The wall clock went tick… tock…, its sound echoing through the small room. Morning light pierced the faded curtain, casting slanted bands across the old wooden floor. I lay there, eyes open, staring at the stained ceiling. Every crack, every blotch on the wall was so familiar they felt like scars on my own skin—coexisting, and reminding me of something I could never forget.
"What do people exist for?"—the question rose again in my head, nagging like a wound that never scabs over. I had asked it more times than I could count.
And the answer never came.
Old memories surface whether I want them to or not.
That day… the car was winding along the mountain road. My little sister hugged her teddy bear, laughing, and I teased her, grabbing for it. One careless slip, one clumsy lurch, and my shoulder hit my father's steering arm.
The wheel jerked. Someone screamed. Tires scraped along the asphalt. And then—Crash!
Blinding light. Metal screaming into metal. Shattering glass. My body was hurled sideways. And then… black.
When I came to, the air reeked of gasoline and smoke. In front of me, Dad… Mom… my little sister—none of them were moving. Blood spread like a stain. Only I was still breathing.
I survived. And the truth worse than death was this: it was my fault.
The scar on my forehead is only what shows. Inside, the wound never closes.
Renggggg!
The alarm yanked me out of the wreckage of memory. I sat up and touched my forehead, where the scar ran. A crooked smile tugged at my lips; my eyes burned hot.
"To exist… just to be punished."
I muttered to myself, drew a long breath, and swung my feet off the bed.
This old house used to belong to my grandparents. The wooden walls had faded, the tile roof creaked whenever wind slipped through, and the concrete floor wore stains that would never scrub away. Everything was old, but to me it was the only place that still held a little warmth of family. On the shelf, the chipped frame of our family photo stayed where it always had; I didn't dare throw it away. In the corner, a wooden box of my sister's toys lay under a film of dust.
Passing by, I kicked it.
"Ow!" I hissed, face scrunching as I rubbed my toe. I sighed.
"I should clean this place… after school, maybe."
I washed up, changed into my uniform, clamped a stale baguette in my teeth, and headed for the door. Out of habit I bowed my head, murmuring,
"I'm leaving."
I still said it, even though no one in this house could answer anymore.
A warm hand touched my shoulder. I froze for a beat. That feeling… so familiar I could tell with just a brush.
"Long time no see," I said softly, not turning.
A bright, clear voice chirped behind me at once,
"What do you mean long time? It's been two days, Hayashi-kun!"
And immediately, my ear got yanked down hard.
"Ow ow ow! Easy! I'm a patient here!" I yelped, hands flying up to pry her fingers off.
The owner of the hand was Miyu Aoyama—my childhood friend. The girl everyone at school admired; to me, still the Miyu who used to play hide-and-seek and drag me by the hand across summer fields.
Miyu pouted, still tugging my ear.
"Patient? You don't look like someone who knows how to take care of himself!"
She snatched the baguette from my mouth, took a bite, and gave me a sideways glare.
"You eat this every morning? Doesn't it get old?"
Then she pulled a sandwich from her bag and shoved it into my hands, voice bossy as ever.
"Here. Eat this. And be grateful. I made an extra one for you, not because I care or anything!"
A rare, light smile slipped out of me.
"Much obliged, hime-sama. Your humble servant shall remember this debt forever."
"W-what are you even saying?!" Miyu flushed, spluttered something unintelligible, and reached to pinch my cheek.
This time I was faster, slipping aside as I laughed and jogged off. Her face redder still, she raised a fist and muttered threats I couldn't quite catch.
We walked the familiar road to school.
Trees lined both sides, leaves trembling in the early sun. Birds chattered. Farther off, a few elders took their morning walk; shopfronts rolled open; the wind carried the mixed scents of fresh bread and coffee. The street was busy, full of life.
But inside me, the scene felt like a painting behind glass. I walked beside Miyu, listened to her footsteps tap steady on the pavement, and an old, split feeling rose in my chest.
Miyu tilted her head at me, voice half scolding, half gentle.
"Hey, you're still not okay, are you? Don't force yourself to look strong."
I shook my head, eyes on the ground.
"Okay or not, I still have to keep living."
Miyu was quiet for a few breaths, then suddenly smiled—a clean, bright smile that made my heart ache.
"If you fall, I'll pull you up. That's all."
I turned to those eyes—clear, steady, free of doubt. I knew it was that smile that kept me tethered to this life. I didn't dare say so. Instead, I offered a crooked little grin. I didn't know how long I could stay by her side, but I knew I would protect that smile for the rest of my life.
The schoolyard was crowded. Clusters of students in blue-and-white uniforms squeezed through the gate, laughter flitting everywhere. Leaves skated down; an early autumn breeze slipped by, carrying the garden's faint perfume.
As Miyu and I stepped through the gate, eyes gathered the way they always did. Whispering. Curious glances. A little envy.
Miyu was famous—pretty face, graceful build, smart, kind. Plenty of boys chased her, but she always walked next to me. That alone kept me from ever having peace.
But today, it wasn't just because of Miyu. When I entered the classroom, the air dipped a degree.
