Cold Light - Chapter 1 - Part 2

The content warning is in the footnotes⁰.

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Fujishima was born as the eldest son of Chieko, the eldest daughter of Shintaro Fujishima, the head of the ‘Nagiryuu’, an indigo dyeing family that had been around for generations. His grandfather, Shintaro, was an extraordinarily talented businessman who brought the local specialty, Nagiryuu, to national fame.

When Shintaro was in his mid-fifties, he passed the company on to Shirou, Chieko’s husband, and he himself made a dramatic shift to politics by running for office and becoming a politician. With his grandfather establishing connections with even more powerful figures, Nagiryuu quickly developed into a global brand.

His mother was a woman who deeply cherished her noble lineage and Nagiryuu. She always wore a Nagiryuu indigo-dyed kimono whenever she went out, and she never tanned her skin because it would detract from the color of the indigo. The indigo-dyed kimono suited his mother well, and when she stood by the garden pond, she looked as dignified and beautiful as an iris flower.

Unlike my mother, my father was not born into a prestigious family. He was a man whom my grandfather, impressed by his business acumen, had brought into the Fujishima family as an adopted son-in-law. He was a taciturn man, and every time he cast his icy, cold gaze my way, I always felt a chill run up my spine.

Less than a year after marrying my mother, my father went on an overseas trip for business and was involved in a car accident. Though he survived, he was left partially paralyzed and had to live in a wheelchair. Yet, there was a commanding presence about him that made one forget his disability. I once overheard someone call my father "the emperor in a wheelchair," and I felt a sense of pride in my heart.

My father was a hard, unapproachable figure, but I respected him deeply. However, he was sadly indifferent to his children. Whenever I heard my friends at school talk about how they "played with their dad" or "went out with their dad," I felt unbearably envious. I had the childlike desire to play with my dad and talk with him. Aware that I might get scolded for interrupting his work, I would sometimes approach him, but the moment I met his stern gaze, I couldn't utter a word.

There were times when I devoted myself to studying and sports solely to get my father's attention and earn his praise. Growing up slowly, I was short and fragile, which put me at a disadvantage in sports, but I worked two or three times harder than others. Thanks to those efforts, the softball team I belonged to at school won the prefectural tournament. Even when I reported the result with great excitement, my father merely gave a slight nod of acknowledgment and never said "Congratulations."

I found out that this taciturn man was not my real father when I was in the fifth grade. That fall, my mother’s brother, Yasuhisa Fujishima, died. My uncle had been frail and often in and out of the hospital, and despite being the eldest son of a distinguished family, he had left a faint impression on me, being a thin, pale man.

About a month before my uncle died, at the end of a sweltering summer, my mother took me to visit him in the hospital. While my mother stepped out to change the flowers’ water, my uncle beckoned me closer. With a creepy thin smile on his emaciated face, he whispered, "You are the child of Chieko and me."

I wondered what he was talking about. My uncle then held out both hands and said, "Look at our fingerprints. All of mine are whorls. Not a single one flows differently. Chieko said yours are the same. In that house, only you and I have all whorls."

Even though it’s possible for relatives to have similar traits without being parent and child, my young mind didn’t think that far. I took the fingerprints as definitive proof and was shocked.

Siblings aren’t supposed to love each other romantically. They certainly shouldn’t be able to have children. And yet, I was born. Something was wrong; something didn’t make sense. Besides, my mother had a husband. Why, why... No matter how much I thought about it, I couldn’t understand my mother’s and uncle’s feelings.

On the way back from the hospital, as we walked down a shimmering, heat-distorted road, I wanted to ask my young mother, who kept fussing over her indigo kimono’s collar and the loose strands of hair at the nape of her neck, for the truth countless times. But I couldn’t bring myself to ask. I felt like I wasn’t supposed to ask, and I was scared of what the answer might be.

After my uncle’s death, I kept the “mystery” inside my heart. Every time I was met with my father’s cold stare, I remembered my uncle’s whisper. The mystery would sometimes seem to get closer to the truth, only to become nonsensical and toy with me. But still, my father could only ever be the man in the wheelchair. Looking back now, maybe I clung to the fact that we were related by blood to avoid acknowledging the reality that I wasn’t loved.

