Chapter 77: The Concept Called Death
The air was unusually crisp for the end of summer, a harbinger of the rainy season that loomed just over the horizon. I could feel it in the subtle shifts of the breeze, the way the clouds seemed to gather with a quiet intention. It was as if the world itself was holding its breath, waiting for something inevitable to occur.
I was sitting in a chair, a simple plastic fold-out one that I'd brought with me, looking at the scenery in front of me. The riverbank stretched out before me, its waters calm and serene, reflecting the darkening sky above. In my lap rested a textbook, open to a random page filled with questions that I had no real intention of answering. The textbook was just an excuse, something to occupy my hands while my mind wandered.
It was peaceful here, or at least it was until I heard the loud, grating voice of a gorilla behind me.
"Hey, wimp! What are you doing here!?" the voice bellowed, filled with the kind of false bravado that only idiots and bullies possess. "Get out of this place, or do you want to die!?"
I turned my head slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of the guy out of the corner of my eye. He was wearing a red jacket with the capital 'S' emblazoned on it, the letter twisted into the shape of a snake. His spiky hair was dyed an obnoxious shade of red, matching the jacket, and there were three more like him, each wearing the same stupid jacket.
'I'm sitting on the grass, bro,' I wanted to say, but I kept my mouth shut. Engaging with these types was a waste of time, and I didn't want unnecessary trouble. With a soft sigh, I picked up my chair and walked away. I'd already spotted another good place to sit down further along the riverbank, somewhere quieter.
The gorilla didn't follow, thank goodness. I was glad; dealing with that would have been a problem.
I found another spot, this time on a large rock that jutted out from the ground near the river's edge. The wind was great here, a steady breeze that carried with it the smell of the approaching rain. It was a perfect spot to lose myself in thought.
"Hey, piece of crap! Get down from that place, that's ours!" Another voice cut through the peaceful silence, this time a female. I turned my head to see a woman who looked like she could bench press a small car. She was even fatter than the first guy, and for a brief, absurd moment, I thought the two of them would make a good pair. "If you don't, you'll die!"
I let out another soft sigh, making sure it couldn't be heard by these new gorillas—there were five of them this time. The universe clearly had it out for me today.
Without a word, I picked up my chair again and moved. This time, I headed for the old, broken bridge that crossed the river a little farther downstream. The bridge was a relic, a piece of history that most people ignored. It was said to have witnessed the first battle between source users and inhumans—a time when the world was much more dangerous, and life was much more fragile.
I had always thought source users were an interesting bunch. They put their lives on the line every day, fighting monsters and threats that most people couldn't even imagine. They made sure that no one else had to face death, or at least, they tried to.
But I really wanted to ask them one question: What is death?
People use this word so often, tossing it around as if it's something they understand. But those gorillas—could they really deal with the aftermath of being the reason for someone's death? Could they handle the endless nightmares, the haunting visions of the same person appearing in their dreams night after night? Again and again and again? Could they?
I doubted it.
People use this word, this concept called death, so easily. They tend to forget that a single death can cause far more destruction in a person's soul than anything else in existence.
The power of death is much more complicated and complex than people think.
I've read about these things from great philosophers on social media, watched videos, and found books on the subject. The way they describe death—it's far more profound than the casual way most people speak of it.
Some people, though, can take the aftereffects of being the reason for someone's death. Doctors whose patients died on their watch, engineers whose buildings collapsed and killed many, police officers who failed to stop a crime even though they were aware of it, soldiers in the military who've seen comrades fall—these people carry a heavy burden. Their shoulders droop under the weight of being unable to save a life, or many lives.
But for me, I think of death as nothing more than a significant concept. That's it. Nothing more, nothing less.
It's a simple abstraction, devoid of the melodrama that often accompanies it. Death is an endpoint, a line drawn across the narrative of existence. I've seen it many times, watched it claim the old and the young, the deserving and the undeserving. Sometimes on TV, sometimes on my phone. To romanticize it or fear it seems… unnecessary.
I suppose people find comfort in the idea of an afterlife, a place where souls gather, free from the burdens of the mortal coil. But for me, the allure of such notions fades against the stark reality. The dead do not speak, and their silence offers no clues. We, the living, are left to speculate, to weave stories that give us solace.
It's not that I'm indifferent to death; I feel its weight, its finality. I've mourned losses, felt the ache of absence. But these experiences have taught me to see death as a natural part of life, not an enemy to be feared but a companion that walks with us from the moment we are born. It's there in the background, a reminder of life's impermanence.
I find myself contemplating the moments of my life, the choices I've made, the paths I've walked. Each decision, each experience is a thread in the tapestry of my existence. When the time comes for death to draw that final line, what will remain? Not the deeds or the accolades, but the impact I've had on others, the memories I leave behind.
Death is what gives life its meaning. And that's enough for me. Nothing more, nothing less.
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.
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The riverbank was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind. I looked out across the water, my mind still heavy with thoughts of death and its implications. The concept, as abstract as it was, seemed to hover over me, casting a shadow over my thoughts.
