The following day dawned, cloaked in clouds. The neighbors maintained an unusual silence, rendering the world remarkably tranquil. I pondered the mysteries that lay beyond my doorstep. Nevertheless, I dismissed such curiosity, for I had obligations to fulfill. I had exams to face, and my mind must remain unclouded.
The world exuded a chilling aura. We are both blessed and cursed, caught in the interplay of its intricate mechanisms. It tempts me to reevaluate everything, yet I am powerless to save this world. It exists as it is, a cruel and unforgiving realm.
Hm... Where is Mother? She should have assigned me chores before I departed for school. No matter, I can finally enjoy a moment of respite before the exams. I mustn't let my mind be disturbed at this juncture.
I readied myself, preparing to embark on the journey to school. Suddenly, I beheld Mother holding a knife. What sinister intentions lie within her heart this time?
As I stealthily followed my mother, my concern for her well-being outweighed any thoughts of personal inconvenience. Who else would care for me or provide sustenance if she were imprisoned? Thus, I trailed behind her, careful not to arouse suspicion. She seemed consumed by a fervent anger, as if driven by an intense desire to end someone's life. I quickened my pace, ensuring I wouldn't lose sight of her.
Time slipped away, but I still had a precious 25 minutes before my classes commenced. I pressed on, following her until we reached our destination—a grand mansion. Two formidable bodyguards stood at the outer door, and glimpses of a figure could be seen through the entrance. Presumably, there were two more guards stationed inside, protecting whoever was within those walls.
From this distance, I couldn't hear my mother's words, but her gestures indicated her insistence on seeing someone, someone she evidently wanted to kill. Yet, her pleas fell upon deaf ears as the guards denied her entry, firmly pushing her away. I chose not to intervene, opting instead to spectate this unfolding mystery.
She persisted in her attempts to gain entry, but her feeble efforts were futile against the imposing figures guarding the mansion. I couldn't help but notice her disheveled appearance, a stark contrast to the affluent surroundings. It seemed as though she hadn't eaten in ages, although I couldn't be certain since we never shared meals together.
Tch! This skirt still annoys me. I resent being perceived as a girl in this world. Nevertheless, such trivial matters will soon come to an end. Once I am wealthy, I will have my face redone, molding it to my desired image.
As I watched from a distance, my mother's rage reached its peak. She had grabbed a hefty hollow block, and without warning, hurled it towards the guards. Panic ensued as chaos erupted before me.
"Oh no! The bodyguard is choking her!" I exclaimed, my voice barely a whisper.
A woman came out of the residence in the middle of the uproar. I cautiously approached, eager to catch their conversation. I strained my ears to hear their words clearly.
"Look at you, the troublemaker of the family. But are we really family? No, you were never a part of our family. I can only imagine the pain my brother endured by your side. It's a pity he shouldered such a burden," the woman sneered.
"You bitch! Give me what is rightfully mine! You know damn well that all of this belongs to me. My husband intended to leave it all to me!" my mother spat back, her voice seething with anger.
The woman scoffed, a smug expression on her face. "Excuse me? Just to be frank, Marika, all of this is mine. My brother gave it all to me."
"You're a liar!" my mother retorted, her voice filled with desperation and disbelief.
With a cold, calculated demeanor, the woman replied, "Hmph! You simply can't accept the fact that your daughter is dead. You can't come to terms with the reality that I was the one granted this wealth."
Enraged, my mother lashed out, calling her names and hurling insults. The woman's facade began to crack, her true nature revealed. "What did you say? That's enough! Guards, remove her from my presence. I have no time for lowly creatures like her. I have matters to attend to."
As the guards approached, my mother's fate seemed sealed. The woman continued her taunting, belittling my mother's impoverished state and the burden she had been to her brother. Her words dripped with venomous disdain.
