~At the very least… can we still call ourselves human?~
1. Red Across the Floor
Blood kept flowing from Hiroshi's head.
Its red no longer felt like a color,
but like a sound—
pounding against the floor, knocking against my awareness from within.
He knelt.
His tears fell one by one,
as if trying to put out the fire I had started myself.
But my soul was no longer a house fit for prayer.
It had become a nest for something without a name.
That night,
the tragedy was not born from revenge—
Everything began from small, nearly ignored fragments—
trivial pieces slowly locking together
until they formed a chain of misfortune.
From there, a tragedy was born.
One that should have died before it was named,
yet grew—nurtured by my own decisions.
Those outside this circle might use a single word: revenge.
Logical, perhaps—
but too shallow to reach the true depth of the wound.
It was not revenge. Never that.
What moved me was something quieter, more dangerous—love.
Love that opened the first door of this story,
when I still believed good intentions could save everything.
And the same love that slowly, inevitably,
dragged me to close this tale with regret-stained hands—
turning affection into the cruelest shape of tragedy.
Misguided love.
Love turned into justification.
Love turned into a blade.
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2. A Reason Named Misaki
Without realizing it,
my time with Misaki awakened something inside me—
not love,
not desire,
but recognition.
I felt understood.
And that is the most dangerous feeling in the world.
I no longer saw my life as footprints in snow that would vanish,
but as a line I was free to draw myself.
Now I force myself to face forward—
not because the wounds are healed,
but because I am tired of living with my back turned to the past.
There are moments I still look behind,
just to make sure my traces are not completely erased—
that I truly fell and rose from the same place.
But that glance is no longer a burden.
It has become a marker
so I do not lose my way again while moving ahead.
Misaki gave me a reason.
And a human with a reason
will dare to challenge fate.
I know now that I have one.
But reasons can also give birth to monsters
long before they realize they are changing.
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3. The Push That Changed Everything
Misaki grabbed my arm.
Told me to stop.
Her voice broke.
Her hands trembled.
And for the first time—
I pushed her away.
Not from hatred.
Not from anger.
But because I didn't want anyone—
not even her—
to block the grim satisfaction I had just discovered.
I wanted one thing:
fear burned into memory.
Inside my head there was only one objective left:
to make Hiroshi learn it the hard way.
I mixed my reasons like poison—
blending truth with lies,
reality with illusion,
superiority with deliberate humiliation.
I delivered speeches about justice inside my mind—
empty rhetoric built to excuse myself.
Beneath those hollow words,
my fists kept falling,
as if each strike could silence the voice that still called me guilty.
Truth was no longer a value.
Only material to be reshaped as needed.
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4. Words That Sparked New Hatred
In the middle of it,
Hiroshi lifted his face.
His eyes were wide—
not with hope,
but with a curse.
"Your birth… is a curse to me!
If only you had never existed!"
He lunged with the last of his strength,
like a wounded animal
more afraid of living than dying.
And somehow—
those words only strengthened me.
There are many things in this world I will never understand—
how life turns its wheel,
who controls it,
where it drags us next.
Moments ago he had surrendered,
collapsed in tears and pleading.
Then something rose again inside him—
ego, pain, pride—
and he spat words as if he still owned power over me.
I no longer cared whether my choice was right or wrong.
The difference had lost its meaning.
For too long I lived while looking backward.
Now I choose to face my future—
and for the first time,
I am no longer running from my own fear.
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5. Between Glass and Memory
He forced me down again,
his weight crushing the air from my lungs.
My hands rose on instinct to resist.
The earlier pain in my arm dulled,
replaced by heavy exhaustion.
This time his hold was firm.
My body was fully pinned.
Bones strained under pressure.
Considerations lost all meaning.
The reality was simple:
I was trapped beneath him again,
and time was no longer an ally.
My memory flashed—
near my head lay broken glass from before.
One last possibility.
I struggled, reached, endured the blows that followed,
buying inches of space
as if those inches separated life from another ruin.
At last—
my fingers closed around it.
Just before I drove it forward,
Misaki called my name.
Her eyes were wet.
Her head shook slowly.
Like damaged film frames, memories fell one by one:
my shoulder against hers,
laughter between book debates,
night wind and soft moonlight,
colors fading into fragile pastels—
and that small question:
"Will we meet again tomorrow?"
I smiled then.
But tonight—
my answer was written in red.
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6. When Our Eyes Met
I looked at her for a moment—
just a moment in that night.
We had cherished our meeting simply—
through warmth, jokes, gentle laughter.
Nothing excessive. Nothing lacking.
I for her, and she for me.
Not lovers—
yet somehow alike,
two mirrored souls.
There was a strong urge to turn back,
to answer that call,
to choose her.
Yes… I wanted to.
But my feet kept moving forward.
I denied myself even the smallest chance to look back.
If only—
if I had chosen differently,
would we have met again?
In those brief seconds when our eyes locked,
I only gave a thin smile,
while sinking deeper into emotions I barely understood.
Not because I didn't value her.
Not because I didn't want her.
But because I knew, bitterly:
I had changed.
I was no longer the person she knew.
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7. The Strike That Erased What Was Left
The broken bottle drove forward.
His cry tore loose.
His body twisted.
Red spread across the floor
like spilled ink across a collapsing world.
He staggered,
then lost awareness.
I stood above him,
hand trembling,
still holding the glass.
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8. The Witness
A shout drew footsteps.
The door opened.
Someone froze at the threshold.
They saw only this:
a boy lying in spreading red,
and me—
staring at the ceiling
like someone who had just found God,
or lost Him.
His voice faded.
The world fell silent.
What remained clinging to my skin
like a stain:
guilt—
arriving too late.
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9. Closing – The Unanswered Question
Everything seemed to accuse me—
the air,
the walls,
the light.
And God—
whether He looked at me or turned away, I could not tell.
I asked in silence:
Is there still a road back?
Even the question sounded false.
Because deep down,
I knew—
I no longer wanted to return.
That night,
I did not only destroy one life.
I also buried
the version of myself
that could still have been saved.