Yuki:
I find myself lying in darkness.
Nothing but plain, dull, uninspired blackness.
I mean, come on—can't my subconscious, or whatever's responsible for this, conjure up something remotely entertaining to cheer me up?
You know those scenes in movies or shows where a character's about to die, and the screen cuts to black before jumping to a totally different scene? That's what this feels like.
My goddamn life is a cliffhanger right now.
And no, I'm not saying that in some cringy, pseudo-deep Instagram way. I'm literally dying. The bleeding-out kind of dying, to be precise.
Spoiler: it's not that comfortable when you're lying on a warehouse floor in Yokohama with your throat slashed.
Uncomfortable how? Well, I can't feel anything anymore—just my thoughts slowing down, like…
Wait, what was I saying again?
"But Yuki, you stunningly handsome bastard, how did you end up like this?"
That's probably what you're thinking.
Well, as you may have forgotten—again, I'm bleeding out—I'm not wasting my last brain cells explaining the how right now.
I'll tell you later.
That is, if I get saved by plot armor and someone decides I'm still relevant to the story.
Anyway, where was I?
Oh, right—darkness.
I don't know if this makes me controversial or whatever, but I'd really prefer not to see my least favorite thing right before I die.
It paints death in such a negative light—like it's something terrifying. Seeing nothing but black right before the end feels like the universe mocking you. A final "screw you" for daring to exist.
Death is an unpredictable mystery. And here I am, wondering what'll happen to my soul, my consciousness. Will I transform into something else… or just disappear?
It's wild how religion and philosophy gave the soul a purpose beyond memory or emotion. Death is natural, just like sleeping or eating, but we don't panic about those. The anxiety comes from not being able to control or predict when it happens.
Personally, I've never feared it more or less than I fear hunger or thirst.
Well…
That was before.
Now that I'm staring it in the face, I've realized something:
Dying is just… waiting.
Waiting until you can't think anymore.
Waiting until you stop waiting.
Kind of lame, honestly. Doesn't live up to the dramatics of TV deaths.
Then again, dramatic death scenes are often lazy writing. When writers can't make a character interesting, they just slap a sad flashback on their death and hope it means something.
But death? It's really just… nothing.
Just waiting.
Alright, enough of this poetic, overdramatic nonsense. Let's get back to what really matters: my lazy-ass subconscious.
Assuming it's even the one in charge of death sequences.
What do I know? I'm just a high school kid.
But if my subconscious is calling the shots, then why the hell is it giving me this plain, black wallpaper-of-doom aesthetic?
Why not a sunflower field?
A beach at sunset?
A cosmic explosion of psychedelic lights?
Or, even better—an anime adaptation of JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Steel Ball Run, done in full, every chapter, god-tier animation.
"Yuki, maybe think about your family or how they'll react to your death, instead of obsessing over anime adaptations."
Yeah, yeah. I get it. That's probably what you're thinking while reading this.
But here's the thing—
Even if I'm dying, I still deserve some form of entertainment.
And dying while consumed by grief over how your family will mourn you? That doesn't sound like a peaceful end either, does it?
…You know what?
I've changed my mind. I'll give you something.
My name's Yuki Sato.
Seventeen years old.
Lived in Tokyo.
I was murdered by a classmate during a school-based murder investigation.
I was completely alone. Dragged into a bottomless pit that pushed my mind to its limits.
And as insane as it sounds—it was the best experience of my life.
I was good at it.
No—phenomenal.
I was happy in it.
And no, I still won't tell you exactly how it all went down.
You'll have to wait.
But one thing's for sure—
I regret absolutely nothing.
I just wish I'd discovered this hunger for challenge a little earlier.