Once again, I was faced with the stark reality of a world driven by power and greed. As I stood there, my heart torn between protecting my mother and the realization that her actions may have consequences, I knew that something had to be done. But as a mere bystander, what could I possibly do to stop this tragedy from going as it is?
As I entered the house, the heaviness of the day weighed on my shoulders. Mother had locked herself in her room once again, seemingly unaware of my presence. It was the perfect opportunity for me to slip away and seek answers to the questions that plagued my mind.
I quietly made my way to the door, taking one last glance at the room where my mother remained locked away. Her absence stirred a mix of emotions within me—concern, confusion, and a burning desire to uncover the truth.
Stepping out into the outside world, the cool evening air embraced me, offering a momentary respite from the turmoil within. I had no concrete plan, no clear path to follow, but I couldn't ignore the nagging feeling that there was more to my mother's story, and by extension, my own.
As I advanced into the unfamiliar, my mind was filled with countless questions. "Did my father truly pass away, or had he abandoned us? Did I have a sibling, as the woman at the mansion had implied? And why did my mother harbor such an intense desire for me to embrace femininity?"
I walked through the dimly lit streets, contemplating the web of mysteries that entangled my life. The world around me seemed distant, detached, as if it existed solely to serve as a backdrop to my personal quest for understanding.
I stepped into the dimly lit bar, seeking refuge from the outside world. Donning a silicon mask, a desperate attempt to conceal my hideous face, I longed to avoid the scornful glances and potential expulsion from this bar. The place was eerily quiet, devoid of the usual nocturnal patrons. Thoughts swirled in my mind, contemplating the impending encounter with the woman who had become the center of my turbulent existence. As I settled onto a worn stool, a minute ticked by before my drink materialized before me. A glass of Japan's famed alcoholic drink, "sake," awaited my parched lips. Just as I was about to partake in its numbing embrace, the creaking door shattered the silence, its harsh sound reverberating through the room. I swiveled around to catch a glimpse of the intruder, and there stood a man burdened with the weight of countless tormented stories, his presence suffusing the air with a palpable heaviness.
A sense of déjà vu washed over me, as memories from a year ago flooded my consciousness. It was on a tempestuous night, rain cascading from the heavens like tears, that a disheveled man sought solace within these very walls. His drenched coat clung to his weary frame, his hat dripping with the sorrow of his journey. He sought refuge in a drink, a beer to numb the pain that haunted his every step. As he took a sip, his eyes met the bartender's gaze, his voice breaking the heavy silence, "Why is life so wretched? In that fleeting exchange, no words were spoken, only a nod shared between them. A nod that spoke volumes, conveying the bartender's intimate understanding of life's anguish. It was a nod that acknowledged the depths of despair but refrained from delving into the details, for fear that unraveling the intricacies would only deepen the man's sorrow.
His hunched figure caught my attention, his gaze fixed upon his beer as if searching for answers within its frothy depths. I felt an inexplicable connection to this tortured soul, recognizing the weight he carried. Yet, I remained silent, a silent observer in this melancholic tableau.
With a heavy heart, I drained the last remnants of my drink, leaving the payment discreetly beneath the empty glass. There were no parting words, no reassurances offered, but a profound understanding lingered in the air. Deep within, I clung to the hope that he would find comfort, make it through his ordeal, and come out the other side stronger. Though his story and mine diverged, I couldn't help but wish him a semblance of peace, even as I embarked on my own uncertain path.
As I stepped out of the bar, the weight of my own narrative pressed upon me. It was a tale yet unwritten, brimming with unknown twists and turns. Uncertainty loomed, casting a shadow over the path ahead, but I was determined to embrace whatever destiny had in store. Whether my story would culminate in a symphony of joy or dissolve into an elegy of sorrow, only time would tell.
A couple of minutes of walking, I arrived at the lavish property where the previous incident took place. In contrast to the tiny house I considered home, it loomed before me as an image of riches and power. Taking a deep breath, I mustered the courage to approach the entrance.
