Chapter 93: The Choice
The footsteps outside my door faded, their soft rhythm breaking the silence of the night. I knew it was them—worried about me again—but they didn't knock. Maybe they thought I was asleep. Maybe they were too afraid to ask.
But I wasn't asleep.
In the pitch-black room, where even the faintest hint of light couldn't pierce the darkness, I stared at the ceiling. Thoughts swirled in my mind, suffocating me with their weight. Each one felt like a splinter lodged in my brain, refusing to leave. My eyes stung as if something foreign was stuck in them. I rubbed them over and over, but the pain remained.
Why did they hurt so much?
I wasn't sleep-deprived. At least, I didn't think so. But the ache in my eyes had been there for days—since that day. The day I met them.
Since then, nothing felt right.
"Tired…"
The word slipped from my lips like a confession. My eyelids grew heavy, and soon I felt myself sinking into a familiar darkness. Even if it wasn't real sleep, it was something.
And that was enough.
.
.
.
.
.
I woke up drenched, the cold seeping into my bones. The familiar place that had once been my refuge was now unrecognizable. A storm raged around me, the wind howling like an animal in pain. The water, which had always been a calm presence, now churned violently beneath my feet, rising higher and higher as if to swallow me whole.
I walked forward, each step more uncertain than the last. The world around me was falling apart, and yet I couldn't stop moving. There was something I needed to see—something waiting for me.
And when I reached that place, I froze.
There, in front of me, were my younger self and my adult self, locked in a brutal fight. Blood stained their bodies, their faces twisted in rage. My younger self wielded powers that bent the very elements around him—water, stone, wind. He commanded them with terrifying ease. My adult self, though stronger in body, fought only with his fists, relying on pure strength to survive.
"You don't belong here!" my younger self screamed, his voice raw with fury.
"And you do?!" the adult snapped back, his eyes cold and empty. "Your methods—your way of doing things—are childish. You make a goldfish feel smart."
"And your methods are cruel! You think the ends justify the means, but you've lost everything that makes you human! You make inhumans look like a human."
The younger self raised his hand, and the water surged forward, crashing into the adult like a tidal wave. But he stood firm, unmoving, his expression cold and calculative, like a man who had seen everything and felt nothing.
"What do you know about me?" the adult growled, stepping closer to the boy. His voice was low, but it carried the weight of every sleepless night, every regret, every moment of pain he had buried deep inside. "Hundreds of nights," he whispered, almost to himself. "I couldn't sleep. No matter how much I tried, no matter how many pills I took, sleep never came. I told myself I didn't care, that I was better off without it. I convinced myself that emotions were a weakness, that caring was a burden. And maybe I was right—because now I feel nothing. Absolutely nothing!"
His laugh was hollow, a sound that had no place in a human throat. "I lost it. The thing that makes us human. The thing that makes me an adult. I lost it. And you think you're better than me?"
He swung his fist, shattering the air with a force that could break stone, but it didn't touch me. I stood there, watching them fight, unable to interfere. I was an observer—a passive witness to my own destruction.
"What do you know about sacrifice? About losing yourself?"
The adult's voice shook with a bitter, violent edge. "I've lost everything, and yet I'm still here. I recovered, didn't I? When I saw yuuta with someone else, I didn't crumble. I didn't break. High school boys can't handle that kind of betrayal, can they? But I did. I moved on. I survived. That's more than you'll ever do."
He turned then, eyes locking onto mine. For a moment, I thought he could see me. My heart pounded in my chest as I tried to remain still, invisible, but something shifted. My presence was no longer hidden.
"Break your relationship with Shimo," the adult said, his voice sharp as a knife.
"What?!" my younger self shouted, his fists clenching.
"She's too nice for you. It's disgusting, even thinking about it."
The boy's eyes blazed with defiance. "You don't understand! She took care of us! She saved us when no one else would! When you told her to leave, she stayed! She wiped our body when we were sick. She didn't walk away when it got hard. She was there for us."
His voice cracked, the rawness of his emotions slicing through the air like a blade. "Without her, we would've died."
"Yes," the adult replied coldly. "But that doesn't change the truth. You have to let her go."
I felt a piercing gaze from my younger self. It was a look that cut deeper than any word, drilling a hole straight through my chest.
"She kept us alive when no one else cared. And you… you want to throw that away?"
I wanted to scream—to tell them both to stop. But the water beneath my feet began to churn, turning a sickly green. Something was wrong. I couldn't think, couldn't breathe. The two versions of me—past and future—turned their heads toward me, waiting for an answer.
〔Choose. 〕
The word echoed in my mind, relentless and unforgiving.
"I… don't know. Both of them—they're both wrong. Both are monsters."
〔But they are you, aren't they? 〕
The voice wasn't mine, but it didn't matter. It spoke the truth. These two versions of me, as flawed as they were, were still me. The boy who had rejected light, and the man who had become a hollow shell. How could I choose between them?
〔You must. Who do you want to be?〕
I felt the water rise higher, the weight of their expectations crushing me.
The bloody red water mixed with the alcohol-colored stream, swirling together like the fragments of my shattered self. Broken pieces of paper floated by, alongside heavy chunks of metal that threatened to drag me under.
〔Choose. 〕
I couldn't. I needed both of them. But as I stood there, the water grew darker, the swirling objects sinking into the abyss.
〔This is your life. You must choose.〕
The voice grew louder, firmer, demanding an answer.
〔Do you want to be the child who clung to books, pushing everyone away for the sake of success? The child who rejected the light, who pushed away everything good in life until he had nothing left but darkness? Or the mercenary—a man who killed without thought, who let go of his humanity for the sake of survival, only to end up losing his soul? 〕
〔 Who do you want to be?〕
The question slammed into me like a wave, drowning me in doubt. I stared at the two figures, both waiting, both demanding an answer.
Suddenly, I was pushed into the water. As I fell, memories began to swirl around me—memories of the people I cared about, the people who had reached out to me when I needed them most. My father's advice, Akeshi's calm guidance, the laughter of my newly made friends, the warmth that my mother's radiated. Each memory was a lifeline, pulling me closer to the surface.
Shimo's face appeared before me, her hands gently wiping my forehead as I lay feverish in bed. Her kindness, her persistence—she never gave up on me.
"I will be there for you if you call out."
Her voice echoed through the water, clear as day.
I swam upward with all the strength I had left, desperate to reach the light above. My lungs burned, but I didn't care. I wouldn't let go. I wouldn't let the darkness take me.
I am not them.
I am not caged by their choices, by their past.
I will survive.
As my hand broke the surface, I felt the warmth of the light on my skin. For the first time, I understood.
I would live. And I would choose my own path.
Because I am my own person.
And I would never let go of the light again.
I will do anything and everything to keep it mine.