How do you kill someone?
A knife?A bullet?Strangulation?
All of these work.
But the best way?
The best way is to break a man emotionally.
To shatter his mind.
To make him suffer so deeply that he either kills himself… or kills someone else.
After that, they are nothing more than a lifeless man, breathing but already dead inside.
For someone living in a normal world, these thoughts are too dark. People in good society stay inside their safe little bubbles, convinced that crime is something distant, something that happens to others.
But what happens when that bubble bursts?
What happens when someone from a good society gets pulled into a world of crime?
This is what my story is about.
I'm the man who killed someone.
I took a life—a real, breathing person is gone because of me. And for that, I don't deserve to live.
I don't deserve to be alive.
And all of this happened because of one person.
One robbery.
One murder.
One night.
Before That Night
Before that night, I was just like you. A normal guy. A corporate employee, stuck in the 9-to-5 grind, working overtime. My world was small—home, office, repeat. When I had time, I played games, watched movies, hung out with friends. Just like you. Just like anyone.
We weren't just similar.
We were the same.
This isn't just my story.
It's ours.
The story of a common man. A normal guy.
You. Me. Us.
The Night That Changed Everything
That night was just like any other. Another late shift, another night spent drowning in work. I was used to it—numb to the exhaustion, the quiet hum of an empty office.
When I finally stepped outside, a sudden gust of wind sent a chill down my spine. I looked up—the sky stretched endlessly above me, a perfect full moon surrounded by countless stars. For a moment, I forgot about everything, lost in the beauty of the night.
Then reality crept back in.
The buses were long gone, leaving me with only one option—a taxi. It wouldn't take me all the way home, just to the entrance of my neighborhood. And, of course, it was expensive. But I had no choice.
When I stepped out of the cab, I took in my surroundings. Silent streets. Neatly lined houses. A peaceful place. A good place.
A place with good people.
Yet, as I walked, a strange feeling crept over me.
I couldn't explain why, but something felt… off. Like the night was holding its breath, waiting.
But then I looked around—the familiar houses, the dim porch lights, the quiet hum of distant traffic. Nothing was out of place. Just another ordinary night in an ordinary neighborhood. Not a rich, polished district, but a place full of people trying to get by. Good people. Honest people.
They didn't deserve what was coming.
Neither did I.
Mr. Kurosawa's Shop
As I walked down the street, I noticed something unusual—a small group of people gathered outside Mr. Kurosawa's shop.
That was strange.
He was a good man, a kind man—the kind of person who never turned anyone away. More than once, he had saved a meal for me on nights when I worked late. But he always closed early. He never stayed this late.
Something about the scene felt… off. The people weren't just customers. Their movements were tense, their voices low. I should have ignored it and kept walking.
But I didn't.
Instead, I thought, Why not stop by? Say hello, maybe grab a bite to eat.
It was the worst decision of my life.
I should have just gone home.
Blood and a Knife
As I stepped closer, I heard a noise—the sound of utensils clattering, as if someone was desperately searching for something. But it wasn't just one person. There were four.
I ignored it and kept walking toward the entrance.
And then, right before the doorway, my eyes collided with a figure lying on the floor.
Blood.
A deep red pool, spreading.
And in the reflection of the glass door, I saw it—a shiny object. A knife.
My mind struggled to process it. My body, however, reacted first. A rush of adrenaline hit me like a shockwave. My vision sharpened. My breath caught. I looked closer.
It was Mr. Kurosawa.
Mr. Kurosawa, lying lifeless on the floor.
Mr. Kurosawa's blood, painting the tiles.
Mr. Kurosawa, murdered.
Then, suddenly—my brain screamed at me. RUN. JUST RUN. RUN! It was as if my instincts had seen something my conscious mind hadn't yet grasped. My feet turned on their own, ready to flee.
But before I could move—
BANG.
A deafening sound cracked through my skull. Pain exploded in my head. The world spun.
As I collapsed, my vision blurred, but just before everything went dark...
I saw a face.
A face that looked exactly like mine.
Captive
When I came to, the first thing I felt was the rope.
Thick. Tight. Unyielding.
I tried to move—even just a finger—but nothing budged. My limbs were useless, bound too tightly to fight back. I kept my eyes shut, forcing myself to stay still. Listen first. Figure out where you are.
Then, voices.
Man 1: "Hey, Jack, that old man deserved a more dramatic death. We should've made a show out of it."
Man 2: "Yeah. The way he kept nagging at us—'Abandon this life. Be good people'—God, what a joke."
Man 3: "Seriously. I thought I was standing in front of Gandhi himself."
Laughter. Casual. Cruel.
Then, Jack's voice cut through the noise.
Jack: "Shut up, all of you. He got exactly what he deserved. Stabbed once. Left to rot. Just like the pig he was."
Silence.
Then, slowly, as if savoring the moment—
Jack: "What do you think about it, young man?"
A pause.
Jack:
"I know you're awake."