Gathering my thoughts, I prepared myself to face the woman who had been at the center of the turmoil. I knew that uncovering the truth would not be easy, that it might unravel the fragile reality I had built for myself. But I was determined to find answers, to confront my mother's secrets head-on.
With each step closer to the mansion's imposing entrance, I felt a surge of anticipation mixed with fear. The world as I knew it was about to change, and I was ready to face the consequences, no matter how dire they may be.
It was a peculiar situation, devoid of any mention in the news—no reports of the deceased, no word of the inferno that engulfed the carnival. How insidious. Not an ounce of my courage could be stirred, for there was no hint of those harrowing scenes I had borne witness to. It was Mother who had thrust me into that carnival. Truly, this was the most sinister event I had ever encountered. I refused to entertain the notion that humanity had forsaken empathy, that they no longer cared about the horrors that had unfolded. Impossible!
I had to depart before Mother emerged. Now was the moment of truth.
I concealed my hideous countenance beneath a hooded garment—a rare opportunity to adorn myself in proper masculine attire. Long ago, I had managed to salvage some money from the park. With that stroke of fortune, I seized the chance to acquire clothing befitting a young lad. Naturally, I hid them away, knowing full well that Mother would annihilate me if she were to discover such garments.
I was nearing my destination. As I hastened, I noticed the encroaching darkness in the sky. Hastening my steps, I pondered: what unforeseen mishap might befall me? I must change my clothes with the utmost haste, lest I be apprehended.
There stood the bodyguard. I approached him, and he promptly inquired, his countenance displaying a certain discomposure. Was it on account of my face? Well, no matter. I have long abandoned these sentiments. In truth, I should have rid myself of them ages ago.
"What do you want, kid?" he gruffly demanded.
His response caught me off guard. Was it my appearance that caused his agitation? It mattered not. I had already cast away such concerns. "I wish to speak with the lady who resides here," I replied.
"Do you possess a letter of request? You cannot simply approach our boss as if you were friends, kiddo. Our boss is occupied and has no time for the likes of you! So, scram!"
"Sir, I implore you! I merely need to inquire about something."
"I said no! You're an obstinate child! Don't make this difficult for me!"
The lady suddenly appeared within the disturbance we had created, an angry expression on her face.
"What is all this commotion?" she demanded.
"This child simply won't give up, ma'am," the guard explained, exasperated. "He... or she, whatever the case may be, persists in seeking an audience with you."
"And who might you be?" she queried.
"I am Marika's son, ma'am."
"Son?!" Her countenance froze in a petrified expression. I knew not why. It was as if she had glimpsed a specter. Finally, she spoke.
"It cannot be... or perhaps... guards, leave us. I shall converse with this child."
We remained outside the confines of the mansion, seeking respite beneath the shade.
The conversation with the woman was protracted, and with each revelation, I found it increasingly difficult to accept the veracity of her claims. I resisted belief, though she presented evidence that left me petrified. It felt as if my world had crumbled upon hearing her words, rendering life in this realm utterly meaningless. Hatred surged within my heart, an overwhelming torrent. I was left speechless, incapable of uttering a single word.
I yearned for a life brimming with beauty and wonder, yet the gods had cast me into a realm of anguish, shame, and ceaseless torment. The grand purpose of existence lay in ruins. The agony and suffering had taken their toll, eradicating all desire to continue living. I would never taste the bliss of a revered existence. The semblance of manhood I had sought had evaporated, replaced by a degrading pursuit of womanhood. What a disgrace.
I walked aimlessly in the rain, feeling a profound emptiness within. What was I supposed to do now? I staunchly refused to accept the lady's claims. I needed to confront the truth once and for all. I refused to believe her.
Dragging my weary feet, devoid of motivation, I trudged back home. As I opened the door, there she stood.
"Where have you been?" she began, her voice trailing off as she beheld me clad in these masculine garments. Shock and disbelief transformed her countenance into a visage of petrification, swiftly turning to seething rage.