In contrast to my father, I was showered with love by my mother, but it was a suffocating kind of love, like a bird kept in a cage. And for a long time, I didn’t realize how twisted and stifling that cage was.

As the heir to a distinguished family, I lived a life that made people envious from a young age. The Western-style mansion we lived in was so large that it could fit an entire elementary school playground, and having several servants was the norm.

Clothes, shoes, and toys—all were expensive, foreign-made items given without hesitation. But all these things were chosen and provided by my mother; I had never chosen anything for myself. In kindergarten, when the teacher said, "You can choose one treat you like," and offered several types of snacks, I burst into tears because I didn’t know what to pick. I was used to always having things chosen for me.

I was told it was dangerous to go outside, so I was only allowed to play in the garden, which didn’t bother me. In my early childhood world, my mother’s word was absolute, and going against her wasn’t an option.

It wasn’t until I entered elementary school and reached the higher grades that I began to notice the differences between my mother and the mothers of my classmates. Even in the sixth grade, I wasn’t given an allowance, and aside from the commute to and from school, I wasn’t allowed to go out. If I wanted something, I had to ask my mother to buy it for me, but she would never buy comic books or video games, saying they weren’t good for education. Sweet snacks were only allowed on birthdays due to the fear of cavities, and I was only allowed to watch educational programs and the news on TV. I don’t remember what prompted it, but once I mentioned to my classmates that I still took baths with my mother, and I was heavily teased for being a "mama’s boy." I was shocked because I had thought it was normal to bathe with my mother.

When I entered middle school, I still hadn’t grown much and was under 140 centimeters (4’7) tall. I had finally stopped bathing with my mother, but she became even more overbearing than when I was in elementary school. Middle school club activities were mandatory, so I joined the gardening club, but I was rarely allowed to participate because she feared I would make bad friends if I stayed at school late. Even my friends were chosen based on their family background, and I didn’t have the freedom to choose anything, not even a pencil. Even so, I never rebelled against my mother. I didn’t have a strong enough urge to defy her.

It was the summer before my first year of middle school. I came home and was taking out my textbooks from my school bag when a pale pink envelope fell out from between my notebooks. My name was written on the front. The sender was a girl from the same class, a member of the Clean-up Committee. The moment I realized it was a love letter, my heart began to pound. With trembling hands, I opened the envelope and read the letter.

In cute handwriting, she expressed her feelings for me earnestly. I didn’t have any special feelings for her, but I was simply happy to receive my first love letter. I was happy, but... I didn’t know how to respond, so I consulted my mother.

That night, Fujishima was taken by his mother to the house of the girl from the Clean-up Committee. Compared to his own home, the girl's house was much smaller, and the garden was narrow. As soon as they stood at the entrance, facing the girl and her mother, his mother suddenly slapped the girl across the face.

"What do you think you're doing?!" shouted the girl's mother, while Fujishima's mother threw the envelope at her feet.

"Don’t ever send such a letter to my son again. Flirting with boys while still in middle school—what a dreadful child."

The girl's mother stiffened at this.

"Flirting is such an exaggeration... Even children can have feelings for someone," she replied.

Fujishima’s mother shook her head vehemently in response.

"If she’s already menstruating, she’s a full-grown woman."

She spat out words that even made Fujishima blush. Then she turned to the now pale girl and smiled.

"There are plenty of other men out there, you shameless little pig. If you ever talk to my son again, I will never forgive you!"

While the girl crouched down and began to cry, Fujishima was pulled away by his mother, leaving the small house behind. In the end, he didn’t say a single word. His mother, in a terrifying rage like he had never seen before, spewed hateful words and slapped the girl. The sight was so shocking to Fujishima that he couldn’t speak. Even after getting into their chauffeured car and sitting beside his mother in the back seat, he remained dazed, unable to process what had just happened. As they were leaving, the words muttered by the girl’s mother—"That woman is crazy..."—stuck in his mind and wouldn’t go away.

