The shadows began to creep along the walls, devouring the remnants of light scattered across the room. The sound of the cold wind slipping through the narrow cracks was the only thing audible, as if whispering secrets that were never meant to be spoken. She sat there, motionless like a statue, her eyes fixed on the window where the horizon blazed with the colors of sunset. With every passing minute, she felt the weight of time growing heavier, as though the evening carried with it something more than just darkness.
Those moments before dinner were usually the calmest time of the day, but this time, she didn't feel at ease. Something strange stirred within her, a vague sensation blending anticipation with fear. She tried to dismiss the thoughts, but they crept back again, clearer and more persistent.
She closed her eyes for a moment, listening to the rhythm of her steady breaths, trying to gather her scattered thoughts. But she couldn't ignore what awaited her—the gathering of the soldiers, those weary faces, the oppressive silence hanging in the air, and the eyes that concealed far more than they revealed. All of it awaited her there.
She rose slowly, as if her steps were weighed down, but she forced herself to move. Whatever lay ahead might not be comforting, but it was unavoidable. Yet, she couldn't shake off the feeling, as if she were standing on the brink of an event that wouldn't pass without leaving its mark.
I dragged my feet heavily toward the base cafeteria, as if every step drained more energy from me. My body was moving, but my mind was still stuck on what the commander had said. "You're at the bottom of the list." Those words wouldn't leave me, no matter how hard I tried to bury them somewhere deep. I didn't want to be at the bottom, but what could I have done? Fear had gripped me in the moment I faced the creature, and instead of standing my ground, I ran.
The others were talking to each other, their laughter filling the air, but I felt like a stranger among them. I didn't want to be there, but I forced myself to go. There was a strange feeling in my stomach, a mix of hunger and anxiety. I just wanted to eat quickly and return to my place, away from all these faces.
As I walked, I felt their gazes following me, even though no one said a word. Maybe it was just in my head, but it felt like everyone knew I had failed.
Why are they looking at me like that? Do they know? Or is it just a silly feeling chasing me, one I can't seem to shake off? My steps feel heavy, as though I'm carrying a burden no one else can see, and every glance I catch convinces me further that I'm no longer who I used to be. Do they really see my failure? Or am I the one projecting these looks onto them, punishing myself even more?
I finally sat in a corner of the dining hall, far away from everyone. I placed the plate of food in front of me, but I had no desire to eat. It felt as though I was hungry for something no plate could hold. My gaze drifted to the bottom of the plate, searching for something… anything to calm the storm within me.
Why all this pressure? I thought I was stronger than this.
I have no desire to eat anything. The food in front of me feels cold, tasteless, as if it's nothing more than a silent image reminding me of something I once wanted but no longer need. Why am I even sitting here?
I know I need rest—or maybe an escape—but nothing here offers me that. It feels like the entire room is watching me, as if every small movement I make reveals the weight of what's inside me. My eyes drop to the plate, pretending to be occupied, as though I'm searching for an answer within it, or perhaps an excuse to lighten the burden I feel.
Why? Why did I fail so easily?
She stared blankly at the food in front of her, eating slowly and without appetite, as if performing a task rather than seeking flavor. When she finally finished, she pushed the plate away, a faint sense of satisfaction creeping in—only because she had done what was expected of her. Yet, it brought no real comfort. She stood up quietly and made her way toward the restroom.
As she walked, her steps felt heavier, as if the ground beneath her was bearing a part of her burdens. She closed the door behind her and stood still for a moment, gazing at the mirror. Her pale face stared back at her, mirroring how she felt inside. She thought about the cold water cascading down, imagining it as a final refuge, something to wash away the weight of her weary thoughts.
She turned on the faucet, letting the water flow over her body, as if hoping it could cleanse her of this overwhelming feeling. For the first time that day, she felt a hint of relief.
Saiki finished her shower and stood before the mirror, staring at her reflection. Droplets of water slid down her face, and her damp hair clung to her shoulders. Her face looked a little pale, but calmer than it had been moments ago. She gazed at herself thoughtfully and whispered, "I've survived the worst."
There was a cautious glimmer in her eyes, as if she was trying to convince herself of her own words, though she wasn't entirely sure. She ran her hand across the mirror, leaving a foggy streak, then continued to look at her reflection as if gathering her strength. It seemed the shower hadn't only washed her body but had also managed to rearrange her thoughts, easing some of the unseen weight that had been suffocating her.
She took a deep breath and felt a faint sense of calm washing over her. It wasn't much, but it was there. Slowly, she dressed, as though preparing herself to face a new day—a day she could begin with quiet determination and without surrender.