A few classmates shuffled over with stiff faces.
"Hayashi… you okay?"
"I'm sorry about your family…"
I smiled and nodded them away. Those words felt like dull knives in my chest—not sharp enough to pierce, just heavy and suffocating.
Others only stared and turned aside, as if my presence made them itch. And among them was Kenta Sato.
Kenta slouched in the back row, eyes narrowed, mouth curled into a mean little sneer. I remembered our first day of high school; he and his crew tried to bully me. It ended differently—his boys in the hospital, me suspended for a week. He hadn't laid a hand on me since, but the hatred in his eyes never left.
I sighed, quietly took my seat, and pulled out my books.
Heels clicked across the tiles. Our teacher walked in and tapped the ruler on the desk.
"Let's begin Math."
The chatter died at once. I opened my book, took out my pen… and put my head down.
Old habit. When I didn't want to think, I pretended to sleep.
I heard the teacher sigh softly, but she didn't press. By now they all knew I kept up—even without listening. I'd been called to the board cold more than once, and every time I solved the problem, faster than the model solution. They'd stopped trying to force anything out of me.
I closed my eyes. Couldn't sleep. Someone was staring. I cracked an eye open.
Miyu.
Those clear eyes were fixed on me, full of worry and reproach. Not the playful look she wore when joking—this one was serious enough to make me swallow.
I squeezed out a weak smile and whispered,
"Don't look at me like that. I'm fine."
She shook her head. Said nothing. Turned back to the lesson, but her fingers clenched the pen tight, as if holding back words.
In that moment, I realized—no matter how far I tried to drift from people, Miyu always reeled me back.
The bell rengggged, splitting the silence. The room exploded: chairs scraped, voices rose, laughter bounced off the walls. Everything brightened—except my corner.
My chest felt heavy. I needed air. Needed to step out of the fake brightness.
I stood. "Gonna grab a drink."
Outside, the yard blazed with sun. Students clustered along the corridors, their voices floating everywhere. To my ears, it all felt distant.
I walked to the vending machine under the eaves. Dropped in coins; a can of iced coffee clunked down. I popped it open and took a swig. Bitter spread across my tongue, trailing a thin sweetness at the end.
"Yaaah…" I exhaled, tipping my face to the sky. For a flicker, I felt like I existed.
Then—shff!
A faint sound from behind the machine snapped me back.
I frowned, moved quietly, and leaned around to look.
Three silhouettes. Three big boys boxing a girl in.
Behind the vending machine, in that blind corner no one noticed, three tall guys were blocking a girl's path.
She wore our school uniform, small enough to be swallowed up between them. Long black hair fell loose; a delicate face; wide eyes bright with worry. She was clearly a high schooler, but her slight frame and innocent features made me think of my sister—a shard of memory that never truly left me.
The spiky-haired one tilted his chin, mouth twisting.
"Hand over the cash, pipsqueak. Don't make us mad."
I stepped forward, voice flat.
"Three big guys bullying one girl… You don't feel ashamed?"
They all spun at the sound. Their faces changed as soon as they saw me.
"H—Hayashi Akira…" one gulped.
"The guy who took on ten at the start of the year…" another stammered.
I let a thin, cold smile show.
"Oh? So you've heard of me."
Spiky-hair tried to bluster.
"Not your business. Beat it, or—"
"My mood's rotten," I cut in, taking a step, eyes gone dark. "If you want a fight, I'll oblige."
The biggest one roared and charged, fist straight as a spear.
Whip!
I tilted my head; the punch slid past. My body moved on its own—rear foot turned, right hand coiled.
Crack!
An uppercut snapped into his jaw. The big body crashed to the pavement and lay still. Blood spilled from his nose.
I exhaled and stuffed a wad of gauze from my pocket into his nostrils, voice like ice.
"Sleep. Trash."
The other two went pale. One stuttered,
"S-sempai… we're sorry! We're leaving!"
They grabbed their friend and bolted without looking back.
Silence flowed back in. I turned to the small girl. She stood very still, hands clamped on her bag straps. Her gaze on me was bright in a strange way—not grateful. Assessing.
I paused, masking my unease, and stepped closer. I set a hand on her head.
"It's over. If they bother you again, come find me."
She looked up, lips pressed tight. No thanks. No plea. Just quiet.
A prick of annoyance flickered, but I told myself she was probably still scared. I withdrew my hand and turned away.
That was when her voice sounded—clear as a bell, and cold enough to raise gooseflesh.
"Careful behind you."
Shff!
Air split. A knife flashed at my back.
"Kh—"
By the time I twisted, it was too late.
Slice!
The blade drove into my abdomen. Pain shot up my spine, white hot, knocking the breath from me. Warm blood soaked my shirt. My knees wobbled; my breaths rasped.
Sound shattered around me. The girl's scream. The fleeing footsteps of the knifeman. All of it echoed far away.
My vision blurred.
In the last instant, my family's faces surfaced again. My sister holding out her bear. My parents smiling in the front seats.
I tried to open my mouth, but managed only a shredded whisper.
"…I'm… sorry…"
And then the darkness swallowed everything.