"Yo, you still here?"
The voice jolted me out of my reverie. I turned to see Ren standing a few feet away, his hands stuffed into his pockets. He looked a bit lost, like he'd been wandering around aimlessly before he found me.
"Yeah," I replied, offering a half-hearted smile. "Just thinking."
Ren nodded, moving closer to the edge of the broken bridge. He didn't sit, just stood there, looking out at the river with me. We were quiet for a while, the only sounds coming from the rustling leaves and the distant hum of the city behind us.
"Y'know," Ren started, his voice low and contemplative, "I've been thinking about what you said earlier. About death."
I turned to look at him, surprised. "Oh? What about it?"
Ren's brow furrowed as he struggled to put his thoughts into words. "I just… I don't get it. How can you be so calm about it? I mean, death is… it's terrifying, isn't it?"
I shrugged, looking back out at the water. "Maybe for some people. But for me, it's just a part of life. Something that happens to everyone, eventually."
Ren didn't respond right away. He seemed deep in thought, like he was trying to work out some complex equation in his head. "I guess… I guess I just don't want to die without understanding what it all means, y'know?"
I smiled, though there was a hint of sadness in it. "I think that's the thing, Ren. No one really knows what it means. Not until it happens, anyway."
Ren sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. "Yeah, maybe you're right."
We fell into silence again, each of us lost in our own thoughts. The wind picked up, carrying with it the scent of rain. It wouldn't be long now before the sky opened up, drenching everything in a downpour.
"Hey," Ren said suddenly, breaking the silence. "Do you ever think about what comes after?"
I raised an eyebrow. "After what?"
"After death," Ren clarified, his voice barely above a whisper. "Do you think there's something else? Another life, maybe?"
I considered the question for a moment before shaking my head. "I don't know. I guess I've never really thought about it. I'm more concerned with the here and now, what I can do while I'm still alive."
Ren nodded, though he didn't look entirely satisfied with my answer. "Yeah… I guess that makes sense."
The rain started to fall, a light drizzle at first, but it quickly grew heavier. Neither of us moved, letting the water soak us to the bone. It was oddly comforting, the coldness of the rain, like a reminder that we were still alive, still here.
"Hey, Akeshi," Ren said after a long pause, his voice almost drowned out by the rain. "Do you think it's possible to come back? Like…"
His question hung in the air, unfinished. I knew what he was asking, though. It wasn't the first time Ren had brought up something like this. The idea of death and what might come after had been on his mind ever since one of our practice matches.
I remember that day clearly. We'd been out on the field, the sun dipping low in the sky, casting long shadows across the grass. Ren was frustrated, more than usual, his movements erratic and unfocused. After the match, as we sat on the sidelines, drenched in sweat and panting from exertion, he'd turned to me and asked what I thought about death. The question had come out of nowhere, catching me off guard.
Back then, I'd given him the same kind of answer I always did—simple, direct, without much room for ambiguity. Death was just a part of life, I'd told him. Something that happened to everyone eventually. Nothing more, nothing less.
But now, standing here in the rain, with Ren by my side, I could sense there was more to his question this time. It wasn't just about death; it was about the possibility of coming back from it, of defying that finality.
I looked at him, water dripping down my face, mingling with the rain. Ren's expression was a mix of uncertainty and something else—hope, maybe? It was hard to tell with him sometimes. He could be so guarded, even when he was trying to open up.
"Come back, huh?" I echoed, giving myself a moment to think. The idea of coming back from death was something I'd never really entertained before. To me, death was the end of the line, the closing chapter of life's book. There were no do-overs, no second chances. Once you were gone, that was it.
But I knew that wasn't the kind of answer Ren was looking for.
"It's hard to say," I finally replied, keeping my voice steady. "There are stories, of course—people talking about near-death experiences, seeing a light at the end of a tunnel, stuff like that. But no one really knows for sure. Not until it happens."
Ren didn't respond immediately, just kept staring out at the river, his expression unreadable. The rain was coming down harder now, soaking us through, but neither of us seemed to care.
"Do you want to come back?" I asked, my voice softer, almost drowned out by the rain.
Ren glanced at me, his eyes searching mine for something—reassurance, maybe? Or perhaps just understanding. "I don't know," he admitted, his voice barely audible. "I guess… I just don't want everything to end. Not like that."
I nodded, though I wasn't sure what else to say. Death was such a vast, unknowable thing. Everyone dealt with it in their own way, and I could see that Ren was struggling with the concept, trying to make sense of it all.
"If there's a way to come back," I said after a moment, "then I think it would depend on how strong your will is. Some people say that if you have something—or someone—you care about enough, you can find a way. But honestly, Ren… I think what matters more is what you do while you're still here."
Ren didn't say anything to that, just nodded slowly. The rain kept falling, relentless and cold, but it wasn't unpleasant. It was a reminder that we were still alive, still here, still able to ask questions that might never have clear answers.
"I wonder if there is a say of returning...." I heard Ren mumbling to himself.
And maybe, in the end, that was enough.
I honestly don't remember anyone coming back after I was done with them.