Saiki stepped out of the bathroom, feeling the cold wrap around her body despite the warmth of the water that had touched her moments ago. The dark hallways of the base seemed even quieter now, as if time had stopped here, with the walls holding onto every memory and whisper they had witnessed.
Her footsteps echoed in the empty space, the sound reflecting her solitude. Yet, she didn't feel afraid. It was as if the darkness mirrored her inner state. The place surrounded her in silence, making her feel like she didn't belong, as though it wasn't hers to claim. But she kept walking, her eyes fixed on the ground ahead, focusing solely on her steps. Nothing else mattered—just moving forward.
She passed by the familiar dark corners, but tonight they felt strange, almost foreign, as if the space around her was hiding secrets she wasn't ready to uncover. Still, she knew, somehow, that these hallways, despite their shadows, might hold the beginning of what she needed to break free from the state she had trapped herself in.
Saiki reached her shared room, the worn-out door seeming to carry the weight of heavy memories. She gently pushed it open and entered quietly, trying not to make any sound that might draw attention from the others. The room was nearly dark, with only faint strands of light slipping through the dirty curtains, casting misty shadows over the simple furniture.
In the corner, her friend Erika was sitting on her bed, absorbed in reviewing some papers. Saiki glanced at her for a moment, then quickly turned her gaze toward the other corner, where her own bed was. There was something unsettling about returning to this place, as if every corner here held a piece of a story she wished she could forget.
But she didn't stop. She moved steadily toward her bed and collapsed onto it without effort. Her eyes welled with exhaustion, but she focused only on her breathing, trying to push away the thoughts that had filled her mind all day.
"Is everything alright?" Erika's voice came softly from the other side, but Saiki didn't find the strength to reply. She simply closed her eyes and tried to find a moment of peace in this cramped space they all shared.
I knew Erika was watching me, and her soft voice was an attempt to reassure me, but she knew very well that I wouldn't say anything. I smiled faintly, even though I didn't feel anything resembling comfort.
"I'm fine," I said in a low voice, barely audible, but I needed to say it, even if it was just words without meaning. I wished I could believe myself in that moment, but the truth was, I wasn't fine. I felt a growing emptiness inside me, as though I were running from something I couldn't identify, something that clung to me like a shadow, never leaving.
I slowly closed my eyes, trying to gather myself, but my thoughts scattered everywhere. I didn't know how I ended up here, in this moment. In this silence that filled me and suffocated me at the same time. Yet, I stayed still, on my bed that offered no sense of comfort. At that moment, the words "I'm fine" were the only thing I could hold on to, even if I didn't believe them.
"I'm fine," I whispered softly, as if the words themselves were escaping from my lips. I gave a faint smile, but it was empty, like a mask I placed on a face that didn't reflect the truth. Erika was watching me with her curious eyes, but I couldn't tell her what was brewing inside me. In the end, she knew me well and understood that I don't talk about what hurts me, that I don't express what goes on in my mind.
But what she didn't know, and what no one knew, was that this silence wasn't just a moment of calm. It was the result of something much deeper, something terrifying that had left its mark in my soul. All these negative feelings that overwhelm me, this suffocating emptiness I feel in my heart, weren't just a passing emotion. It was the consequence of something far bigger than just a bad day or a fleeting incident. It was the result of my father's death—his mysterious death, under circumstances that the truth never revealed.
Perhaps others think I'm just living my life normally, that I'm just a twenty-year-old girl dealing with everyday challenges and problems. But the truth is, I walk in a world full of questions without answers, and inside me, there's a deep wound that won't heal. I lost a father I couldn't understand what happened to, and I couldn't find any explanation for what occurred. I couldn't close this dark chapter in my life.
And every time I smiled and said, "I'm fine," those words scattered in the air like sand that could never arrange itself again. That was the only way I could pretend I was fine, while inside, the pain still burned, and the thoughts danced in endless circles.
I had made a vow to myself since I was sixteen, a promise deep in my heart, and it was my personal honor to keep it. It wasn't just a passing decision or a fleeting teenage thought; this vow was a part of my identity, a part of my soul that I could never escape from. I decided I would avenge him, my father, who left under mysterious circumstances, without me being able to understand why, without getting a single answer to explain what happened to him.
I was just beginning my adolescence then, and wonder and absence filled my world. Although I didn't understand everything at the time, I felt something deep inside me, something I couldn't describe in words. My pain was greater than anything else, and my anger pushed me forward. My resolve for revenge was fed by the questions with no answers, by the mystery that surrounded everything.
Years passed, and many things changed, but that vow I made to myself remained alive within me, nourished by doubts and broken hopes. Every time life put me in a difficult situation, I reminded myself that I couldn't give up, because the justice I was waiting for wouldn't come on its own. My eyes were always on the goal, and on the truth that I couldn't let go of.