There was once a boy. He was born without the slightest trace of emotion toward the world.
When hungry, he ate; when tired, he rested; when bored, he caused trouble. In that boy's eyes, everyone was the same—either loud and obnoxious, utterly dull, or simply annoying. He knew exactly what he needed to do, how he ought to behave, and how to act in order to achieve success on this grand stage called the World.
But he had no interest in it. He didn't like it, and he didn't want to do it.
The boy merely fulfilled his lessons perfectly, completed what was known as his "life," as if it were nothing more than a job.
Thus, he did not crave happiness. He harbored no dreams or desires whatsoever.
He was truly empty. Calling him a puppet would have been far more fitting than calling him human.
He praised no heroes. He hated no villains. He cared nothing for good, yet admired no evil.
No joy, no sadness, no anger, no depravity, no love, and no hatred.
Was he pitiful? Was his existence tragic? Others looking in would say he was a sorrowful creature, and that his life was a tragedy.
But if he himself couldn't be bothered to care, could it truly be called a tragedy?
No one knew that the very first words the boy ever uttered were not the cries of infancy or calls for his parents, but rather:
"Nonsense."
A nonsensical world.
That was the boy's very first thought—the boy who would later call himself Yumeji Satsuki.
So how did that boy end up the way he is now?
To understand that, we must first know who he truly was.
The boy who called himself Yumeji Satsuki was far from ordinary, contrary to how he viewed himself. Since he initially cared for nothing at all, in his eyes, ordinary and extraordinary were one and the same.
Thus, his perspective at the time held essentially no value. Let us instead view things from a more objective standpoint.
The boy was born into a relatively wealthy family, with a father who was a famous actor and a mother who was a highly skilled chef at a three-Michelin-star restaurant in Italy.
One could say he led a rather comfortable life up until the age of ten.
Even though the boy loved no one, he still managed to become a popular student at school—simply by doing what was expected of him.
With an exceptional memory, deft hands, and a naturally handsome face inherited from his parents, he had earned the affection of the girls since he was very young.
A person worthy of envy.
Or perhaps not.
For the boy always accepted gifts with a fake smile, only to toss them away without ever bothering to open them even once.
His piggy bank overflowed with money, because he cared nothing for spending on himself.
The toys in his home were merely gifts from others—he had no real interest in them.
And "others" included his own parents.
If there was anything that the emotionless boy found even slightly enjoyable, it was soaking in hot springs.
Born and raised in Hokkaido, he had grown accustomed to the harsh cold from an early age and developed the local habit of frequenting onsen.
Among the scant affections he held for himself—the instincts that drove him to eat, sleep, and rest properly—if forced to choose between like and dislike, he preferred winter over summer, biting cold over sweltering heat, and watching snow fall over ogling beauties at the beach.
That preference remained unchanged even after he grew up.
If the supremely bland boy had any hobby at all in his absurd life, it would be playing with the snow monkeys at the hot springs. Even when they teased him and stole his belongings, rather than getting angry, he found it amusing and joined in games of chase, tossing things back and forth with them.
Most of the time, the boy ended up losing his things—or bumping his head from slipping while running in the bathhouse. Or catching a cold from lacking proper clothes on the way home.
But all the same, back then, it could still be considered a small pleasure for that peculiar boy.
The turning point came on his eleventh birthday. It wasn't quite a fall into ruin, but it was certainly an event massive enough to shatter his life.
A scandal involving a famous actor.
Fame invites countless unwanted attentions. Minor incidents that others might overlook can explode into sensational news when committed by a celebrity.
Swearing, causing a disturbance, badmouthing someone behind their back. Or posting photos to mock another's image.
If an ordinary person did such things, most people would merely feel annoyed and turn a blind eye, as long as it didn't go too far. Hot-tempered folks might speak up, criticize, and spark an online war of words to see whose tongue was sharper. But no matter how heated it got, it rarely made the evening news.
Most onlookers joined in for the entertainment, treating such arguments as light amusement rather than a serious issue.
But what if the perpetrator was famous?
-KAAAAABOOOOMMMM!!
In an instant, it turned into a cheap, endless TV drama. Reporters with noses keener than hounds and persistence rivaling cockroaches swarmed around your home.
Harassing you nonstop. Digging for dirt, searching for anything to stir up more public outrage.
What? Anonymously posting to tarnish a rival's reputation?
Hot scoop, folks!! At least that's how it spread on everyone's lips.
