When the class bell rang, Akira tidied up his desk, stood up, and prepared to head home, only to be confronted by Misaki Suzuki and her entourage.
Misaki Suzuki glared at Akira with hatred. "Speak up! Is Chizuru's death somehow related to you?"
Akira smirked, resting his chin on his left hand. "Misaki, if her death were related to me, who do you think would be next?"
Misaki screamed, nearly losing her balance as she stumbled backward a few steps to steady herself. Realizing she had lost composure in front of someone like Kawashima Megumi, she cleared her throat and adopted a disdainful expression. "Hmph, stop trying to scare me. You don't have the guts for it. Chizuru must have angered someone else she shouldn't have. Let's go!"
Though she spoke with bravado, it was clear she was somewhat intimidated and dared not openly bully "Kawashima Megumi" any longer.
Akira didn't head straight home. Instead, he went to the hospital to visit me. He quietly sat by my bedside, his dark eyes emotionlessly observing me.
I don't know how long he sat there before he began to mumble.
"Sis, how could you be bullied by such foolish people?" He traced his fingertips through my hair, his tone unreadable. "Was Misaki Suzuki the source of your suffering?" His hand slid from my hair to my forehead, finally resting on the scar on my cheek. He frowned, caressing the scar as if trying to make it disappear instantly, but his efforts were in vain. His frown deepened, and just as I thought he might explode, he suddenly chuckled.
"Sis, if I killed this person, would she come to find you after she died and continue to torment you?" Akira gently held my hand. "But Sis, she has tormented you so badly that I don't want to let her off."
Somehow, even though I was in a spiritual state, I felt a chill in my hand, as if it were being constrained by something.
A trace of amusement flickered in Akira's eyes as he chuckled softly.
"How about I try a different approach? Make her wish she were dead but unable to die. What do you think, Sis?"
His words sent a shiver down my spine. Akira rolled up my sleeve, revealing an arm covered in horrific scars—some from knife cuts, others from cigarette burns, creating a disturbing and dense pattern. Akira stared at my arm expressionlessly, then began to meticulously count the scars.
"One, two, three, four... seventeen, eighteen, nineteen."
He gazed at the scars, visibly irritated.
"Nineteen scars, huh? Sis, you really should have told me if you were being bullied like this." His tone was filled with reproach, making me feel a pang of guilt. "Nineteen scars, how about I cut her into nineteen pieces? What do you think?"
I silently protested in my mind, but Akira continued on.
"Forget it, too much bloodshed. If she dies, it won't be fun anymore."
I pondered for a moment. If Misaki Suzuki were to die and become a spirit, I might still encounter her. I certainly didn't want to keep arguing with her even after death.
"Sis, if a person lost their eyes, nose, ears, hands, and feet, could they still live?" Akira's murmured question pulled me from my thoughts. Lying in bed, I obviously couldn't answer him. He seemed to have thought of something, and his furrowed brow relaxed.
"Blood might flow a lot, but it's okay, Sis. I'll learn how to stop the bleeding."
I immediately understood his intent and knew he always acted on his words. A sense of vindictive pleasure rose within me. Misaki Suzuki, you have no idea how much I hate her. What Akira plans to do to her, I've wished for as well, only I didn't dare. Akira seemed very pleased with this plan. He gently touched the scar on my face before turning to leave the room. A doctor, looking warm and professional, stood at the door.
"Hello, are you a relative of Kawashima Megumi? I'm her attending physician. After a few days of treatment, the patient's condition has improved, but she still needs to remain hospitalized for continued observation and treatment."
The doctor paused, glancing at Akira before continuing, "According to the current treatment plan, the patient will need to stay in the hospital a while longer to ensure a more thorough recovery. However, the hospitalization fees are running low, so I suggest you pay for the continuation of treatment as soon as possible to avoid any disruption."
He handed Akira a detailed bill and patiently explained, "This is the detailed cost to date and the estimated costs for further treatment. We hope you understand that continuing the payments is crucial for the patient's health."
Akira glanced briefly at the bill. "Okay, I understand. Thank you for your help during this time. I will pay the fees promptly."