"How awful. You must have been so upset to receive a letter from a girl like that. But don’t worry, it’s all okay now. I talked to her, so everything is fine now."

That child must have done something terribly wrong to be scolded by his mother like that. She only gave him a letter saying she liked him, nothing more. He shook his head, trying not to think about it. His mother could never be wrong, he told himself. It was just that they were both too young to like someone or receive love letters.

In the car, his mother kept holding his shoulder. When they got home, she said, "Let's take a bath together today." He didn't like taking baths with his mother anymore now that he was in middle school, but he didn't resist and got in with her.

"Good boy, good boy,"

She stroked his head and pressed his face to her chest. As he sat there, the feeling of dislike gradually disappeared, as if it had been a lie. In the bathtub, Fujishima couldn't help but rub his nose against his mother's soft, white breasts.

"Keiichi,"

His mother patted his head and whispered his name.

"If your thingy feels weird, tell your mother, okay?"

She said, and then reached out to touch Fujishima’s penis, still covered with foreskin.

"When he asked, 'How exactly is that?' his mother smiled.

"If you feel anything strange, then you should tell me. Your body is also starting to prepare to become an adult, so your mother needs to keep a close eye on you."

He didn't feel uncomfortable being naked in front of his mother, exposing his genitals. He thought everyone did the same thing. A month later, Fujishima was able to masturbate in front of his mother. As he stared intently at his crotch, he wondered if his father was doing the same thing in front of his mother.

After the visit to the house of the girl from the Clean-up Committee, Fujishima noticed a change in his classmates’ attitude toward him. It started with the girls in his class completely stopping talking to him, and gradually, this behavior spread to the entire class.

Since Fujishima was only allowed to be friends with those chosen by his mother, he already had no friends in the class and was often forgotten, as if he didn’t exist in the classroom. But now, his presence was clearly noticed, and he was intentionally ignored. Whenever he overheard someone whispering and caught his name, his heart would skip a beat. He hadn’t heard it much since starting middle school, but now he was being pointed at and called a “mama’s boy” again. More and more, he found himself going to school and not speaking to anyone except the teachers. Whenever there were group activities in class, he was always the last one left out. The students in the group that was forced to take him in by the teacher always looked annoyed.

Finding it hard to stay in the classroom, he spent his lunch breaks in the library, reading books. As long as he was in the world of books, he didn’t have to think about unpleasant things. He was okay with being alone, but being deliberately isolated was painful.

He wondered why he was being intentionally ignored and what was wrong with him. Was it because he was gloomy and not good at talking? Did people like him make others uncomfortable just by being around? Memories of going to the girl’s house with his mother flashed through his mind, but he wanted to believe that his mother couldn’t be wrong, so he dismissed the thought.

He couldn’t tell his mother about being isolated in class. He feared that if he told her, she might come to the school just like she did with the girl who wrote him the letter. He couldn’t stop thinking about how the girl’s mother had said, “That woman is crazy...” He didn’t want anyone to talk about his mother like that again.

By the time he was in the second year of middle school, his situation hadn’t changed. Fujishima was always in the corner of the classroom, reading a book by himself.

Shortly before summer, on a rainy evening, Fujishima was waiting for the train when his eyes were caught by a comic magazine that had been left behind on a station bench. The cover featured a cute, pale-skinned girl with a bright smile. Her eyes slightly resembled his mother's. He froze, staring intently at the magazine, letting several trains pass by. Finally, he grabbed the magazine and hurried into the station’s restroom, where he stuffed it into the bottom of his school bag.

After returning home, Fujishima carefully cut out the cover and the four gravure pages inside the magazine and secretly hid them in the back of his desk. He knew he wasn’t supposed to read vulgar comic magazines and that he would be scolded if his mother found out he had cut out pictures of girls. She would call him shameful and improper. Still, he couldn’t resist the urge. That night, Fujishima had a lewd dream of kissing the cute gravure idol.

The idol Fujishima fell in love with was named Chika Saito. Since he didn’t receive an allowance, he couldn’t buy the magazines featuring her photos, so he started visiting bookstores daily to read the magazines there.