"You foolish brat!" she yelled, her hand poised to strike, but I acted first. I pushed her with great force, sending her stumbling backward. Allowing her to rise, I faced her squarely.
"What has come over you?! How dare you defy your mother! Is this how you repay me? By causing me harm?!"
"You are not my mother! Why persist in this charade? Let me inquire about something," I asserted, recounting the details of our conversation with the mysterious lady.
The mysterious lady, Kaguya, revealed herself to be the sister of Temaru, the man purportedly my father. It was all a fabrication—a web of lies. The truth was that Temaru had indeed betrayed Marika. She had caught them together, not once, but twice. The first time, Temaru dismissed it as a mere kiss, belittling the significance of such an intimate act. His words, "It was only a kiss," revealed his narcissistic nature. The second time Marika discovered them, Temaru's actions escalated. He began touching her chest, then proceeded to undress her. In that moment, a maelstrom of jealousy and hatred consumed Marika. She seized a knife from the kitchen, unaware that it would seal her fate. Driven by her unbridled fury, she launched a relentless attack, her vision clouded by darkness. Oblivious to the consequences, she allowed her hatred to take control. Temaru's hubris brought about his own demise, along with the life of the girl he had ensnared, Carmella, and the innocent baby girl—Marika's daughter, Melena. The darkness that consumed Marika's soul drove her to madness, rendering her oblivious to the fact that she had inadvertently struck her own child with the blade. The loss of her firstborn brought immense shame, for she had been deeply infatuated with Temaru, her obsession blinding her to reason. It was a descent into irredeemable darkness, severing her ties to humanity.
The stains of blood tainted every inch of the scene—a ghastly testament to the carnage that had transpired. It resembled a bucket overflowing with crimson. When the police arrived, Marika remained silent and petrified, the trauma etched into her being. In the ensuing trial, Marika was declared innocent. Without evidence to prove that she had intentionally committed murder, she recounted to the judge the events that had unfolded—the discovery of her husband's infidelity and the subsequent threat upon her life. She was a skilled manipulator, weaving a tale that painted her as a victim of circumstance. During the trial, she learned of Carmella's abandoned baby, left within the confines of the mansion. Seizing the opportunity, she took the child as her own. Kaguya, consumed by fury over the loss of her only sibling, her kind-hearted brother, sought revenge. She stripped Marika of every possession, concocting a fabricated "Last Will and Testament" that bequeathed all of Temaru's belongings to her. Every deed, every piece of jewelry, the ancestral home, and the family business now lay in Kaguya's grasp. It was a typical family dispute, an incessant cycle of greed. When a family member perished without explicitly stating the intended beneficiaries of their possessions, greed and avarice took center stage. They would stop at nothing to fulfill their desires, while others would simply turn a blind eye, refusing to be embroiled in the feud. Some would even stoop to pilfering from the family business. I had always believed that families should remain united, working hand in hand, offering mutual support. How naive I was.
It was all a fabrication, a web of lies that had ensnared me. What was most appalling was the pretense of kindness exhibited by those who sought to secure their place in the supposed final will. They would feign affection, hoping to be named as beneficiaries, their true motives concealed beneath a veil of benevolence.
I regarded her with utter disdain. "Is this the truth?" I seethed.
"Akemi..." she began, but I cut her off. "Don't call me that! I am neither Akemi nor Isamu. You wretched creature! This vindictive act of yours was fueled by revenge. You never saw my true mother suffer, so you channeled your malice toward me. You sought to make my life a wretched existence because I am not your daughter or son. I am nothing to you. You have no inkling of the suffering I endured because of you!"
Mother swiftly grasped a knife, her eyes filled with deranged fury. "So what if I did?! You can never despise me! You will always be a coward, just like your mother! HAHA... HAHA!" she cackled.
"You are a murderer, Marika, and you always will be. Once a murderer, always a murderer. Do you wish to kill me? Then do it!" I retorted.
