Why me?
Why me?
Why me?
Why me?
As he screamed, his voice echoed off the walls, a haunting chorus to his despair. He smashed his head into the mirror, over and over, the shards cutting into his skin, mingling his blood with the broken pieces of his reflection. The room was splattered with the evidence of his pain, his eyes hollow, a void where hope once lived. In the eerie silence that followed his outburst, he stood motionless, staring at his bloodied reflection, the only sound his heavy breaths fogging the blood-stained mirror.
Then, a whisper, a dark resolve emerging from the depths of his shattered psyche, "Yes, you're right, it's their fault... they must pay," he responded to his reflection as though it was an entity of its own. The lifeless look in his eyes was replaced by a smoldering desire for vengeance.
In a hospital room filled with the beeping of machines and the quiet hum of medical equipment, a woman lay at the center. Her chest rose and fell steadily, but her eyes were closed to the world, connected to a maze of machines that beeped with every heartbeat and breath she took, keeping a watchful eye on her as she lay in a deep coma.
Next to her, there was a figure in a black hoodie, face hidden under the shadow of the hood. He stood still, almost blending into the background, his hands tucked away. He was quiet, just standing there next to the bed, keeping company to the woman who couldn't wake up to see him.
The figure spoke, a murmur heavy with remorse and suffering. "I'm sorry, Mom. If... if I was just a bit useful, I could have prevented all this. I'm really sorry, but don't worry, I'll make them pay. They'll find even hell a haven compared to what I have in store," he vowed, each word laced with a promise of retribution.
In a fast-food restaurant, a table with burgers and fries lay untouched as five students sat around it, laughing. As their laughter filled the air, a black-haired, slender boy spoke. "Have you heard? Ruiki is still missing since the accident," he said.
Suddenly, everyone grew silent, as if an unwanted specter had been invoked. Before the boy, Mahiro, could react, a hand clutched his hair and smashed his head into the table.
"I thought we came to an agreement never to speak of that trash's name," hissed Setsuo, the blonde-haired boy, as he leaned closer to Mahiro's ear, still pressing his face against the tabletop.
"Yes, Setsuo, I'm sorry," Mahiro gasped, his voice muffled and filled with pain.
"Setsuo, there are people watching," Itaru interjected, his hand reaching out to grasp Setsuo's.
Setsuo looked around, noticing the eyes on them. With a scowl, he released Mahiro, who quickly covered his nose to hide the bleeding.
"Why can't trash ever know their place?" Hideyo remarked with a sneer, eyeing Mahiro with contempt.
"Don't be too hard on him, Hideyo. Even if he's trash, trash can be useful," Katsuji joked, eliciting a stifled fury from Mahiro.
Their eyes locked, and a silent understanding passed between Mahiro and Setsuo.
"I think that's enough for today," Itaru announced.
"I've lost my appetite; I'm leaving," Hideyo declared, standing up abruptly.
"Guess that's my cue to leave," Katsuji chimed.
Setsuo stood up and left the room without a word, his departure as silent and swift as a shadow fleeing the light. Mahiro remained seated, his hand pressed against his nose, trying to stem the tide of a nosebleed that had come upon him as suddenly as Setsuo's exit.
Itaru let out a heavy, almost theatrical sigh, breaking the silence that had fallen over the room. He looked down at Mahiro with a mix of pity and reprimand. "Sorry about that... You know how Setsuo can be," he said, his voice a low murmur.
Mahiro didn't respond, his silence as heavy as the air itself.
Itaru leaned in closer, his eyes narrowing, the previous semblance of sympathy quickly morphing into a threat. "Be careful not to slip up like this ever again if you want to keep your tongue. A nosebleed will be the least of our problems," he whispered, the menace in his voice contrasting with the sly smile that curled the edges of his lips.
He straightened up, his message delivered, and gave Mahiro a curt nod. "I'll be leaving. See you later," Itaru said, turning on his heel and walking away.
Left alone, Mahiro could feel the weight of the room's many eyes upon him. Their stares were like daggers, sharp with curiosity and judgment, making his solitude feel even more pronounced.
As Mahiro stormed home from the restaurant, his rage was a living thing, spilling out in a torrent of curses. "Those damn bastards, who do they think they are? Just because their parents are loaded, they act like they can treat anyone like garbage," he fumed. In a blind fury, he lashed out at a stray cat, the force of his kick sending it crashing into a wall, leaving it whimpering and broken. Mahiro's gaze was one of revulsion as he spat out the word "trash," but a shiver of unease crept up his spine. He felt eyes on him, but a quick glance revealed nothing. "What the hell? Ever since the restaurant, I can't shake this feeling I'm being watched. Am I losing it?"
