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Chapter 1 – Nightmare

Just moments ago, I had been walking across a crosswalk.

Then suddenly, “Don!” I felt a massive impact. 

Or at least, I think I did.

But, in the very next moment, a dazzling scene unfolded before my eyes.
A stunningly handsome man was standing before me, though his expression was grim.

Then, he spoke:

“I’m sorry, but I must annul our engagement. This is the consensus of your entire family. Also, you will have to leave Japan as well.”

I couldn’t comprehend what was happening.

And yet, I strangely understood the situation. I even knew exactly who this man in front of me was.
But I had no idea why those words were being thrown at me.

To make matters worse, half-hidden behind the man, clinging to him, was a woman I despised with all my being.

Then, I tried to say something—not to the man, but to the woman.

But in that moment, as I felt my blood boil with rage, my consciousness began to fade.

When I came to, fire rained from the sky.

I was no longer in that dazzling place, but somewhere outdoors.

And above me, flames filled the night sky.

(So it’s true… even tragedy can be beautiful.)

I knew this scene. I had seen it before—in black-and-white footage, in dramatized recreations.

But this… this was neither monochrome nor an image on a screen.

It was real.

Overwhelmingly vivid.

So breathtakingly beautiful that I momentarily forgot to breathe.

Yet in the distance, on the ground—hell itself was unfolding.

The wooden city was consumed in flames, and in some areas, firestorms had begun to rage.

The firestorm, fanned by the north wind, stretched sideways, ravaging everything in its path like a dragon cloaked in flames.
A fire of this magnitude would not subside until every last combustible material was consumed.

And among those combustibles were people.

Countless people. People, people everywhere. Running in terror.

For those who failed to escape in time, there was no salvation.

Meanwhile, in the sky, the ones responsible for the fiery rain kept appearing overhead, one after another.
They resembled silver crosses, glowing red as they reflected the blaze from below.

And I found them beautiful.

These were weapons born from rationalism, yet they possessed an overwhelming presence that made them seem beautiful.

I thought I was a mere spectator to this rain of fire, to these silver crosses, and to the hellscape unfolding on the ground. But before long, the fiery rain began to pour down upon me as well.

(Ah… so I’m becoming a part of this hell too.)

That was the last thought I had.

When my consciousness returned, I was watching some kind of recorded footage.

What is this? It looked like a scene from an old movie.

Yet… a part of the scenery felt familiar.

“That shape… It’s Enoshima.”

I murmured, though my voice felt foreign to me. Perhaps it was because everything besides Enoshima felt unreal.

After all, a massive American military force is conducting an amphibious landing operation on the Shonan coastline.

As someone who could be called a ‘history buff’, I immediately recognized that the scene before me was a World War II landing operation.

However, with Enoshima in the background, this was neither the Normandy landings nor the Battle of Okinawa.

Without a doubt, this is a landing operation on the Japanese mainland.

My ‘knowledge’ told me that this was ‘Operation Coronet,’ carried out by the Allied forces on September 6, 1946.

(Over here, the Japanese military put up quite a fight… No, they held out… No, that’s not it. They struggled.)

I only ‘knew’ this as knowledge, and the scene before me felt no more real than watching a movie, so that was all that crossed my mind.

Maybe I really was in a movie theater, just watching a screen.

And yet, I had just muttered, “Over here”. Meaning there was an “Over there” as well. Another side that existed separately.

And in “Over there,” the ‘historical fact’ was that the war had ended on August 15, 1945.

(What exactly am I looking at?)

Just as that thought crossed my mind, my consciousness faded once again.

When I woke up once more, my mind was hazy.

Has everything until now just been a dream? No—somehow, I was certain that wasn’t the case.
At the same time, I had a foreboding feeling that this would probably be the last time I ever woke up.

Where is this place?

For now, I focused on assessing my situation.

That’s right—this was a military prison cell somewhere. But whose military?
There was no need to ask. It was a Soviet Union prison cell.

Somewhere in Siberia. I knew nothing beyond that, and at this point, it didn’t even matter.

I had lost everything. Abandoned by my homeland. And now, even the Soviet Union, which had “taken me in” for a time, had deemed me unnecessary.

That was why I had been moved to a room without heating. Why my food had been cut off.

The clothes on my back were nothing but rags—calling them that was being generous. They were incomparable to the fine silk garments I had once worn.

And I knew there was no way I could endure this cold.

“…I suppose it’s better than being used or executed by firing squad.”

I barely managed to mutter the words with my parched voice, but they brought no comfort to my heart.

The only reason I hadn’t been used was that my body had deteriorated so much that I no longer held any value.
The only reason I hadn’t been executed was that I would die soon anyway, making any further effort unnecessary.

I almost felt like laughing.

(If it was just a few years ago… I would never have imagined I would fall this far…)

My heart was filled with despair, resignation—and something even stronger. 

Hatred.

A hatred so intense that, if I could put it into reality, it might have been enough to topple an entire nation.

And I knew that I had the power to manifest that hatred.

Unfortunately, those I despised the most were far away, beyond my reach. My resentment could not reach them.

So, in place of direct revenge, I decided to offer up my own death as a curse upon the country I now resided in.

Within half a century, on this very day, this nation would collapse.

Today was December 25, 1947.

In this time, in this land, this date had held little meaning. But in other Christian regions, it was a sacred holiday celebrating the birth of the Lord.

But I will make this day a day of calamity.

The country I was now in—the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics—would meet its end within fifty years, on this very day.

And strangely enough, I knew that this nation would cease to exist on December 25, 1991.

Why?

No… more importantly, why am I even here?

This wasn’t how things were supposed to be. This time, I was supposed to grasp the future I had longed for.

 

“Well, whatever. As long as I get it right ‘next’ time.”