The fanaticism of the samurai who followed the self-proclaimed [Sun God] had been forgotten.
The names of the courtesans who roamed beneath the red lanterns had been swallowed by the dust of the alleys.
And in that era, when survival had become a vulgar jest and no one paid heed to such matters.
A man walked the streets cradling a child.
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I was born in a garbage dump called [Rashomon], sunk deep, deep below.
I lived under the name "Gyutaro" — a name so awkward it was nearly embarrassing to claim.
But despite the name's promise of reciprocity, I received nothing.
No matter how much I thought I gave in return, I was only ever stolen from, again and again.
No — for me, survival began the moment I was born.
The very notion of being given something had become a crude joke in my life.
With a gaunt frame that could never gain an ounce, I had only to survive.
That wretched woman who was my mother treated me like a cancerous growth and tried to kill me, simply because I was a bother.
In [Rashomon], a child who only consumed food without earning his keep was no different from a tumor.
On the streets, I was pelted with stones.
Dirty from never having washed, with an ugly face and voice.
Protruding crooked fangs and black blotches covering my face.
Being stoned was daily fare, and being only cursed at felt like a mercy.
"Vermin! Idiot! Slow-witted fool! Useless! Why were you even born?"
No kidding.
Why was I born?
It felt as though every vile curse in this world was invented solely for me.
Thus, even in the pleasure quarter, I was treated as scum.
In the pleasure quarter, where beauty dictated everything, everyone looked down upon me and shunned me.
There too, I was a monster.
When hunger gnawed at me, I'd eat rats and insects.
My only plaything was a single sickle left behind by a customer.
In that hellish existence at the bottom, my world began to change the moment my sister was born.
Ume.
Her name was drawn from the disease that killed our mother—too harsh a name for a human being, perhaps.
Unlike me, she had fair, smooth skin.
Unlike me, her eyes were sky-blue, and her hair was snow-white.
From childhood, while I was so ugly that people would avert their eyes, my sister was so beautiful that they couldn't help but stare.
Yes, my little sister was...
Ume was my pride.
Having a sister as beautiful as Ume blew away the inferiority I'd harbored within me.
And then, when I discovered I was strong in battle...
after I had forced someone to their knees with the sickle I'd thought of only as a toy...
at last, I began to live up to my name, claiming what was owed me.
Taking as soon as it was given.
Yes, I was Gyutaro.
For the first time, I was proud of my hideous appearance.
My ghastly looks made everyone recoil in fear.
I felt good.
After all, isn't there a saying that misfortune and fortune are intertwined like strands of rope?
Having suffered only misfortune until then, I believed that finally my fortune had come.
From that point on, it felt as though our lives were bound to flow in a good direction.
At least, until Ume turned thirteen...
The rosy dream we'd envisioned shattered as darkly as Ume, charred black before my eyes.
Because Ume had blinded a samurai customer by plunging his eye with a hairpin, my sister was dragged away in retaliation and burned alive.
I wasn't there when it happened.
When I returned having finished my task, Ume lay burned to a pitch-black crisp.
Why...
Why on earth?!
No bed, no food, nothing...
They'd given me nothing.
Nothing at all.
Yet they took everything.
They took everything I had.
They insisted I must own nothing, and kept on seizing, again and again.
The world only ever took from me, giving me nothing in return.
Even the tiny handful of hope I'd clutched was snatched from me.
They aimed to take away my sister—my only pride, my sole happiness, the very meaning of my life.
If I dared to dream, they'd dismiss it as mere delusion and destroy it like a bubble.
How long will you keep taking from me?
When will you stop ripping away what I hold dear?
Does this mean that I—no, we—must never have anything?
Even if I clutched Ume and cried out to the world to take nothing else from me...
Even if I screamed for Ume to be restored to her original self...
Even if I threatened to kill every god and Buddha there is...
The world, as if mocking my cries, drove a sword into my back.
Blood spurted out, and I wilted like a reed, powerless.
Ume.
Why can't we wear fine clothes?
Unwashed, plagued by rough skin, half-starved, never sleeping on a clean futon...
We didn't even have a home to shield us from wind and rain.
Vermin who failed to protect his sister.
Idiot who couldn't save his sister.
Slow-witted fool who couldn't hurry there while his sister burned.
Useless one who even lost his sister.
Why were you born?
I turned my bloodshot eyes behind me.
Strangely, my back didn't ache.
Though dying, strength welled up in me, and I leaped high.
And so I drove the sickle into the foreman's brow, killing him for dishonoring my sister.
At the sight of me, the samurai recoiled in horror and drew his katana.
It's noisy.
Kyaak kyaak
Bbyeak bbyeak
Clad in your fine garments.
Clean, with healthy skin.
You enjoy full meals, sleep on clean futons, and dwell in a house that shields you from wind and rain.
If only that had been your lot from birth.
Don't make such a fuss.
After living like that, it's pathetic to see him screeching and squawking over something as trivial as a lost eyeball.
So I cleaved the samurai who burned my sister in two with his own katana.
"Let's go... Ume..."
Cradling my sister, charred almost beyond recognition yet still miraculously alive, I walked and walked.
I felt like I might break.
The slash on my back throbbed in pain, staining it crimson.
My breath came in ragged gasps, and I felt I would collapse if I lost focus for even a moment.
My sister in my arms was black as charcoal, yet against all belief, a faint warmth still pulsed through her body.
Moreover, her breaths were growing ever more feeble.
Even if someone would have offered sympathy, I'd have nodded in thanks.
Yet no one came to save us.
No one came to save us.
Yes.
Indeed, no one helps us.
As always, just another day in our existence.
Never once did a 'human' come to our aid.
Unable to endure the agony, I collapsed.
Since Ume must not come to harm, I curled up and embraced her head with my arms as I fell.
Snow began to fall.
The snow reflected the moonlight, illuminating us brightly.
At no moment did the world show us any mercy.
Why is that? Didn't they say that misfortune and fortune are intertwined like strands of rope?
I begged for good fortune to arrive alongside bad, in alternation.
Then...
A shadow overlapped mine, and someone approached.
"Tch, we've lost them. Six of the Waxing Moon."
Clicking his tongue, the tall man approached me.
Who could he be?
He wore a straw hat and carried a katana at his side.
His crimson eyes and strange blotches marked his face.
By all appearance, he was a samurai.
There was no doubt he'd come to seize something from me as well.
Don't you dare take Ume from me...
Damn it, I have no strength left.
"His condition is dire."
Damn... I can't hear what he's saying...
He'll take her from me, too...
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A slash gaped across the man's back, blood pouring from the wound.
The charred lump he cradled was, astonishingly, a person.
From her size, she looked like a thirteen-year-old girl—incredibly, she was still alive.
Who the hell would set a young girl alight while she was still living?
The wound on the back of the man was also extremely deep.
It was a miracle both were still alive.
Yet their heartbeats were slowly fading.
Soon they would die.
"I should have come with Tamayo-san."
Of course, even Tamayo would have found it impossible to save them in their current condition.
There was only one way.
It was hardly an option I liked, but...
Must I turn these two into blood demons as well?
Making them into blood demons, just like last time.
That was the only way to save them.
"If I'd known it would come to this, I should have procured that drug from Tamayo-san."
One was dying of blood loss, the other of full-body burns.
They were in a state as weak as Koyuki when she was at her most frail.
I wasn't sure whether the girl, who'd been burned alive, could accept my blood as well as the guy could.
It's a gamble, but I had no choice.
Resigned, I clicked my tongue and cut my wrist with the blade.
Crimson blood flowed, painting my pale eyes red as it caught the moonlight.