The doctor looked at Akira with some sympathy. "We will do our utmost to provide the best care for the patient. If you have any questions or need assistance, please let us know, and we will do our best to help."
Akira nodded and left.
As night fell, Akira arrived at the restaurant on time, only to find it closed for the day. Puzzled, he thought perhaps Takumi was ill and was about to head home when he suddenly heard vomiting sounds behind him.
Turning around, Akira saw Takumi sitting at a table, surrounded by empty drink glasses. His face was flushed, eyes glassy, and he was vomiting heavily, the smell of alcohol strong in the air. Takumi, swaying and gasping for breath, seemed to be struggling with each bout of nausea. When he saw Akira standing in front of him, he reached out a hand for help.
Akira hesitated for a moment but eventually grabbed his hand and helped him into the restroom.
After another round of vomiting, Takumi washed his face, looking somewhat clearer, and gave Akira an apologetic smile.
"Sorry, Akira, I had an emergency and forgot to inform you that the restaurant would be closed today."
"It's fine. Get some rest. I'll head out now."
Takumi stopped him. "Why don't you stay and have dinner with me? It's on me."
Akira was about to refuse but was insistently pulled to the table by Takumi.
"Tell me what you want to eat. I'll make it for you." Takumi smiled warmly at Akira.
Akira shook his head. "You should rest. I'm fine."
Takumi patted his chest. "Don't underestimate me. I have a strong tolerance for alcohol."
Akira silently watched him, causing Takumi to force a nervous smile. "I did drink a bit too much earlier, but I'm fine now."
Akira sighed, realizing he had no choice but to stay for dinner.
"Just make whatever you like. I'm happy with anything."
Takumi went to the kitchen and started preparing. Soon, the aroma of cooking wafted through the air, warm and rich, like an invisible hand gently stirring one's senses. I took a deep breath; the smell of food instantly transported me to a familiar and comforting place, irresistibly enticing.
I glanced at Akira, who visibly swallowed. It was clear that Takumi's meal was very appealing to him.
Takumi noticed and, with a smile, set a table full of dishes and served Akira a bowl of rice. Realizing he had been seen through, Akira awkwardly cleared his throat.
"Eat up, kid." Takumi opened another bottle of alcohol for himself. Seeing Akira's silent gaze, Takumi chuckled. "I've already thrown up everything. It's fine, let me drink. I won't die from it."
Akira ignored him and took a sip of soup, which made me salivate.
"This soup is good."
Takumi straightened with pride. "Of course, it's delicious. My daughter especially loves the soup I make." A fleeting sadness crossed Takumi's face. He leaned forward, scrutinizing Akira's face closely.
"Mm?" Akira frowned, clearly uncomfortable with being stared at.
"If my daughter were still around, she'd probably be about your age." Takumi leaned back, taking a large gulp of his drink.
Akira caught the crucial words. "If she were still around? Did you abandon her?"
His volume rose slightly, and I felt his anger.
I had always avoided mentioning his parents, as it was the deepest taboo for him. Akira had been indifferent throughout his life, seemingly calm, but his obsession with violence was unsettling. From hunting animals and livestock to eventually targeting humans, though the number of lives he took was few, it was enough to chill the spine. The day of his ninth birthday was particularly memorable.
The day seemed destined to be unlucky. The sky was gray and oppressive, foreshadowing a difficult birthday. The air was heavy, and even the sun seemed reluctant to provide warmth. The gloom around us devoured our hopes, hinting at the day's bleakness. Despite our poverty, I hoped to bring some warmth and joy to Akira. From my saved-up small change, I bought a tiny, simple cake. Though modest, it was a precious luxury to me. I took Akira to an abandoned lot down an alley, where a few stones formed a makeshift seat. I carefully wiped the dust off the stones, placed the cake in the center, and nervously inserted candles, lighting them with a flickering flame.
"Make a wish, Akira," I said, my voice bright with joy and anticipation.
Though Akira appeared indifferent, he still closed his eyes and made a wish obediently. I gently patted his soft hair and spoke with a hint of guilt, "I'm sorry, Akira. I can't give you a good birthday right now."