Isn't it strange? Celebrities aren't three-headed, six-armed monsters or divine beings. Yet the moment they slip up even slightly, the internet erupts in uproar. It's almost comical.
People love projecting the ideal images they themselves can't achieve onto idols and celebrities—as if those stars owed them something.
But none of that affected the boy in the slightest.
Nor was it the true reason his family fell apart.
The real problem came a month later.
"I heard you groped a schoolgirl on the subway, didn't you?"
"No way—I was just protecting her from those dirty old perverts."
"Spare me the excuses. Isn't that just how you are? If not for your habit of touching everything in sight, I wouldn't even be here."
"Yeah! Yeah! You're the perfect one!! Didn't you stick with me because you craved the title of 'famous movie star's wife'!?"
"What did you just say!?"
"Am I wrong!? Without me, your rundown little restaurant back then would've stayed obscure! And now look—you're head chef at a three-star place in Italy! How nice for you!!"
"You scum!"
"You fame-hungry bitch!!"
Even as the family crumbled and his parents screamed insults at each other, the boy continued eating normally, watching TV, and going to bed as if nothing had happened.
Even when his father grabbed him, intending to beat him for his indifferent, infuriating attitude, the boy didn't care in the least.
Still empty as ever.
"Why YOU!!!"
Just as his father raised a fist, his mother stepped in and stopped him.
"Stop it. Haven't you caused enough trouble already?"
"What do you want now!!"
"Those reporters outside are waiting for their chance, you know!? What more do you plan to add—child abuse charges!?"
"Tch! Let go."
After pulling back his arm, the boy's father stormed off.
"That bastard Ayato... Sigh. And you too, Satsuki—you can't keep drifting through life like this forever. Why not make some friends? It might change you for the better. And also... never mind."
"...."
Everything had become noisy—that was all the boy thought.
His ordinary days ended there.
Of course, his parents had already compensated the girl for emotional damages.
Naturally, that too caused quite a stir in public opinion.
The media ran wild with the story for a while. After all, a top-tier star messing with a high school girl was far too juicy for reporters to sit idly by without embellishing it further.
Fortunately, it didn't escalate to the point of needing a retrial.
And what did those dedicated journalists do next?
Naturally, they buried their noses in investigating the actor's family background, hoping to unearth more scandalous dirt.
Stars have bodyguards to fend off reporters. But what about a star's child?
Well, in most cases, such kids would have private drivers.
But that didn't apply to this boy. There was no deep emotional bond between him and his parents.
A boy who, from birth, instinctively knew what he needed and ought to do without guidance. One who could care for himself—like a pre-programmed machine.
He expected nothing from others.
And sought nothing for himself.
The boy merely existed.
He had never truly lived.
On that rainy day, when he faced the swarm of nosy reporters, he simply pulled up his raincoat hood and put on his headphones.
A child with no responsibility in this matter. No need to get involved.
He ignored them all, treating them like thin air, utterly disregarding the world's gossip as he leisurely walked to school.
The boy loved no one, and hated no one. Fundamentally, no one in the world was special to him.
—Yet in a certain sense, you could say he loved everyone equally. Because, after all, loving everything is the same as loving nothing.
....Just kidding. A being like that could never be called human. And that was never the kind of character the boy was, nor the mold he would grow into.
In countless cheap novels, this would be the moment to trot out clichéd tropes like bullying or isolation—but as mentioned earlier, those are overused to the point of nausea, and they would absolutely not apply to this boy.
How could there be a tragic past when the boy simply ignored everything he didn't care about?
He was certainly not the sociable type, nor the affectionate, cute, or endearing sort.
Yet he possessed a presence that others couldn't easily dismiss—a person competent enough to handle his own affairs, agreeable enough to listen to others, perceptive enough to notice their problems, and idle enough to lend a hand when convenient.
Ten billion percent, the boy was not a good person.
Ten billion percent, he was not the admirable type.
Ten billion percent, he could never become the center of any group.
Ten billion percent, he was definitely not likable.
Ten billion percent, he was not gentle.
Not kind, not extraordinary, not brilliant, approachable, or worthy of affection. Nor was he the type to always succeed and triumph.
Truth be told, he was often hopeless, losing far more than he won, and harboring no grand dreams or ambitions.
He was undoubtedly a human lacking empathy. So how could someone like that live comfortably, even famously, without ever running into trouble?
He should have been the kind most easily discarded by society, right?
The reason was simple: the emotionless boy despised trouble above all else. And to eliminate that trouble, he employed tools that others shunned and avoided.
He held no definitions of good or evil.
