his pocket, police found a crumpled slip of paper—
and a shattered smartphone.
Meanwhile, back in the same alley where the first vending machine had appeared, a new note had been taped to its side:
“Prophecies reveal possible futures.
They are not necessarily unchangeable.
Please use responsibly.”
A high school girl passing by laughed.
“What, like—‘read at your own risk’?”
And still, people continued to drop their coins into the slot.
100 yen to buy a glimpse of fate.
And the moment you read it—
perhaps, something in your own future has already begun to change.