Akira opened his eyes without concern, "What's so special about birthdays? Don't bother with them next time. They're boring."
At that moment, a few kids of similar age walked over, laughing and joking. When they saw us with the modest little cake, they couldn't help but burst into mockery.
"Haha, they're celebrating a birthday in a place like this!" one child laughed, pointing at the cake, "They even bought such a small cake. How pitiful!"
"You don't even have parents, so what's there to pretend to be happy about?" another child sneered, his tone dripping with contempt and sarcasm.
My smile instantly froze, and the matchsticks in my hand fell to the ground involuntarily. Their mocking voices were like sharp knives, stabbing deeply into my heart. I looked up, trying to ward off the malice with my gaze, but the vulnerability and sadness in my heart were exposed.
Indeed, since I could remember, we had no memories of our parents. Who they were, what they looked like, why they abandoned me—these were questions I had no answers to. How could anyone talk about happiness when they didn't even have parents?
I reached for Akira's hand, trying to pull him away from this place of conflict, but he shook me off. He walked straight towards the group of children, his face darkened with anger.
"Don't, Akira!" I thought to myself, alarmed, and tried to give the children a warning with my eyes, but they didn't seem to realize the severity of the situation. Instead, they laughed and provoked Akira.
"Look, he's getting mad, haha!"
"Does he really want to hit us? Come on, here's your chance, don't miss it… ah!"
In the next moment, his words were cut off abruptly, fear instantly etched onto his face. Akira expressionlessly bent down, picked up a sharp stone from the ground, and before the child could react, Akira swung his hand violently. There was a "crack" sound as the child's nasal bone broke, blood gushing out immediately. The pain made him collapse to the ground, instinctively trying to escape, but his strength was no match for Akira's coldness.
Akira's eyes were like ice, swinging the stone unhesitatingly, hitting the child's head and face. Each strike was accompanied by a dull thud, as if striking through the silence of the air. The blood gradually blurred Akira's hands, but the indifference in his eyes remained unchanged.
The other children around finally realized the gravity of the situation, fearfully glancing at each other and attempting to flee. However, before they could run a few steps, Akira raised his hand, picking up a handful of sharp stones and throwing them with precision. The stones whistled through the air, striking the children's foreheads.
With "thud-thud" sounds, the group of children fell to the ground like cut stalks of wheat, covering their heads in pain and emitting faint groans. The air was thick with the smell of blood, as if frozen, and time seemed to stand still in that moment.
Amidst the carnage, Akira stood, coldly surveying the writhing children on the ground as if they were insignificant insects not worth a second glance. His expression remained indifferent, showing no signs of being moved by the violence. The blood-soaked air did not seem to bother him at all.
He slowly withdrew his gaze and turned to the first child he had beaten. The child, consumed by fear, frantically bowed and begged for mercy, his voice trembling and incoherent. Yet, Akira's eyes held no trace of compassion, only cold resolve. He stepped closer to the child, bent down, and grabbed him by the collar, lifting him off the ground.
"Please, don't kill me…" The child's voice turned into desperate whimpers, his hands weakly struggling, but Akira's grip was like iron. Then, Akira expressionlessly raised the stone in his hand and mercilessly slashed across the child's throat.
Blood gushed out, staining Akira's arm. The child's body convulsed violently, then fell limp, life quickly draining away. Akira's gaze remained cold as he released the child's lifeless body, letting it fall heavily to the ground as if discarding a useless item.
Without a pause, he turned and walked coldly towards the other children. They were paralyzed with fear, lying on the ground, their eyes filled with despair and terror. Akira approached each of them, methodically slashing their throats with the same unhesitating manner. Each life that fell at his hands was met with his calm and mechanical movements, as if he was simply completing a mundane task.
The blood stained the ground, and Akira's hands were covered in gore, yet he seemed to feel no discomfort from the cold touch. After finishing this, he stood amidst the silence, coldly surveying his "work" as if confirming that everything was over. He extended a hand towards me, who was trembling at the sight, and softly said, "Sister, let's go home."