He tried to shake off the creeping dread and resumed walking, only to be jolted by a searing pain in his left leg. His scream pierced the night as he crumpled to the ground, a hooded figure looming over him, a metal rod gripped tightly in their hands. The rod came down again, and Mahiro's cries went unanswered in the deserted street. Through the haze of pain, he recognized the face under the hood. "Hey, Ruiki? What's going on, man? Chill, let's talk," Mahiro pleaded, dragging himself backward, blood staining the pavement.
Ruiki advanced, silent, his eyes cold and distant. Mahiro's attempts to reason with him were desperate. "Hey, man, put the rod down. Let's work this out. Everyone's been worried since... since the incident. We all know it was just a terrible accident."
But at the word "accident," Ruiki's eyes blazed with a fury that was almost palpable.
"An accident? What do you mean an accident? It's your fault," Ruiki said furiously.
"Come on, man, you know I had nothing to do with it," Mahiro replied, struggling and gasping for air.
"You all had something to do with it, and you're all going to pay for it, starting with you," Ruiki said, drawing closer.
"Come on, man, you know all those times we were just playing, never meant any harm," Mahiro said apologetically.
"Haha, haa, haaa," Ruiki laughed maniacally.
"Playing, huh? I guess you're right. I'm gonna show you what it means to truly play," Ruiki said coldly.
"PLEASE, RUIKI, PLEASE, RUIKI!" Mahiro screamed, begging as Ruiki lifted the rod and smashed it into his head, knocking him out.
"This is just the beginning of a very fun game, Mahiro," Ruiki said to himself, giggling.
"Brr, brr, brr, it's cold, very cold. How long have I been here? Can't feel my left leg anymore," Mahiro thought to himself as he opened his eyes to see meat everywhere. "Is this a cold storage room?"
He tried moving his hands, but it hurt. Looking up, he saw both hands chained as he hung in the air, and his feet were chained too. As he tried to move, he was soon distracted by the sound of the loud storage door opening and a figure approaching him. As the figure got closer, he realized it was Ruiki, a pale-faced, very lanky boy. As he stood in front of Mahiro, the surprise was evident; Ruiki didn't look anything like his old self, except for his pale face. There were wounds all over his body, which seemed self-inflicted, and his hair was in patches as though it had been forcibly pulled out. A huge scar marred his forehead. The Ruiki in front of Mahiro seemed totally different from the quiet, awkward kid he knew. His eyes had a sadistic look as he stared at Mahiro, who hung there.
"How are you enjoying your new home?" Ruiki asked Mahiro.
Mahiro mustered all his strength to reply, but the only words he could whisper were, "Please let me go."
"Can't hear you," Ruiki responded jokingly.
"Ah well, I've set the temperature here just right—not enough to kill you. Don't worry, I'll be back soon to help you receive the necessary heat. We can't have you dying before the game starts," Ruiki said with excitement.
Soon, Ruiki left, leaving Mahiro hanging there, struggling desperately to stay alive.
After a while, Ruiki returned to drag Mahiro to a fireplace to warm him up and gave him a cup of water. Once he was warm enough, Ruiki dragged him back to the cold storage room and beat him senseless until Mahiro was all bloodied and could scream no more.
Ruiki kept up this routine for a while, always dragging Mahiro to the fireplace when he seemed to be at the end of his rope, warming him up, giving him water, and then dragging him back after he was done, only to beat him again.
Ruiki did this consistently, over and over, until one day, after warming Mahiro up and giving him a cup of water, he spoke. "It's been 11 days since you last ate. Aren't you hungry?" Ruiki asked, looking at Mahiro's bloodied and wounded appearance.
Mahiro stared back at him with a scared look in his eyes, having been treated like livestock—beaten every day, frozen, and reheated countless times. He had lost all feeling in his left leg, which had become paralyzed, and he could see and smell his foot rotting, as it had gone untreated for so long after being injured by Ruiki.
All Mahiro could manage was a nod. Ruiki dragged him to a dimly lit room with a table at the center, two seats at opposite ends, and a single candle flickering in the silence. Ruiki led Mahiro to one seat and then took his place opposite him.