As he continued his secret visits to the bookstore, he learned that she was going to debut as a singer. Fujishima became determined to hear her real voice.

On the release day of her debut single, he went to the shop and stared at the CD. But no matter how long he looked, he couldn’t hear her voice from the CD. For three days, he frequented the shop, unable to give up. Finally, at dinner, knowing he would be denied, he mustered up the courage and asked, “Could I have some allowance?” His mother smiled and said, “Just tell me what you want. I’ll go buy it for you.”

"I couldn't bring myself to say 'Chika Saito', and instead muttered 'it's okay' in a small voice. My mother tilted her head, but then suddenly opened her mouth as if she had just remembered something.

'By the way, Keishi, you haven't been coming to my room lately, have you?'

My back twitched. Since I started using Chika Saito as a subject for my fantasies, I hadn't gone to my mother's room to do it. My mother's sharp gaze was fixed on my trembling fingers.

“You know I told you it's no good to do it alone, didn't I?”

I looked down and apologized in a barely audible voice. “I'm sorry.”

“Why didn't you follow my rules?” she asked.

I couldn't say anything. I knew I would get scolded if I told her I had been fantasizing about an idol. My mother got up from her seat, which was unusual for her. I saw a glimpse of her blue kimono out of the corner of my eye.

“Answer me!” her strict voice echoed through the dining room. It was the first time I had heard her angry voice since last year when I visited the home of the child who had given me a letter.

If I mentioned Chika Saito's name, I would get scolded, and if I stayed silent, my mother would get angry. I didn't know what to do.

“Keishi, can't you listen to me?” she asked.

I slowly looked up, and my mother's terrifying face made me unable to stay silent. From then on, I just blurted out the truth.

“I... I was thinking about Chika Saito.”

As soon as my mother heard the name, she covered her mouth with both hands and turned pale. She looked around frantically and asked in a slow, deliberate tone, 'Who is that?'

“She's an idol girl who often appears in magazines.”

“What did you do while thinking about her?” she asked.

“I... I masturbated.”

My mother let out a scream. Before the maid, Tamaki, rushed into the dining room, my mother slapped me three times. I had never been hit by anyone before, and the pain in my cheek made me feel like I was going to pass out.

“What have you done... what have you done...” my mother exclaimed, her hair disheveled, as she walked around the table.

I apologized repeatedly, but the anger in my mother's eyes didn't fade.

“Keishi, come with me.”

I was grabbed by the wrist and dragged to my mother's room. There, I was forced to take off my pants and get on all fours on the bed. As I did so, I heard a loud slapping sound. My mother spanked me hard, and I let out a cry of pain. I was spanked repeatedly, and I cried out in tears. I was scared of my mother's anger and the sin I had committed. The sweet excitement I had felt while fantasizing about Chika Saito had quickly turned into something to be ashamed of.

Finally, the spanking stopped, and when I looked up with a tear-stained face, my mother was also crying. Everything felt painful, and I burst into tears. I was ashamed of myself for being consumed by my desires, and I wanted to die. But then, my mother gently stroked my head with a gentle gesture that was hard to believe was the same person who had just spanked me so hard."

"Be a good boy and listen to me, okay? Please. I'm doing this all for you, for your own good. You can't be with a low-class woman. When you grow up, I'll find you a proper wife."

I nodded, still crying. My mother's face looked sad as she opened her kimono and kneeled down in front of me. Her white breasts swayed in front of me.

"Be a good boy, don't cry anymore."

My head was pulled towards her chest. I sucked on her nipple like a baby, and my mother stroked my head lovingly.

The cut-out of Chika Saito was thrown away by my mother. I watched as she cut it up into small pieces and threw it in the trash, feeling a mix of sadness and relief.

From then on, I stopped asking my mother for things. Occasionally, I would want something that my mother didn't give me, but if I waited, the desire would fade away. It was easier to just be content with what I had.