Her expression displayed her maddening insanity as she continued to laugh. I couldn't bear the thought of dying. In a swift act of desperation, I seized the knife from her hand and plunged it into her repeatedly. Still, she laughed. Why? Why did her laughter persist?
"Why do you continue to laugh?! Is it at this face of mine? Is it not your twisted masterpiece?" I questioned her, my voice filled with frustration. But she continued to laugh, even as she bled profusely. It was as if she derived pleasure from the pain. She never offered a response to my words.
I had always despised addressing her as mother, and now I could finally brand her as the worthless trash she truly was. From that day forward, I relinquished my claim to humanity. I was no longer a mere human being.
I stained my hands countless times. There was no difference between me and Marika, or should I say, the woman I had mistakenly referred to as mother. It was Kaguya who once revealed that Carmella had intentionally sought to end Marika's daughter's life. Yes, the blood of a murderer coursed through my veins.
I exacted my revenge. I killed Kaizaki and that foolish principal. I eliminated those who had tormented me, everyone who dared to impede my path. I refused to live confined behind bars, so I operated in the shadows.
After that fateful incident, all I did was kill, over and over again. Though my ambitions of attaining wealth still burned within me, my methods had evolved. I stole from the affluent, eliminating them and seizing their valuable possessions. I was grateful that I could finally shape my life according to my own desires.
It's quite difficult to say. It's like a lot of emotions mixed together, a feeling of freedom and power, but also a feeling of guilt and sadness. It's a strange mixture of emotions. It's like, you've done what you've always wanted to do, but now you've crossed the line and you can't go back. It's a feeling of both satisfaction and regret. No matter…I can no longer take back what I've done.
It has been a year since I last set foot in this place. As for what I did with my mother's remains, I dismembered her body and disposed of the pieces in various locations, ensuring they would never be discovered. I set fire to the house, erasing any trace of its existence. I can't seem to find my notebook anywhere; I could have sworn I left it in a safe place. No matter. I will jot down my current emotions here and discard them. I will bury these feelings deep within me, so they won't hinder my future plans.
He took a photograph before departing. I faced the mirror, adorned with heavy makeup, and noticed my nails were longer than I had realized. My handsome countenance would soon be restored. Just wait and see. Thanks to the possessions I had stolen, I now possessed billions of yen. I could afford anything I desired. I was finally living the life I had always yearned for.
The notion of evading death by living in denial and fear reminded me that we were never meant to be mere tools. We endure a life of torment, but no matter how arduous it may be, we refuse to surrender. That is what defines us as human beings. Some of us defy becoming mere tools. Though we may not encounter the splendors of life immediately, that time will come. It is our inevitable mortality that renders the world a cruel and callous place. Nevertheless, that is the nature of existence—sometimes we are fortunate, and other times we feel unfortunate. Life toys with us in such ways.
Yet these emotions will be buried, and I shall be reborn anew. I have long forsaken my humanity. For the remaining years of my existence, I continued to commit acts of murder as if it were an everyday routine. I relinquished my humanity and embraced the person I had always aspired to be.
But something sinister happened.
He stumbled through the front door, exhaustion etched deep into his weary face. The once formidable kingpin had returned home after a harrowing visit to his drug empire. Months had slipped away, and his loyal crew grew increasingly suspicious of their boss's whereabouts. Whispers of his mysterious disappearance echoed through their ranks, fueling their anxiety.
One fateful night, a bold employee mustered the courage to investigate the truth. With trembling hands, he forcefully pushed open the creaking door and stepped into the dimly lit abode. An eerie silence hung heavily in the air, and a suffocating sense of dread crept up his spine.
As he ventured further into the house, a scene of unspeakable horror assaulted his senses. There, in the heart of the room, swayed the lifeless body of Isamu, his boss. The rope, tightly wound around his neck, spoke of a desperate and haunting end. Isamu's face, frozen in a mask of sheer terror, revealed the torturous torment he had endured. The walls of the once-familiar place seemed to ooze with a palpable malevolence, casting long shadows that danced with monstrosity.
