~I forced myself to play the role I hate the most~
1. A Stage I Cannot Leave
Fool.
That was the only word worthy of being written across my forehead that night.
I stepped into a fight that never offered a path to victory from the beginning.
Whoever stood as the winner—only destruction would remain.
There is no happiness at the end of this story.
Only a widening abyss calling my name with a familiar voice.
I know I am falling.
Yet I keep walking.
As if the shadows are not something to avoid,
but the home I was always meant to reach.
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2. Blood as the First Sentence
The glass bottle flew from my hand like a delayed decision.
Crack.
His head was struck.
His scream split the air, echoing through my chest.
Red warmth spread, trailing down the broken glass still in my grip.
He rolled away.
The lock on my arm came loose.
My right hand was free—
pain burned through it, deep and raw.
I laughed softly—
the laugh of someone who knows there is little left to lose.
With my left hand, I stepped forward.
One blow.
Two.
And the world began to shake with the rhythm of my strikes.
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3. Iron and Satisfaction
He still struggled—
pushing at me with what little strength remained,
grasping at distance as if space itself could save him.
His kicks landed wildly—
my leg,
my stomach,
anything he could reach.
Dazed and unsteady, he forced himself upright,
nearly collapsing,
then lashed out at my face—
not resistance,
but the last refusal to fall.
Nearby,
I took the iron rod.
Short. Solid. Cold.
No hesitation.
No prayer.
No holy name.
I brought it down.
Again.
And again.
Until something inside me whispered:
enough for today.
My heart had become a room without windows.
Anger hung inside it like thick fog.
I forgot the purpose.
I forgot the reason.
I forgot who this was meant for.
Only one conclusion remained:
what's done is done.
And because of that…
I no longer needed to stop.
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4. The Poison I Drank Myself
If from the start this was never for anyone else,
then it isn't wrong if I finish it for myself.
Every strike is poison.
Yet I drink it like wine.
Intoxicating.
Warm.
Fatal.
I drown myself in emotion,
turning it into a shoreless sea.
There is no way back.
Until finally—
Misaki grabbed my arm.
Her hand trembled.
Her voice broke.
She told me to stop.
But by then…
I was too far gone to understand what "enough" meant.
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5. The Whisper That Fed the Monster
I still remember it.
With embarrassing clarity.
I thought doing this would drain my hatred,
cool my anger,
fill this hollow space with relief.
I was wrong.
Behind the exhaustion stood an older sin:
greed.
It whispered in my ear:
"Make him suffer more.
Make him hurt more.
Wasn't he the one who stole your life?
Weren't you once the star—
and in a single day became nothing because of someone like him?"
The whisper did not shout.
It sang.
Soft.
Sweet.
Deadly.
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6. A Face That Awakens Hunger
I looked at him.
Hiroshi's face—covered in tears and fear.
And there I realized something I did not want to admit:
his suffering made me feel alive.
Like fuel on a small flame.
Like a child finding a lost toy again.
I wanted to capture the moment,
preserve it,
make it the most honest portrait of who I was then.
I who once only followed—
was now completely carried away.
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7. A Litany of Violence
Kick.
Kick again.
Strike.
Curse him until my chest feels full.
Let the red flow.
Let it become the ink that writes my rise as a monster.
I savored every second.
Every sound.
Every groan.
The darkness was no longer a guest.
It owned the house.
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8. Misaki Begins to Fear
Strangely—
Misaki, who once pushed me forward,
now changed.
In her eyes I did not see victory.
I saw fear.
But I did not want to understand it.
I did not care.
Because for the first time in a very long while,
I felt:
this is mine.
My life.
My story.
And I am the one writing its ending.
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9. A Kneeling That Feels Refreshing
"Is this really Hiroshi?"
My voice shook—not with pity,
but with bitter disbelief.
Impossible.
The figure before me was not the one I knew.
Not the man who once looked down on the world.
You were never someone who knelt.
Never someone who begged.
Never someone who used apology for anything but advantage.
If you beg today,
it is not regret—
only defeat.
The voice sounded distant,
like an echo from a life I no longer live.
The reality was simpler:
Hiroshi knelt.
Bent low.
Tears falling to the floor.
And somehow—
the sight felt relieving.
I enjoyed it.
The reversal.
From the one trampled—
to the one who steps.
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10. Closing – When Misaki No Longer Recognizes Me
In the corner of the room,
Misaki looked at me like something that had slipped beyond control.
And perhaps—
for the first time—
she realized:
the monster she awakened
was no longer merely her reflection.
It had become something else.
Something even she
could no longer stop.