Ruiki loosened Mahiro's chains just enough for him to eat. "Go ahead and eat; you must be starving," Ruiki said.
Mahiro, wary of Ruiki's intentions, slowly uncovered the plate before him to reveal a large portion of beef. Despite his hunger, he was cautious.
"Don't worry, it's not poisoned. I want you to suffer—poison would be too easy an escape," Ruiki stated, his voice laced with seriousness.
Mahiro's caution battled with his overwhelming hunger. Eventually, hunger won, and he devoured the beef with the ferocity of a beast claiming its prey, not stopping until the plate was clean.
As Ruiki observed, Mahiro finished and attempted to beg. "I'm sorry, Ruiki. I'm sorry for everything. I promise I'll never lay a hand on anyone again," he pleaded.
"Shut up," Ruiki interjected, cutting him off. "Don't speak if you want to keep living."
Mahiro fell silent, subdued like a dog obeying its master.
"Time's up," Ruiki declared, dragging him back to the cold storage room, resuming the brutal routine.
And so the cycle continued. Every 11th day, after enduring starvation, Mahiro was brought to the same room and given beef to eat. The 11th day arrived again, and as before, the food was covered, Ruiki sat opposite, never partaking. As Mahiro prepared to eat, he let his guard down. But this time, as he uncovered the plate, he was met with a shock so profound that he collapsed to the ground, unable to utter a word. He tried saying something but there were no words, just shock.
"How do you like today's meal?" Ruiki said as he looked at the dish. The severed head of a middle-aged woman lay on the table.
"Why do you seem so shocked? Wasn't dear old mommy delicious? Why behave like this now? You always enjoyed eating, right? Why are you not eating today? You should know that's all that's left of dear mommy; she has nothing more to offer to her dear child."
Mahiro, in disbelief, began screaming in extreme agony and sobbed uncontrollably, repeating the words, "I'm sorry, Mom. I didn't know it wasn't my fault... I didn't know." The disgust of his actions soon hit him as he tried to vomit out anything in his weak body, but nothing came.
"How did mommy taste? Wasn't she delicious?" Ruiki taunted him further, driving Mahiro into despair.
"Why? Just why? She had nothing to do with this," Mahiro said as he stared at Ruiki, full of despair, all lost to him.
"Why, you ask?" Ruiki said, responding to Mahiro.
"I lost everything because of you guys and vowed to make each and every one of you suffer a fate worse than death, and mark my words, this is just the beginning. Your mom was a very kind woman, but she had to serve a greater purpose. I met her a week after kidnapping you. As a single mom, she was desperate, looking for her only son. She visited every single member of the class to try and find you, even your so-called close friends had no interest in finding you. When all hope was lost, I appeared, and as noble and a knight in shining armor as I am, I offered to help your mom look for you by telling her I had a clue about where you were.
Her face lit up with sudden hope at the prospect of seeing her only son, an excitement that was infectious. But as I led her to your bloodied, hanging body, that hope quickly turned to despair. Her expression, once bright with anticipation, became etched with confusion and sorrow. As she fought to save you, her pleas for your life were relentless, even as her own slipped away. Her final, desperate cries echoed until the very moment her head was severed from her body."
Ruiki's words plunged Mahiro into an abyss of despair, stripping away the last shreds of his resolve. With a lifeless gait, he limped towards the table, his hand trembling as it grasped the fork.
"I'm sorry, Mom, I was never the son you deserved, but today I will be. See you soon, Mom," he whispered, driving the fork into his throat.
Collapsing to the ground, Mahiro's life ebbed away, his gaze fixed on Ruiki. In those final moments, he reflected on his life—his transformation from a loving father's son to a bystander as that father turned into an abusive alcoholic. He recalled his mother's tireless efforts to provide for him after being abandoned, left with debt, and her unyielding dedication despite his ingratitude and anger.
As the image of his mother's severed head haunted him, all he could feel was an overwhelming regret—for not expressing his appreciation for her sacrifices, for not being the pillar she could lean on.
Tears mingled with blood as they fell from his eyes, the light of life fading from his gaze.
Ruiki, observing the tragic scene, couldn't help but comment on the mess.
"To think he would end it like this. I had so many more games for us to play. Oh well, this toy is broken now," he said with playful disappointment, kneeling beside Mahiro's lifeless body.
"But there are still more toys left to play with, don't you think?" he mused aloud to an unseen presence, his laughter tinged with twisted excitement.