Even after graduating from middle school and becoming a high school student, my circumstances did not change. My father remained as indifferent as ever, not showing up at either my middle school graduation ceremony or my high school entrance ceremony. On the morning of the high school entrance exam, I happened to run into him at the front door, but there were no words exchanged between us. He probably didn't even know that it was the day of the exam. But even if he had known, I doubt he would have offered any words of encouragement.

When I passed the entrance exam for a prestigious private high school, my father wasn’t there to celebrate. My mother, on the other hand, was ecstatic, having the cook prepare a special cake to celebrate my success. The servants were already used to my father not joining in, even though he was at home. It was lonely, but I couldn’t bring myself to say it out loud. I wondered if my father’s indifference towards me was because I wasn’t his real child, but I had no one to ask.

The private high school my mother chose was prestigious, with a high academic reputation, and it was also my uncle’s alma mater. It was far from home, and very few students from my middle school went there. Since no one knew me from before, I was no longer blatantly bullied like I had been in middle school. However, I was naturally poor at socializing and quiet, so although I made acquaintances, I didn’t make any friends.

Occasionally, some classmates would talk to me, but in a situation where I was still not allowed to watch anything on TV other than educational programs and the news, there were no common topics, and the conversations never lasted long. Like in middle school, I spent recess and lunch breaks reading books. I repeatedly read the works of great authors like Natsume Soseki, Mori Ogai, and Kawabata Yasunari. The romances depicted in those books were serene, and even the characters' egotism seemed beautiful, which made me painfully wonder why my reality, especially my relationships with my parents and uncle, was so raw and vivid

Around this time, I started to realize that my mother was different from other mothers. I knew that most children didn't masturbate in front of their parents. But it was hard to suddenly stop doing something I had been doing for so long. My mother had her own way of thinking.

I thought about it and decided to tell my mother that I only got erections in the morning. As expected, she didn't want to come to my room during the busy morning hours, and finally gave me permission to masturbate on my own.

I had been secretly worried that my height would remain the same, but it started to grow rapidly once I entered high school. Even though my body was growing, my world did not extend beyond the mansion and the school classroom. In middle school, I had been bullied and ignored by the girls, but occasionally, I would receive a confession of love saying, "I like you." I declined them all, citing my busy study schedule, but I found it strange that these girls would say they liked me even though they knew nothing about me. I didn’t tell my mother about these confessions at all. My mother didn’t know everything about what happened at school. As long as I kept quiet, the chaos from middle school wouldn’t happen again.

I would wake up in the morning, go to school, study, come back, study some more, and then sleep. I spent weekends studying or reading books. In what seemed like an endless routine, a sudden spark of trouble appeared.

I woke up in the morning, went to school, studied, came home, studied some more, and then slept. On weekends, I either studied or read books. Into these monotonous days, which seemed like they would last forever, a sudden "spark" of disruption appeared.

It was past the middle of summer vacation during my second year of high school, and I was up late studying in my room on the second floor, preparing for a mock exam at cram school the next day. Unable to focus any longer, I decided to go downstairs to the kitchen to make some tea as a change of pace. The part-time help left at 8 p.m., the cook at 7 p.m., and Tamaki, the live-in housekeeper who helped my father prepare for bed—since he went to bed early—would finish her work and retire to her room by 10 p.m. I couldn’t wake Tamaki, who was already resting, to ask her to bring me tea.

As I descended the stairs, I noticed that the door to the living room was slightly ajar, with light spilling into the hallway. It was already past 1 a.m. Since my father went to bed early, it had to be my mother. As I tried to pass by, wondering what she could be doing at this hour, a shrill voice pierced through the hallway.

Startled, I stopped in my tracks. It was the first time I had heard my mother so agitated since the time she caught me masturbating in middle school and scolded me harshly. The memory of that severe reprimand vividly resurfaced, and my body trembled reflexively.

“There’s no way someone as impotent as you could have children!”

The voice seeped through the gap in the door, echoing through the dim hallway. Then came a loud creak, presumably from my father's wheelchair.

“That’s right. I can’t have children,” my father responded coolly, in stark contrast to my mother’s agitation. I quietly repeated the word "impotent" to myself.

“Then whose child is Keishi?”

