Ken'ichiro P.O.V
Guts, severed heads, blood, and cleansing were all part of our religious services on Sunday. You might be thinking of satanic rituals or a cult we were forced into, but Kaiser and KIYO called it desensitizing the mind. It was a practice, a routine for us to complete over and over until we were absolutely perfect—perfectly numbed to all pleasure and pain.
Today marked the first day of our classroom training. We were learning history. History and gym were always my favorite subjects back in school. My mom would beg me to study math. It's funny now that I think of it, I haven't heard anything back from the letters I sent to her, and I've been here for two months already.
The classroom was a stark contrast to the gruesome rituals. It was a sterile, windowless room with white walls and rows of metal desks bolted to the floor. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a harsh glare on the faded textbooks piled on each desk.
Kaiser shouted the room to attention and spoke:
"Alright boys, today's gonna be a fun one. I'm going to educate you all about the great Field trip we took back in 1937 in Nanjing, China."
He strode to the front of the room, where a large map of China was pinned to the wall. With a wooden pointer, he tapped the city of Nanjing.
"During the Second Sino-Japanese War, our forces captured Nanjing. It was a significant victory, but it came at a great cost. Over six weeks, soldiers committed unspeakable atrocities. It was a brutal campaign meant to break the enemy's spirit."
He paused, letting his words sink in, as we sat in silence, absorbing the gravity of what he described. The lesson wasn't just about the past; it was about instilling a certain mindset, a readiness to follow orders without question, no matter how horrific.
"We are the descendants of those warriors," Kaiser continued, his voice rising. "And you must carry that same unwavering resolve. Understand the sacrifices made and the strength required to achieve victory."
As he spoke, I couldn't help but think back to the Sunday rituals. The gruesome acts we were forced to witness and partake in were not just about desensitizing us—they were about breaking us down and rebuilding us in their image. The image of perfect soldiers, devoid of empathy and emotion.
The classroom door creaked open, and KIYO entered, carrying a stack of papers. He handed them out, and we each received a list of historical figures and battles to study. My eyes scanned the list: Sun Tzu, the Battle of Red Cliffs, the Opium Wars.
"These are your assignments," KIYO said. "You will learn from these events and understand the strategies and mindsets that led to victories and defeats. This knowledge is crucial for your training."
As the lesson continued, I felt a strange mixture of fascination and dread. The history we were learning was not just about facts and dates—it was about understanding the brutal realities of war and preparing ourselves to become part of that Legacy.
Do I even want to be part of this heinous legacy? thought Ken'ichiro.
Ken'ichiro glanced around the room, studying the faces of his comrades. Some were attentive, others seemed indifferent, but none showed any sign of questioning their fate. He wondered if any of them felt the same internal turmoil he did, if any of them secretly longed for a different path.
But here, questioning was dangerous. Showing doubt could lead to severe punishment, or worse. So, he kept his thoughts to himself, masking his inner conflict with a stoic expression. He knew he had to survive, but he also knew that he had to find a way out, a way to reclaim his humanity.
As Kaiser droned on about the tactics used in Nanjing, Ken'ichiro made a silent vow. He would learn everything he could, not to become a perfect soldier, but to find a way to escape this madness. To find a way back to the life he once knew, the life he desperately wanted to return to.