Close your eyes, take a deep breath, and try to feel everything around you—
then ask yourself this question:
Why am I here in this world? What is the secret of my existence? If I live or die, will that make any difference in this vast universe?
The depth of the oceans, the vastness of the forests, the endless sky—will I ever find a place of my own,
or will I remain trapped within this question forever, until I fade away…
to be nothing, and have nothing.
Does thinking this way disturb you?
That's what always runs through my mind.
Everything I've done in my life has been a search for the right answer to it.
I'm trapped in darkness, unsure when I'll ever see the light again.
But what I've always feared most is this:
Was I truly a good person… or a merciless oppressor?
Is taking your right back from those who wronged you, even against their will, considered cruelty or crossing the line?
I had to use something far beyond their strength to overcome them.
It was the only way to reclaim what was stolen from me—
to crush those weaker than you before they crush you.
No matter how much life tries to fool you into thinking it's fair,
the truth is—it's brutally unjust.
It always sides with the strong and spares no mercy for the weak,
for those who have no power, no means to defend themselves.
(Adam Nishimura) — that's me.
Yet I still don't know whether I was a follower of the devil
or someone trying to find redemption for his sins.
All I'm certain of… is my name.
Quiet tears, a tender heart, gentle features—
that's how I always imagined my mother.
She's the last memory I have of her in my mind.
But what comforts me is that I look exactly like her—
my features are soft and childlike no matter how old I get,
and my large, dark eyes are like those of a puppy.
My skin is pale white, like cotton.
I see her every time I look at my reflection in the mirror.
And I also have a very gentle heart—just like hers.
I believe she gave me her heart before she left this world.
Yes… I'm smiling now.
I smile every time I remember my mother.
But what saddens me the most
is that I don't really have a mother.
I grew up in an orphanage since I was only a few days old.
I'm shocked too!
Who was that woman I was talking about at the beginning?
Distorted questions with no answers—
they really make me feel sorrowful.
Day after day, year after year—
nothing changes except my body's details
and my overwhelming feeling of being lost.
Who am I?
I want to find myself—
to find the answer to every cursed question stuck in my head.
Autumn, 2000 — Tokyo, Japan
It was a very rainy day, and the temperature was near freezing.
That was the day I left the orphanage.
I had just turned eighteen,
and the law required that I leave at that age.
I was deeply attached to the place—
not because I loved it,
but because I feared the unknown.
I knew nothing about the world except its name.
I was content to stay, even with the cruel treatment of Mama—the caretaker at the orphanage—and the director.
I could endure it; I was used to it.
But I didn't want to face the outside world alone.
I was terrified—terrified to death.
Even though I had passed the university entrance exam,
I wasn't happy about it at all.
Since then, fear began to scatter through my mind,
as if I were just a cowardly fool with no will of his own.
As much as I hated leaving,
it was something inevitable—
something that would happen whether I liked it or not.
My peers gathered around me,
murmuring the same worn-out farewell words
they said to everyone who left before me.
I wasn't very sad.
I hadn't formed any strong friendships with anyone.
I always felt that I needed to stay distant—
I didn't want to get attached to anyone.
It haunted me and hurt me inside.
Was it the fear of losing someone that I truly feared?
Footsteps—feminine ones—approached slowly toward the dormitory.
The door handle turned and opened gently…
My eyes darted around the room,
my mind filled with fearful thoughts.
My breathing grew faster,
and my heart felt like it was about to burst from my chest.
I was really scared.
I wished I had a mother to go back to.
I didn't want to end up on the streets…
or have something taken from my body.
Then I heard a voice calling my name over and over again:
"Adam, Adam, Adam, Adam! What are you thinking about so deeply, my boy?"
Suddenly, I realized—it was Mama, the caretaker.
She smiled at me with a fake, empty smile and said:
"So, are you ready? Your life's journey is just beginning.
Come on, pack your things quickly so we can leave together.
I have a surprise for you, too."
I felt confused.
What did she mean?
It wasn't like her to be kind or speak gently.
It was unsettling.
I stammered nervously,
"Y-yes, I've prepared everything… I'll come with you now, Mama."
Her happiness seemed to overflow—
as if she had just won a lottery.
She said, "I'm so excited! I'll tell you on the way."
I carried my belongings and stood beside her as we walked.
It was a strange feeling.
What was happening?
I turned my face toward her, forcing a fake smile.
"Mama, tell me—what's the surprise you want to tell me about?"
She moved closer, placed her palm on my cheek, and said softly:
"I always knew you'd become someone great—someone who would benefit us one day."
I didn't understand what she meant at the time.
I stayed silent and continued walking beside her,
looking at the alley of the orphanage where I had lived my entire life.
I didn't know what I was feeling—
was it nostalgia?
A word I had only read about in books.
When we reached the orphanage gate,
she stopped walking.
Her face turned serious.
"Mama": "You've been accepted into the Faculty of Psychiatry.
Men from the orphanage are here to take you
to the university dorms where you'll stay."
I didn't feel happy at all—
instead, I was terrified.
Tears filled my eyes, and I began to cry,
grabbing her shoulders tightly.
"I don't want to leave! Please, let me stay here.
I'll give up studying—I'll work here for free. Just don't make me go."
She pried my hands off her shoulders.
Her expression turned cold and cruel,
and she snapped at me with all the harsh words she could find:
"We don't need a bastard like you working here.
Go with them now—and don't ever show me your face again, understood?"
I hadn't expected much from her,
but I never wanted to hear that word.
I had wished—just once—that she might love me, even a little.
But after hearing what she said,
I truly hated her with all my heart.
I stepped back, staring at her face,
my own filled with disappointment and heartbreak.
I clenched my fists tightly,
trying to keep myself from crying.
I fell silent.
Completely silent.
Then I quietly walked away with the men who came for me.
Even if they were taking me straight to hell—
so be it.
I no longer wanted to stay in a place
shared with a woman like her ever again.
Next....