Thus, if he couldn't be friendly, he would pretend to be.
If he couldn't speak kindly, he would lie.
If he couldn't be benevolent, he would be a hypocrite.
If he couldn't be extraordinary, he would be base.
If he had no dreams or aspirations, he would spout absurdities.
If he couldn't win, he would run away.
Certainly, the above were a pile of ridiculous notions that would degrade a person.
But not Yumeji Satsuki.
Because he harbored no attachments. In the grand scheme, Yumeji Satsuki was the most selfish being alive.
Yet he was also the one most devoid of greed, hatred, and delusion beneath the heavens.
There are evils and wrongs that destroy people.
But there are also evils and wrongs that can heal a puppet.
For the best cure for a soulless puppet is... to break it.
Didn't someone once say that a malfunctioning machine—one that glitches and errs—is the most human machine of all?
It's a common trope in every sci-fi film about machines and artificial intelligence, isn't it?
Humans are imperfect creations of God.
So to become human, the more imperfect you are, the better.
Make mistakes, correct them, lose and then struggle to stand again and start over. That is what humans have always done, and it is how humanity inches forward toward the future.
Certainly, this was not something a puppet could do.
Nor was it something his father or mother could achieve. Slightly off-topic, but it also had nothing to do with his delinquent older sister, currently busy preparing for university entrance exams in Tokyo.
It was because of a friend.
A strange friend. A troublesome and stubborn one, who didn't care whether he was accepted or not.
Someone perpetually cheerful, yet cunning and scheming in ways that were terrifyingly unpredictable.
And an utterly incorrigible brat who had clung to Yumeji ever since the autumn of their fourth-grade year.
The stubborn soul who persistently swung a hammer to shatter a certain puppet and turn it into a human.
The one who cheerfully declared: You must learn to hate before you can love. You must know sadness and boredom before speaking of joy and exhilaration. You must understand pain before grasping happiness. You must encounter evil before discussing good.
A supremely bizarre, troublesome, and annoying person.
The first friend of the puppet named Yumeji Satsuki.
A human named—Uchimiya Hazuki.
A clown who never stopped smiling.
*****
—Yumeji Satsuki (?)
While my mind was still foggy from a journey that had exceeded the speed of light, a voice suddenly spoke right beside me.
<
Snapping back a little, I turned to stare blankly at the beautiful boy sitting next to me.
"Why is it you again? And what the hell is this place? Am I still not awake?"
I grumbled softly, glancing around, only to realize I was in an utterly deserted movie theater shrouded in pitch-black darkness.
Just as I started to turn and look behind me, the kid reached out and stopped me.
"Hey, hey, you really shouldn't look back there right now~ There's no one behind us, and it's not an interesting place to look at anyway~"
"Why the hell should I listen to you? And what's with the sudden change in tone?"
I frowned slightly at being blocked. Though curiosity was gnawing at me, urging me to whip my head around and see what was back there, I held back—I didn't want to get tangled up with this kid over something trivial.
-Crunch, crunch.
"Hmm? You're asking why I'm using this tone? Simple—we have to stay quiet while the movie's playing. It's basic manners~"
The kid said this while munching on a few pieces of popcorn.
The more I listened, the stranger it felt. No matter how you looked at it, this was an empty theater with not a soul in sight—so why bother keeping quiet?
Well, perhaps there was "something" behind us watching the film, making silence necessary.
As that thought crossed my mind, the boy beside me pulled another cup of popcorn out of thin air and handed it to me.
"Here, for you. The movie's about to start, so let's watch together."
"A movie?"
I asked again after taking the cup, and he pointed straight ahead.
There was an absurdly huge screen, still dark—wait, no, it had just lit up.
I tilted my head slightly, watching the countdown on the screen as I popped a piece of popcorn into my mouth.
And then, the film began.
The first scene I saw was inside a burning, crumbling church.
The main doors were smashed to pieces, pews lay scattered everywhere, and countless shards of stained glass littered the floor.
The curtains—now fallen to the ground—and several pews in the church were blazing fiercely, thick black smoke billowing upward.
But that visually shocking scene wasn't what drew my gaze.
What captured my attention was the battle between two figures inside the church.
More precisely, the fight between a girl with blazing red hair and a monstrous being.
But there was one problem...
No matter how much her appearance had changed, I could still recognize her easily, even with my eyes half-closed.
Because no matter which way I looked at it, the red-haired girl on the screen—like a raging demoness—was unmistakably—
"Master!?"
None other than Fu Hua, my master.