Hearing my name suddenly mentioned, I gulped.

“I’m asking, whose child is that, conceived after I became impotent?”

My father's emotional voice and the question he posed sent a chill down my spine. It was a truth I both wanted and didn’t want to know. My mother didn’t answer, and a suffocating silence followed.

“It would still be one thing if it were a stranger, but how could you ever admit that the child was conceived between siblings?”

A secret that I had kept buried deep inside... I realized then that it wasn’t even a secret among the family; my father, my mother, and I had all known the truth.

“So what?”

My mother’s response came out smoothly, as if her earlier silence had been a lie.

“If anyone’s to blame, it’s you. After the accident, you should have left me, but you insisted on staying. I told you over and over that I wanted a child!”

“I told you to adopt,” my father retorted, followed by the sound of something shattering.

“Adopting wouldn’t mean anything. What’s the point of raising someone else’s child? I wanted a child who carried my blood, the blood of the Fujishima family. My brother was frail, and if I hadn’t done something, the Fujishima bloodline, which had continued for generations, would have ended with me!”

“So you decided to have a child with that dying man? You’re insane,” my father accused.

A wave of revulsion washed over me, making me feel like I was going to be sick. I wanted to stop listening, but my feet wouldn’t move.

“I thought… I thought Keishi’s father was some man I didn’t know, until Yasuhisa smiled at me and said, ‘I’m like a cuckoo,’ just before he died.”

A bird that lays its eggs in another bird's nest and doesn’t raise its young itself. My uncle had said that to the father raising his child.

“My brother really despised you,” my mother said with a calm voice.

“He said you were a crude man with a bad background and upbringing but a big attitude. But that couldn’t be helped because, after all, you were someone of different birth,” she continued.

My father laughed loudly, almost maniacally.

“Yasuhisa had no redeeming qualities other than his lineage and upbringing. If he knew he lacked physical strength and talent, he could have tried harder, but all he did was envy others without making any effort himself. The reason your father didn’t make your brother the heir of this house wasn’t just because he was weak. He was deemed ‘useless,’ even more than a cripple like me.”

The hallway fell into a deep silence. My mother no longer screamed, and there were no more sounds of things breaking.

“When I look at Keishi, who resembles Yasuhisa so much, it sends chills down my spine. On top of that, he’s as obedient as a dog and even now, as a high school student, he’s still your puppet. He’s not your toy; he’s a human being.”

“What could you possibly know, you outsider? Keishi is a good boy who studies well, is well-mannered, and respectful. Don’t be jealous just because he’s loved by me,” my mother retorted with a sigh of exasperation.

“I wish you had just died in that accident,” she said.

A sharp pain gripped my chest. I felt a deep sadness for my mother, who could say such heartless things without hesitation. I couldn’t bear to think about how my father felt hearing those words. I wanted them to stop, to not fight anymore. But I didn’t have the courage to step in between them. If I went out there, I’d be scolded for eavesdropping… definitely scolded.

“No matter how much you object, the child coming here tomorrow is mine,” my father said, making me doubt my own ears. He had indeed said, “my child.”

“It’s insane to recognize some child whose origins are unknown!” my mother’s voice rose to a shrill pitch.

“It’s rich of you to say that after shamelessly having me recognize a child born from incest. Just like Keishi, please take good care of my son Tohru, who’s coming tomorrow. If anything happens to Keishi, he’ll be the heir to this house.”

My mother screamed, and my father laughed.

“If the child I recognized inherits this house, the bloodline you cherished so dearly will end, and it will be passed on to a complete stranger. Just the thought of it excites me. This is the end for you and your brother, who always looked down on me.”

“You devil!” my mother cried.

The sound of my father's wheelchair grew louder, and instinctively, I hid in a corner of the stairs. My father came out of the living room and wheeled himself back to his room at the far end of the first floor.

After my father left, I could hear the sound of things breaking and muffled curses from the living room. I had forgotten why I came downstairs and returned to my room, sitting down at my desk just as I had before leaving. Even with a mechanical pencil in hand, staring at a blank notebook, I couldn’t focus on studying. My mind was overwhelmed with the truths I had just heard.

