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V8 Story I – Part 01

This is my confession, proof of my regret.

It’s too late to talk about it now, and even talking about it is meaningless.

My life was neither long nor short, but thinking back, I lived rather selfishly.

Because I kept turning a blind eye, people died. I’ve been ignoring this truth until now. I’ve been clinging to life like a coward, making excuses.

I had to do that. I didn’t have any other choice.

If I didn’t do that, I wouldn’t have survived.

What meaning do these words hold?

What kind of absolution was I seeking?

Because of me, people died. An irrevocable fact. No matter how many words I use, I can’t escape it. No, let’s put it more succinctly, more clearly.

I killed someone.

That fact can’t be erased nor forgiven. I can’t bear this burden any longer.

Hence I write this letter. A will by someone who has no guts to die, someone who kept running away.

My last testament.

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When I woke up, I found myself in an unfamiliar place.

I turned my eyes away from the white ceiling and raised myself up. My entire body throbbed with a dull ache, likely from sleeping on the hard floor. The cold room sent a chill through me. My mind was muddled, as if swollen from crying my eyes out.

What happened yesterday? Where am I? As soon as the thought crossed my mind, my head ached.

Images flashed before my eyes. A silhouette was swaying ever so slowly in mid-air.

I remembered their smile as they spread their arms wide. The lifeless form suspended before me bore no semblance to its former self.

I swallowed the bile rising in my throat, my hand soothing the ache in my stomach as I steadied my breathing.

Then, my gaze fell upon a bunk bed propped against the wall, a bundle of blankets lying atop it.

From the edge peeked disheveled strands of blonde hair. The bundle lay motionless, as if dead.

Rrrrrrrrrrrriiiiiiiing!

The alarm clock on the bedside table began ringing. A slender arm emerged from the blanket, grabbed the clock, and without hesitation, threw it. It grazed my cheek, crashing into the wall and smashing to pieces.

Simultaneously, he flung the blankets aside and bolted upright.

“Shut the hell up! Oh, Odagiri-san. What’s up?”

“…Yusuke.”

Saga Yusuke cracked his neck and crossed his arms.

“It feels like waking up from a dream only to find myself in another dream,” he muttered, furrowing his brows. “But when I woke up, there you were, Odagiri-san. Somehow, that feels like a nightmare. What do you think?”

His lighthearted antics was the same as always; nothing had changed.

Witnessing him in such a state, a mix of fear and bewilderment gripped me. The memories of the previous day came flooding back.

Hirugao hanged herself. So young and innocent, she was now dead.

After staring at her swinging body, Yusuke abruptly announced he was heading home. He made no effort to bring down her lifeless figure. His stubbornness unsettled me. So I chose to accompany him back to his apartment.

Mayuzumi remained at the main family’s house, busy with the aftermath. As soon as we arrived at the apartment, Yusuke crawled into bed and went to sleep without uttering a single word. Worried about him, I stayed the night. I couldn’t remember what face he was wearing during the trip back to this apartment, but I distinctly recalled that he didn’t shed a tear.

He remained silent. Smiling, even. And now, he was the same old Yusuke.

As though he had forgotten everything.

“Well, whatever. Good morning. By the way, what are you doing here, Odagiri-san?”

“Yusuke… Do you not remember anything?” I asked gingerly.

Did he erase Hirugao’s death from his memory?

Yusuke cocked his head to the side, leaning so far he seemed on the brink of toppling over, then offered a slight nod.

“Ah, yes. It’s whatever. Forget about it.” He stretched and leaped out of bed.

I looked around. In the spacious living room, there was a bed and a refrigerator—an odd choice of furniture. Various junk, including children’s toys, littered the floor.

When I saw the wall on the left, I instantly froze and slowly averted my gaze. Yusuke opened the refrigerator, took out a bottle of soda and barley tea, and handed me the latter.

“Here you go.”

“…What is this?”

“Breakfast.”

“…Since when did a beverage count as breakfast?”

“Carbonic acid fills your stomach. Ah, I guess barley tea doesn’t. My bad.”

Yusuke sat cross-legged and opened the bottle cap. I set the barley tea aside, observing him. He downed the soft drink in one go. His behavior remained unchanged.

Even with Hirugao’s passing, he remained the same. Whether it was a good or bad thing, I couldn’t tell. Finishing his drink, he gazed at the ceiling.

“I had breakfast before this,” he said matter-of-factly.

“…What?”

“Breakfast. A proper one. Scrambled eggs. Toasted bread, with butter and all that. So stupid,” he spat, hanging his head.

I thought back to the past month. Yusuke had spent his days looking after Hirugao. But she was no more. She hanged herself yesterday.

She hanged herself yesterday?

The next moment, I was stunned. My chest tightened, and I coughed violently.

I couldn’t believe how I had managed to regard that fact with such nonchalance until now.

My heart beat faster, and my stomach twisted in agony. A deep rupture cleaved the realms of yesterday and today. The graphic image of a hanging body resurfaced in my mind, the heavy corpse swaying like a suspended tuna.

That was her. Her smile had vanished without a trace. The lifeless body was undoubtedly her.

I failed to grasp such a simple and absolute fact until now.

That was death. The realization struck me like a blow to the head.

Yusuke still had his face down. Without looking at me, he continued, “Do you want to see it? The kitchen? There’s another refrigerator. Also a toaster and stuff.”

“I…”

Suddenly, he swung his arm, and something flew, grazing my cheek.

Thud! An empty plastic bottle hit the wall, then rebounded.

A heavy silence descended. Yusuke lifted his face, adorned with the same bright smile.

“Just kidding.”

Nothing was making sense. I just sat there, wide-eyed. Yusuke stretched nonchalantly, ignoring me. He stood up, kicked a textbook, then retrieved a crayon, crushing it in his hand.

Red clumps fell to the floor. He picked up crayons after another, crushing them. Countless colors stained his palm. The smell of oil filled the air as colored clumps dropped to the floor.

Next, he seized a colored pencil. He pressed its tip into the floor, exerting pressure until it snapped. Each one left a mark. Then, he grabbed a stuffed toy and tore the rabbit’s head apart. Cotton cascaded down like snow on the colorful debris.

I watched him vacantly. Yusuke silently sifted through the junk, destroying items one by one, annihilating any trace of Hirugao.

“…Yusuke?” I called out to him.

Yusuke lifted his face, tilting his head curiously. “What’s the matter, Odagiri-san? You look like a pigeon doused in salt and pepper.”

On his face was a radiant smile.

That’s when it hit me. It took some time for me to realize.

He was gone.

Since the moment he saw Hirugao’s lifeless body, Saga Yusuke had been irreparably broken.