Six years ago, Obi's world had already stretched across countries, yet no matter where they lived, darkness followed. From the sandy shores of Jamaica to the sprawling cities of the United States, and finally to the quieter neighborhoods of Japan, his mother, Zara Lee, had been the constant shadow of violence.
Obi Nacchi was ten years old when he began to truly understand the horrors lurking in his mother's heart. Before that, the moves from one country to another, from one home to the next, had felt like mere inconveniences. He thought it was normal to move so often, to live under new rules each time they relocated. But in Japan, something changed. The secrets his mother had always kept hidden began to unravel.
This was also the year he met Kira and Meriam, two friends who had no idea about the darkness that surrounded him. They were his tether to the world outside, a world he clung to even as he found himself drawn deeper into his mother's twisted world.
The day Obi met Kira and Meriam was a warm spring afternoon, the sakura trees in full bloom. The air was crisp with the sweet scent of blossoms, and the neighborhood park buzzed with the laughter of children. Obi stood alone at first, watching the other kids play as he tried to make sense of this new life in Japan. It was quieter here, calmer than the bustling cities of the U.S. or the lively streets of Jamaica.
But isolation was familiar, almost comforting. His mother had taught him to be cautious of forming attachments, and the constant moving made friendships feel temporary. Still, something about Japan made Obi curious, and before he knew it, he was approached by two girls.
"You're new, right?" one of them asked in Japanese, her accent sharp but playful.
Her blue hair stood out against the pink hues of the cherry blossoms, a rebellious streak that defied the orderly culture around them. "I'm Kira! Wanna play?" she continued with a grin, her eyes full of mischief.
Obi hesitated. He had never been one to join groups, always wary of what his mother would say. But before he could decline, another girl joined them. Meriam, taller and quieter, gave a knowing smile.
"Kira's always like this," Meriam said, switching seamlessly to English, making Obi feel more at ease. "But we won't bite."
There was something disarming about their presence. Obi found himself playing with them that day, chasing through the park under the canopy of cherry blossoms. For the first time in a long while, he felt like a normal kid, unburdened by the secrets he carried. Kira, Meriam, and the park became a sanctuary, a place untouched by the darkness in his life.
But that night, the illusion of peace was shattered.
"Obi," his mother called softly from the kitchen, her voice tinged with that familiar edge. Zara had always been beautiful, a woman who turned heads wherever they went, whether it was in Jamaica's bustling markets or New York's crowded streets. But her beauty was a mask for the violence that lurked beneath.
They were living in a modest house on the outskirts of Tokyo, far from the glitz of the city, in a quiet residential area. Japan had been Zara's choice—something about starting fresh in a country with a long history of tradition appealed to her. But there was nothing traditional about what she was about to do.
"Come with me," she said, her tone leaving no room for argument.
Obi followed her, as he always did, not knowing where they were headed. They drove through the narrow streets of Tokyo, the city lights flickering outside the car window like a distant dream. When they reached their destination, it wasn't one of the usual flashy districts he'd grown accustomed to. Instead, it was a quiet suburban neighborhood, eerily similar to their own.
Zara led him into the house, her movements swift and silent. Obi's heart raced, not with fear, but with a strange excitement. He had seen this side of her before, in the U.S. and Jamaica, but this time felt different. This time, she wanted him to see it all.
They entered a dimly lit bedroom where a woman lay sleeping. Zara wasted no time. The knife in her hand moved with the precision of someone who had done this too many times. The woman's eyes shot open, her breath catching as she saw the blade. Zara plunged it deep into her chest without hesitation, and the room filled with the metallic scent of blood.
Obi stood in the doorway, frozen, yet transfixed. He should've screamed, should've stopped his mother, but instead, he smiled. The tears spilling from the woman's eyes, the blood dribbling from her mouth—there was a sick satisfaction in watching her life drain away. It was wrong, he knew it was wrong, but the part of him that had been shaped by his mother's twisted affection didn't care.
Zara looked at him, her eyes gleaming in the low light. "Every time I kill," she whispered in English, as if speaking their secret language, "I leave a red spider lily." She pulled the flower from her pocket, placing it gently on the woman's chest. "It's called the corpse flower. A reminder of beauty in death."
Obi couldn't stop thinking about that night. The red spider lily haunted him, even when he was with his father, who had recently taken him in full-time. Living with his dad in Japan was different—safer, more predictable. But Zara's presence lingered in his mind, her voice calling to him even from the other side of the city.
His parents' divorce had fractured their family years ago. They had fled from one country to the next, trying to outrun the chaos Zara brought into their lives. But no matter where they went—Jamaica, the U.S., or now Japan—Zara's darkness followed.
She hated that Obi lived with his father. Hated that he was pulling away from her. The tension between them grew with every passing visit, her smiles becoming sharper, more dangerous.
Then, one day, she snapped. His father's lifeless body was a stark contrast to the warm home they had built together. Zara didn't leave a red spider lily this time. She didn't make it beautiful or artistic—she simply killed him, taking from Obi the last bit of stability he had.
Standing over his father's corpse, Obi felt the full weight of Zara's cruelty. It wasn't just about her killing anymore; it was personal. She had taken his father, just as she had taken countless others. But this time, she had gone too far.
At ten years old, Obi swore an oath. He would kill her, or he would bring her to justice. He didn't care which, but one way or another, he would end her reign of terror. Because in his mind, justice was the only way to free himself from the legacy of blood she had passed down to him.