~It is humans who build the emptiness within themselves—not other people, nor the outside world.~
What would you answer if someone asked: what moment has left the deepest mark on your life?
On the surface, the question sounds simple—almost trivial. Yet for most people, the answer is never truly clear. Many grow old without ever knowing which moment truly defined their lives; a silent moment that, without a sound, shaped who they would eventually become.
If that question were directed at me, I could only take a long breath, look up at the sky, and slowly dive back into a past buried beneath layers of time.
And every time I do, my thoughts always anchor at one point—the time when I was just sixteen, maybe close to seventeen. A fragile age, when the heart cracks easily, and something that seems small can become the beginning of destruction… or the foundation of the person we eventually become.
That was when I saw her.
A girl being bullied by her peers in the corridor leading to the cafeteria. It wasn't the first incident, and certainly not the cruelest. But what happened afterward—what came out of that girl's mouth—slowly shattered everything I thought I understood about people.
About fear.
About surrender.
About how someone is supposed to react when cornered with no escape.
Because everything changed with just a few sentences.
"If your anger really goes that far, then why don't you just finish me right now—cut off my head with that knife and end it all?"
Words that should never have come from the lips of a girl as graceful as she was.
The evening sunlight struck her face, sharpening a gaze that seemed capable of shaking leaves from the tree standing silently behind her. There was something… empty there. Not ordinary emptiness—but the kind that swallows back anyone who dares look into it.
That was when I knew: she was different.
She was an anomaly.
----------------------------------------------------------------
1. Who Am I?
As I said before—at sixteen, maybe nearing seventeen—I was nobody. Not popular, not special, not outstanding at anything. But I had enough friends to make sure I never appeared completely alone.
My life moved in a nearly numb pattern. So boring I felt I could live it with my eyes closed: wake up, shower, breakfast, go to school, go home, dinner with my parents, sleep—and the next day, everything repeated without change.
Routine. A hamster wheel. No deeper meaning inside it.
Of course, as a teenager, I felt the urge to try things considered "naughty" but not truly dangerous—watching adult films, pulling pranks, drinking alcohol in narrow alleys with friends.
Yes… I tried all of it.
But always half-heartedly.
The moment dizziness crept in, I stopped. The moment I imagined my parents finding out, I backed away. I was too cowardly—and perhaps too aware of my own limits.
At least until that day.
There was something about that day—something that made everything different. Not because I did something dangerous. But because I saw something I was never meant to see.
A crack inside someone.
Or perhaps… an abyss.
----------------------------------------------------------------
2. That Evening Corridor
School hours had long ended. The clock had passed five in the afternoon when I returned to the classroom just to retrieve a novel I had left behind—a novel I wasn't supposed to read, and definitely didn't want discovered by the guidance counselor who loved rummaging through desk drawers under the excuse of "caring about students."
I took the shortcut through the cafeteria corridor—a quieter path.
That was where I saw her.
Misaki.
A calm-faced girl known for her beauty and academic excellence. Graceful, gentle, well-mannered, a member of the Ikebana club. Many boys admired her, though she never seemed close to anyone.
Like a goddess who asks for no worship—yet is worshipped anyway.
Strangely, she was always alone.
Maybe beauty is a double-edged blade. Maybe too many eyes judged her, too many expectations rested on her shoulders. Or maybe she was so graceful that her presence made other girls feel threatened.
That day, she was surrounded by five girls.
Three from my class.
Two from the class next door.
Not friends.
Not even acquaintances.
They pressed her against the corridor wall, voicing a childish reason—one of them liked a boy named Machiba, and lately he had been talking with Misaki often.
Therefore Misaki had to stay away.
Had to stop talking to him.
Had to disappear from his sight.
A childish reason—yet enough for them to bully her.
Then—
BRAAAM!
Misaki's bag was slammed onto the floor.
The impact echoed through the empty corridor, shattering the silence like the start of something that could no longer be taken back.
I watched from a distance, hiding behind the wall, clenching my fists—hating myself for not having the courage to step in.
Because I knew that if I interfered, they could ruin my life. In many ways. I was nobody—but they were known by everyone.
And honestly… I wasn't strong enough to bear that.
----------------------------------------------------------------
3. The Sentence That Stopped Time
Suri—the queen bee of the group—pushed Misaki's shoulder, forcing her to promise she would stop talking to Machiba.
Misaki lowered her head. Silent.
Then slowly raised her face.
Cold.
Unshaken.
Unafraid.
And with a voice so calm—calmer than a shout, and far more frightening—she said:
"Take whatever you want. My bones. My teeth. You'll do whatever you like anyway. You never liked me from the beginning."
She paused, looking at them one by one, then continued flatly:
"But remember this—retaliation always finds its own way—and it never comes with mercy."
She straightened her posture as if settling into a role whose ending she had already memorized. Her lips curved slightly—not a smile, but the expression of someone certain she held control.
"If my goal is only to disturb you," she said softly, almost friendly,
"I don't need to dirty my hands with violence."
She took a step forward—close enough to break safe distance.
"I only need to stand right in front of you," she continued,
"touch the person you like—slowly, deliberately—then point at you with one finger."
Her voice remained flat as she finished:
"After that, I just need to stay quiet… and let your anger do the rest."
Suri froze. Her friends swallowed nervously.
I… trembled.
Not just because of her words.
But because of how she said them.
As if she wasn't threatening.
As if she were stating a fact.
As if she had done it before.
Suri's ignited emotions finally exploded—her hand swung and struck Misaki across the face. The sound cracked sharply through the air, breaking the silence like a line that could never be uncrossed.
Yet even after that—Misaki's gaze did not change.
Like the eyes of someone who had lost something… or thrown it away on purpose.
"If your anger really goes that far, why don't you just finish me now—cut off my head with that knife and end everything?"
Then she wiped her cheek where Suri had slapped her—slowly, deliberately, with open contempt—like brushing off something filthy. Her eyes were cold, her posture calm, but every movement carried piercing disdain.
"I'm tired of hearing the sound from your rotten mouth."
The sentence was short—but merciless. Sharp as a blade, leaving no room for sympathy or forgiveness.
Suri staggered back.
And for the first time, I saw predator and prey switch places.
Not through violence.
But through silence, certainty, and something that could barely be called sanity.
Misaki stepped forward.
Suri stepped back, as if distance alone could save her.
"This is just school," Misaki said coolly. "There's no need to take it too far."
She exhaled—sharp and cold.
"But if you touch me again… I know exactly where to report it."
She paused, then added with a cynical tone:
"And when this school's name falls—you'll be dragged down with it."
She stepped closer—slowly, unhurried—until her lips were near Suri's ear, as if the next words were meant only for fear itself.
A faint smile appeared—a smile I had never seen before. A smile that did not belong on such a gentle face.
A cold smile.
A smile that—strangely—enjoyed everything.
"You understand what I mean… don't you?"
At that moment… I knew.
There was something dark inside her.
Not darkness created by others.
But darkness she built herself—slowly, quietly, almost beautifully.
Like a vacuum.
And her gaze… that gaze never stopped haunting me.
The gaze of someone who is not afraid of the world.
The gaze of someone who makes the world afraid of her.