"I never chose to be this way. I may seem cold, but it's only because I've grown accustomed to being abandoned. That's why I brace myself for the worst," he explained with a hint of vulnerability.
Her voice trembled as she spoke, "You're not even making an effort. It feels like your love for me doesn't match mine for you."
"Please understand that my way of loving involves respecting your boundaries. I'm always here when you need me. My feelings for you are deep and real."
Her hand slipped away, and she turned away from the pleading boy. The weight of her decision was heavy in her words. "I'm sorry, Jiro. I don't believe this can work." He reached out to hold her hands gently, his eyes as serene as the calmest ocean waves.
"I see. Then this is goodbye." Understanding and sadness mingled in his response
"Look at you, not even trying to stop me," she cried out in frustration.
"I'm tired." Exhaustion laced his words.
"Tired of what? Tired of me?" Her tone turned accusing, as though she had caught him in a deceitful act.
"I'm weary of constantly proving myself, tired of yearning for someone to truly comprehend me. I'm exhausted from being discarded like a replaceable object."
She tried to retort, but Jiro hurried away. It wasn't out of fear of confrontation or a lack of love for her. He simply dreaded that his desperation might lead him to beg for her to stay, aware that a pleading heart often invites mistreatment — a lesson etched into him through experience.
The pain of abandonment and the haunting fear of solitude were emotions people often failed to grasp. The struggle to feel irreplaceable and the unending quest to earn love remained misunderstood.
Jiro's upbringing was marked by the absence of parental figures; his grandparents became his caretakers as his father left when he was mere months old. His mother's pursuit of a career in the city led to a fragmented family, leaving Jiro adrift.
Despite excelling as an athlete and a student, recognition from his family eluded him. He remained a stranger to his own parents, yet he chose kindness in the face of adversity.
Early on, Jiro learned to fight back. He stood up against bullies and defended the vulnerable. His tenacity earned him the moniker "Mad Cat" for his fierce determination to protect others, clawing and fighting against any injustice.
While his childhood was shadowed by hardship, he grew into a guardian for those around him. The outpouring of tears and gratitude at his wake illustrated the impact he had on countless lives.
As Jiro delved into his memories, he was suddenly jolted back to the present by the sound of mournful cries. His heart skipped a beat as he surveyed the scene before him. Faces he recognized—friends, acquaintances, and even those he'd protected—gathered, their expressions etched with grief.
It was a surreal moment as he walked closer, gradually comprehending the truth that left him bewildered: he was witnessing his own funeral.
"What... What's happening?" Jiro's voice quivered with a mix of disbelief and confusion. He felt a surreal disconnection from his surroundings, like an observer in his own life's closure.
As he strained to recall the events leading up to this inexplicable scene, flashes of memory danced before his mind's eye. Running away from the woman he cherished, his footsteps echoing his internal struggles then closing his eyes in an attempt to escape the present, to find solace in the memories of his challenging past, one marked by abandonment and the desperate quest for acceptance.
His thoughts were a swirling tempest, trying to make sense of the incongruity between his last conscious memory and the scene playing out before him. Could he have succumbed to his exhaustion and despair?
"Did I take my own life?" Jiro's voice trembled with a mix of disappointment and apprehension as he voiced the unsettling question that had formed in his mind.
He gazed at the mourners who were absorbed in their sorrow, his heart heavy with the realization that he might be facing the aftermath of a choice he couldn't remember making.
In the blink of an eye, the world dissolved into darkness, a consuming void that seemed to swallow everything in mere seconds. Jiro's senses were overcome, and he felt himself fading, as though his very being was dissolving into the nothingness around him.
As emotions waned, an emptiness settled in, leaving him as a mere echo of his former self. The once vivid hues of his existence were replaced by a muted abyss, a vacuum devoid of sensation, memory, or even thought. He was adrift in a realm where identity and reality seemed to lose their grasp.
Breaking the silence, a gentle yet ethereal voice reached out to him, addressing him as the "Child of Misfortune." It was a voice that carried both empathy and otherworldly wisdom.
"Are you speaking to me?" Jiro's thoughts echoed, his consciousness reaching out to grasp the essence of the voice.
"You, child of misfortune, have walked a path of honor even through your trials and pain." the voice continued.
As the voice's gentle cadence filled the space, the darkness around Jiro began to shift and transform. Gradually, the obscurity gave way to a vivid panorama of memories. However, these weren't Jiro's own memories; they were a poignant portrayal of moments from a different perspective, a perspective he hadn't yet witnessed.
The memories that unfolded depicted scenes of various individuals, each marked by vulnerability and pain. They were the bullied, the hurt, the downtrodden. And in these scenes, a common figure emerged—Jiro.
From the viewpoint of the bullied, the angelic voice conveyed the deep impact that Jiro's actions had on their lives. Each act of kindness he extended was a beacon of light in their darkest moments. His unwavering support offered solace to those who had once felt utterly alone.
The memories painted a vivid picture of Jiro's selflessness, his dedication to lifting others out of their suffering. In these moments, he hadn't hesitated, and hadn't questioned the cost to himself. He had acted with an innate desire to make a difference, to help those who had been wronged.
As the scenes continued to unfold, a profound realization settled within Jiro's awareness.The angelic voice's words had not been mere praise; they had been a reflection of the truth that the bullied and hurt had experienced firsthand.
The memories were a testament to the fact that even in the face of his own trials, he had chosen to be kind, transforming misfortune into a force for good.
Jiro's heart swelled with gratitude for the angelic voice that had granted him a newfound perspective on his life.
At first, he believed his existence to be insignificant and devoid of meaning. But now, in the wake of the revelations, his perception had transformed. He realized that his actions, driven by compassion and empathy, had left an indelible mark on others.
With a gentle command, the voice directed him to follow the light, assuring him that he was headed toward a destination that held significance for his journey.
Jiro embraced the guidance, stepping through a doorway that radiated with the brilliance of sunlight.
However, just like the natural rhythm of existence, darkness made its return.
"Alright, the feelings of happiness and inspiration have vanished," he murmured to himself as he stepped into the realm of darkness.
Suddenly, he was taken aback by a high-pitched male voice that cut through the air of uncertainty.
Jiro's eyes adjusted to his surroundings, revealing the torch-lit cave that now enveloped him. A spark of laughter danced through the air, breaking through the tension that had settled in the wake of the transition.
"Congratulations." The high-pitched voice chimed in, lacing their response with a hint of sarcasm.
Jiro's appreciation shone through as he replied, "Thanks." However, curiosity tugged at him, prompting him to inquire further. "By the way, where are you? Why can't I see you?"
The answer came from above, from a figure perched on the ceiling like a specter. The voice held a devilish edge as it revealed its location. "I'm on the ceiling".
His mind raced, grappling to make sense of this unexpected turn of events, this stark contrast to the understanding he had come to embrace.
Jiro's gaze fell upon the creature before him; it was evident that this entity bore no resemblance to an angelic being. Its form was decidedly different.
With an eerie wave, the creature addressed Jiro. "I've heard tales of your saintly ways during your time on Earth."
A sense of humility filled Jiro as he graciously accepted the creature's words of praise.
The creature's tone shifted, its words carrying a chilling weight. "Welcome to hell," it proclaimed before releasing a haunting, unsettling laughter that echoed through the space.
"EH!?" the only sound that came from Jiro.