My name is Yukiro Kotsuki. I was born into a world that never wanted me, and from the first breath I took, I was treated as though I was nothing more than a mistake. My parents never saw me as their child—they saw me as a shadow, a constant reminder of something they despised.
I still remember those nights vividly. I was barely six years old when my father's anger started to spill onto me. His fists were heavy, his breath smelled of alcohol, and his words cut deeper than any blade could. "Why were you even born?" he would shout, his voice echoing through the cramped house. My body would hit the wooden floor again and again, the metallic taste of blood filling my mouth. I didn't fight back—I couldn't. I was too weak, too small. I just clenched my tiny hands into fists and prayed it would end.
My mother was no better. Sometimes, her silence was worse than his beatings. She'd watch from the kitchen doorway, her face twisted with disgust, like I was some stray dog that had wandered into her home. At times, she'd join in, hurling words sharper than knives. "You ruined everything the day you were born. If only it had been you instead of your brother."
My brother. The one person I never met, yet somehow, I was forced to carry the weight of his absence. They told me he died before I was born, and from that day, my parents decided my existence was nothing more than a cruel joke. To them, I was the replacement that could never measure up.
Those years blurred together—days filled with beatings, nights filled with tears I cried quietly into my pillow so they wouldn't hear. I learned how to hide bruises beneath long sleeves, how to keep my head down at school so no one would ask questions. I became invisible, a ghost haunting the world of the living.
But fate has a strange sense of humor. When I was nine, a distant relative adopted me. At first, I thought it was salvation. Maybe, just maybe, I could finally find a place where I belonged. But life doesn't grant miracles so easily. The new household gave me food, clothes, and a roof over my head, but love? Acceptance? Those were luxuries I wasn't worthy of. They treated me politely in front of others, but behind closed doors, their eyes told me the truth: I was still unwanted.
School wasn't any kinder. Kids can be cruel, and they sensed weakness in me like wolves scenting blood. My thin frame, my quiet voice, the rumors that I was "weird" or "cursed"—it all painted a target on my back. Shoves in the hallway, whispers behind my back, stolen lunches, laughter echoing in my ears as I sat alone. Every day, I told myself I'd get used to it. Every day, I lied.
Still, I endured. Because what else could I do?
Years passed, and I learned to live with the emptiness. I told myself I didn't need anyone. But deep down, I longed for a single spark of warmth, someone to prove I wasn't as worthless as the world made me out to be. That spark came when I was in high school.
Her name was Miashi Aiko.
She wasn't like the others. At least, that's what I believed. She smiled at me in the hallways, her voice gentle when she asked if I'd eaten lunch. She laughed at my awkward jokes, the kind no one else would bother listening to. For the first time in my life, I felt seen. I felt human.
It started small. We'd talk after class, sometimes walking home together. She'd ask about my day, and though I kept most of my darkness hidden, I found myself opening up little by little. Every word she spoke chipped away at the walls I had built around my heart.
One afternoon, we sat beneath the cherry blossom tree near the school gates. The petals drifted down around her, catching in her hair as the sun painted her face in gold. I stared, and for the first time, I allowed myself to dream. Dream that maybe I wasn't destined to be alone forever. Dream that maybe, just maybe, someone could love me.
That night, I couldn't sleep. My heart raced as I clutched a pen in my hand, staring at the blank page of a notebook. I had never confessed my feelings to anyone before. The words came haltingly, shaky and uncertain, but they were mine. "Miashi, I like you. I've liked you for so long. Will you go out with me?" I read it over and over, my hands trembling. It was the most terrifying thing I had ever written, and yet, it was also the most hopeful.
The next day, I slipped the folded note into her locker before homeroom. My chest felt like it would burst. Every second was torture as I waited, imagining her reading it, imagining her smile. For the first time in years, I dared to hope.
I didn't know then that hope can be the cruelest weapon of all.
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