The bodyguard, overcome by shock and grief, approached Isamu's lifeless form. In the midst of this macabre tableau, a suicide letter lay nearby, Its words were a terrible witness to the agony he had been through. With trembling hands, the bodyguard unfolded the crumpled paper, each line dripping with Isamu's despair.
"She lingers," the letter read, "she is still inside of me—inside my memories, hunting me every day. I would hallucinate, my mind conjuring her presence as if she stood before me. Madness, sheer madness, seized my very soul. There was no escape from her clutches. 'Your beauty is absolute,' she would whisper, her laughter dripping with a dreadful malice that left me bereft of peace. No matter where I turned, she was there—my mother, a wicked woman whose curse consumed my every waking moment. I can bear it no longer; this cursed world has become unbearable. I choose death over the eternal torment of her face. And now I say farewell to this cruel world."
The bodyguard raced with an urgency that belied his true emotions, desperate to report the death of their boss. While feigning sadness, a sinister joy simmered beneath the surface, for Isamu's demise meant the coveted fortune would now be up for grabs among his co-workers. Yet, the ex-bodyguard, now free from the grasp of his former employer, rushed to share the news with the rest of the crew.
Years passed, and the relentless pursuit of justice led the police to the heart of the drug empire. Several crew members, entangled in Isamu's web, were apprehended and detained. The once-mighty drug lord had vanished, leaving behind an abandoned house, a mere shell ravaged by those he once considered allies—devoured by their insatiable greed, snatching away every ounce of Isamu's ill-gotten fortune, a fortune he had stolen himself.
When questioned by the authorities about Isamu, the drug crew had one name on their lips: "Kaguya." They revealed that Isamu frequented Kaguya's mansion. Acting on this lead, the police descended upon the opulent residence, their search dogs released to scour the premises. The canines barked frantically near a wall adjacent to the refrigerator. As the men moved the appliance, their eyes widened in surprise. Behind the illusory wooden wall lay a hidden door, a gateway to a secret compartment filled with an unimaginable quantity of drugs, worth a staggering 200 billion yen.
In a swift operation, the police arrested Kaguya and her accomplices, their illicit operations brought crashing down. However, before they could escort Kaguya into the awaiting police vehicle, a detective posed a crucial question: "Where did this Isamu reside before he became a murderer?" Kaguya's reply was as enigmatic as it was tantalizing: "Beats me, I believe it was somewhere along the eastern shore of Kyoto."
Driven by a burning determination, the detective ventured to the mentioned location. Hours stretched into an endless search, until finally, nestled next to a discarded garbage bag, a discovery awaited him. Inside a glass container lay Isamu's diary, miraculously intact despite being torn and dampened by time. Leafing through its pages, the detective sought answers, desperate to uncover the motives behind Isamu's blood-soaked legacy. However, one glaring truth appeared between the fragments of Isamu's psyche: The carnival that Isamu had so vaguely hinted about was not existent.
With a heavy heart burdened by the weight of unfinished business, the detective returned to the headquarters. The motives behind Isamu's massacre remained shrouded in mystery, the haunting carnival that danced within his twisted mind forever eluding the grasp of justice. "This Isamu guy… hate is a strong word. I don't hate humans, I pity them. I pity them because they are so weak, so fragile. I pity them because they live in a world that they don't even understand. I pity them because they are blind to the suffering of others. I pity humans because they are so small and insignificant in the grand scheme of the universe. And yet, I also admire humans for their capacity to love, to hope and to dream. I am torn, I both hate and love humans at the same time. It's ironic. I too am confused Isamu…I don't really know how I was able to avoid myself from joining your same fate, I do not despise you, I understood you and I do hope you'll find the eternal peace you were looking for."