The maniac laughter continued from Kiyo. Ken'ichiro stiffened what exactly was funny about watching people die?
These weren't nameless casualties, they had faces, stories, lives that had been ripped away in a grotesque display of violence. And yet, here was Kiyo, grinning like a predator who had just toyed with his prey.
The innocence Ken'ichiro once knew was slipping through his fingers like sand in an hourglass, each moment in Kiyo's company wearing it down further Kiyo look at him with coldness and stated: "Death comes for every man all we can do is Grin in it's face and accept it."
Ken'ichiro's lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw tightening. "Yeah, sure," he shot back, his tone sharp and trembling with suppressed rage. "If we're talking about dying from natural causes, that makes sense. But this?" "This is murder, Cold-blooded, senseless murder."
Kiyo looked back at him and stated: What you call murder I call justice, if you want to cling to your morals, your principles? Go ahead. But don't pretend they'll keep you alive."
"We are the original creators of this world. Every stone, every road, every dream—it's all built on the backs of those like us."
He paused, his voice softening, yet laced with an undercurrent of bitterness. "America... they're good at many things, but their greatest skill is stealing. Stealing ideas. Stealing labor. Stealing dreams from the immigrants they pretend to welcome." He clenched his fists, the veins on his hands standing out like roots of an ancient tree, weathered but unbroken.
"This land, this so-called freedom they thrive on our sacrifices, yet refuse to see us. Without us, this land is nothing more than dust waiting to be shaped. "My grandfather died on that railroad. And for what?" The words spilled out like a bitter storm, raw and unfiltered. "For a few pennies—pennies they said would make him rich? Is that what they call the American Dream?"
A hollow laugh escaped, sharp and cutting. "Then they called him a chinx. Like all Asians must come from China, like we're nothing more than a single faceless mass to them." The venom in the words lingered before softening into a heavy sorrow. "And look at the Black people. They turned them into slaves. Stripped them of everything—freedom, dignity, even their names—and then handed them a book to live by. The Bible. And in that book, they had the audacity to make it clear that slavery was 'ok.' They brainwashed them into believing in their God. A God who justified their chains."
The voice cracked, a raw edge breaking through. "And yet, this... this is the land of the free? Free for who?"
Man is only free in death, so u call it what you want my son, one of these days you're going to make a choice and that choice will be becoming an Asshole or a Pussy either way life will still fuck you least with being an Asshole not many people like anal.
Kiyo let out a loud, unapologetic laugh, the kind that dared the world to try and silence him.
Ken'ichiro couldn't help but laugh along, even though the weight of Kiyo's words pressed heavy on his chest. Because deep down, he knew Kiyo was right. The world didn't care about your choices, your dreams, or even your struggles. No matter what you did or said, the world would brand you, slap a label on your forehead, and stuff you into a box. And if you weren't White, well, that box was going to be smaller, darker, and harder to break out of.
Speaking of pussy and anal," Kiyo said, grinning like he'd just delivered the punchline of a joke, "it's time for you to get some."
Ken'ichiro groaned, rolling his eyes. "You couldn't just ease me into this, huh? Straight to the deep end?"
"Deep end?" Kiyo smirked, leaning back in his chair. "Trust me, kid, you'll want to avoid the deep end unless you're ready for that kind of commitment."
Ken'ichiro shook his head, stifling a laugh. "I guess talking about the birds and the bees is out of the question then?"
Kiyo chuckled, shaking his head. "Birds and bees? Nah, we're past that. Consider this the advanced class, professor of life right here." He jabbed his thumb at his chest, his grin wide. "Lesson one: condoms. Don't be dumb, wrap it up."
"Lesson two?" Ken'ichiro raised an eyebrow, playing along.
"Lesson two," Kiyo said, leaning forward with mock seriousness. "If she calls you daddy before you've even bought her dinner, run."
Ken'ichiro burst out laughing, nearly choking on his own amusement. Kiyo joined him, his hearty laugh filling the space between them. In that moment, it wasn't just a conversation; it was a connection—a father sharing wisdom in his own unconventional way, and a son appreciating the ridiculous yet profound truths only his father could deliver.
For a brief moment, the weight of their deeds was forgotten, swallowed by the camaraderie that burned brighter than the crimson sky stretched over the horizon. The sun, a red disc sinking into oblivion, painted the clouds in hues of fire, as if mocking the carnage they left behind.As the plane sliced through the burning horizon, he couldn't help but feel the irony of their situation. Behind them, a trail of destruction stretched like a scar across the earth, an echo of their violence that no amount of laughter could erase.
Enjoy this while you can kid thought Kiyo. Moments like these don't come often.
One day, you'll know the truth, he thought, his gaze lingering on the horizon, the dying sun casting shadows over his face. One day, you'll understand why I brought you into this life.
For now, though, the laughter filled the cockpit, drowning out the echoes of violence in their wake. The red sun dipped lower, as if bowing to their sins, and the plane surged forward—toward Japan, toward the next chapter of their shared destiny.