The conflict between his father, uncle, and mother. His mother, who conceived him through incest just because she wanted a child of her own and didn’t want the bloodline to end. His father, who was now trying to take in a child he didn’t know, purely for the sake of revenge against the woman who had wronged him.

What kind of house is this? It might be called a family, but it’s only a shell. The concept of trust doesn’t exist here. There was never a chance for it to be built in the first place.

He was created and raised not out of his parents' love, but out of his mother's egoism. Even if he was the product of egoism, he was still loved by his mother. He was loved…

Suddenly, he realized something. But he wished he hadn’t. What exactly did his mother love about him? Was it the fact that they shared the same blood, that he carried on that bloodline? But that’s invisible...

If just being of the same blood was enough, then what was Keishi Fujishima as a person? What did it mean for him to exist, to think, to live?

His mother must have been satisfied as long as the entity she created carried her genes. She probably didn’t care about what was inside. If she didn’t care, did that mean he had no reason to be here? He clenched his hands so tightly they lost color. He desperately tried to resist the emptiness that was creeping through his chest, but it was stronger than his will, and it quickly consumed him.

If he were to die tomorrow, no one would truly mourn. His father hated him, and even if his mother grieved over the loss of Keishi Fujishima's physical body and the end of his genetic line, she wouldn’t notice if his heart had died as well. He had no friends he could confide in. Everything was superficial... there was no one, nowhere, who truly loved Keishi Fujishima.

Tears pooled on the blank notebook, flowing out like a waterfall.

“Help me...”

But who would help him? There was no one who would. He was introverted, inarticulate, with nothing going for him except his studies—who would like someone like that? He wiped his tears, stood up, and stumbled to the window. Even though it was just the second floor, the ground seemed far away. He wondered if he would die if he jumped, but he couldn’t be sure. The faint sound of insects chirping reached his ears. As a gentle breeze brushed his cheek, he wondered why he had been born.

No matter how sad the night is, morning comes regardless of one’s will. When he went downstairs with red eyes to have breakfast, his mother arrived in the dining room a little later. Despite the ugly argument with his father the night before, she greeted him with a bright, cheerful face, perfectly made-up, as if nothing had happened. He couldn’t look directly at his mother’s convenient, mask-like face.

“Your eyes are red,” she said.

He couldn’t admit he had been crying. If he did, she would ask why. If she pressed him for answers, he wouldn’t be able to hide the fact that he had overheard their argument the previous night.

“I stayed up late studying...” he lied. His mother muttered a concerned, “Don’t overdo it,” and took a sip of her coffee.

“There’s something I need to tell you, Keishi.”

She brushed a strand of hair away from her face with her fingers.

“Starting today, we’ll be taking in a distant relative’s child. He’ll be staying in the northern separate annex, and since he’ll eat separately, you probably won’t run into him, but if you do, don’t get involved with him. Don’t talk to him… He’s not a very well-behaved child.”

The memory of the previous night’s conversation came rushing back. The stranger’s child his father had recognized just to get back at his mother. Keishi tore off a piece of toast.

“How old is he?” he asked.

“You don’t need to know that. It’s none of your concern,” his mother replied in a tone that indicated the conversation was over. Keishi couldn’t ask anything more and shoved the piece of bread into his mouth.

His mother left the table after drinking just one cup of coffee, not noticing that her son had barely touched his breakfast. As soon as she was gone, Keishi rushed to the bathroom and threw up. His stomach ached sharply. He returned to his room and lay down on his bed until the pain gradually subsided. He looked up at the old clock. If he didn’t leave soon, he’d be late for the mock exam. But he didn’t want to go. He didn’t want to do anything. He had never felt this indifferent before. After a while, he finally grabbed his bag at the last possible moment to catch the train. If he skipped, they’d ask him why.

He put on his shoes at the entrance and stepped outside. Despite all that had happened overnight, the summer day continued on, unchanged from the day before, as if none of it mattered.

Footnotes

0. Content warning: NSFW, child s*xual abuse, incest.

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