The sound of Go Ji Chime resonated amidst the orange sky, with faint cicada chirps echoing, signaling the end of summer. In the outskirts of the city at 5 o'clock in the afternoon, the streets appeared deserted, devoid of human activity.
"Tang!" Not long after, the sound of a blunt object striking was heard, before Go Ji Chime once again filled the airspace that evening.
Little Hiro Mishima was seen covered in blood, his hand tightly gripping his father's dented iron bat. Before him stood a 15-year-old boy with a cracked skull and limbs twisted unnaturally.
Hiro remembered the screams, the pleas for mercy, and the cries for help from the boy in front of him, who had just lit a cigarette on his friend's head, knocked out his teeth, and walked away unpunished because his father was the local council leader in this fishing area.
He was a wicked creature who had committed crimes not only against his friend but wherever he set foot. One day, Hiro was sure he would become a criminal like the Yakuza, a corruptor, or something similar.
"This is justice," thought Hiro.
He smiled, feeling proud of himself for the first time.
He felt he had brought about justice, the justice that was deserved.
"Breaking news!" The presenter’s voice trembled with urgency. "It has been observed that North Korean military forces have launched several short-range ballistic missiles from near Pyongyang towards the Sea of Japan. It is believed that this act is a counter-provocation by North Korea in response to the trilateral naval missile defense exercises conducted by the United States, South Korea, and Japan."
"This is a highly concerning development," the co-presenter added, his tone grave. "With rising tensions in the region, many are beginning to wonder if we are on the brink of a larger conflict. What steps will the involved parties take next? And how will the international community respond to this increasingly heated situation? The fear of war on the Korean peninsula feels more real than ever. We must keep a close watch on these developments."
The television blared in the background, its volume loud enough to wake Hiro from his unintended nap after a long shift. The gyudon shop, filled with the savory scent of grilled meat, was buzzing with workers anxiously discussing the potential for war. Hiro, however, seemed indifferent, his mind preoccupied with the recurring nightmare that gnawed at his conscience.
"I'm heading out," Hiro announced, giving a friendly nudge to his coworkers as he made his way to the changing room.
Hiro looked utterly exhausted, dark circles under his eyes, his hair disheveled. He planned to cut it short soon to avoid the hassle of combing. His clothes were stained and dirty. Wiping the sweat from his face with a towel, he began to change out of his work uniform and back into his school clothes. His thin frame was marked with scars and bruises. As he dressed, he heard footsteps approaching.
"Here, this is for you," said Mr. Haruki, Hiro’s boss, emerging from behind the curtain that separated the changing room from the staff area. He handed Hiro a package of leftover meat from the evening’s meals. "For your mother, grandmother, and sister."
"Thank you, boss!" Hiro replied, bowing deeply.
"I pray for your mother and grandmother’s health. And don’t forget my offer to work here after you graduate!"
Hiro smiled, bowing again before Mr. Haruki returned to the kitchen.
Over the years, Hiro felt the hearts of the small town’s community had begun to warm to him and his family.
He remembered the days when his name was synonymous with trouble. After being released from a juvenile rehabilitation center, Hiro often found himself ostracized and struggled to make friends in the local community.
Maybe their hearts softened because of my mother, Hiro thought.
…
Returning home, Hiro brought back some meat, and Ichika, his younger sister still in middle school, had already prepared the tofu and rice, knowing that her brother would bring home ready-made meals. They sat together before their mother was seen slowly making her way, assisted by their grandmother. She looked painfully thin, her lips pale, her head covered with a scarf over her balding scalp. While the good news was that her mother's cancer was said to have stopped spreading, the effects of chemotherapy had taken a toll on her body and mind.
"Mother, please eat," Hiro urged.
His mother remained silent. As Hiro attempted to feed her, he noticed the cracked sores lining her mouth, from lips to throat. She struggled to swallow the food, and everyone at the table knew she would likely vomit it back up later.
The sight always made Ichika's chest tight, and she quickly finished her meal, retreating to her room feeling uneasy. Meanwhile, their grandmother instructed Hiro to continue eating and took over feeding their mother.
"Your mother is a fighter. Look at her, she's still trying to eat," the grandmother remarked. "I remember your father, he refused to eat, refused to drink, often lashing out in anger. He'd ask why he was cursed with this disease while the wicked ones who wronged him were just fine. Ah, my child..."
Mother remained stoic, but tears streamed down her face.
She remembered when her husband passed away, she felt relief. No longer did she have to carry his emaciated body to the bathroom. No longer did she have to feed him only to be met with his rough hands slapping her away. No longer did she have to listen to his painful groans beside her, awakened by his bedwetting and vomit.
Now, she was experiencing it all herself, wondering if her children and in-laws would feel the same. She noticed Ichika always looked sad when she glanced at her, Hiro rarely came home, and when he did, he seemed so tired, his face reflecting the exhaustion she once knew.
Hiro met his mother's gaze and wiped away her tears.
She looked at Hiro, likely consumed by guilt, now working tirelessly to alleviate the burden on her family.
"Son, forget about me, focus on school," she wanted to say, but it felt like a futile plea.
She remained silent, as she did every day. She had accepted everything.
After finishing his meal, Hiro packed his bag and got ready again, his convenience store uniform already on. He would be home by 11 p.m. His mother knew Hiro no longer thought about his schooling; the bright student had dedicated all his energy to work, ensuring every penny saved went towards her treatment.
"Mother, I'm off," Hiro said, kissing his mother's forehead before leaving the house and riding his bicycle back.
Working tirelessly, smiling at customers, stocking shelves, enduring the anger of patrons with stoic composure—Hiro had grown so accustomed to it all that his hands moved automatically. Meanwhile, his mind drifted back through the corridors of his past.
He recalled being at school when he received the news that his mother had collapsed at work, where she was a nurse in a retirement home. Hiro hurried home and was contacted by his grandmother on the phone, instructing him to bring his mother’s insurance card and some clothes. She tried to calm him:
"The doctor said your mother will be fine. She’s just exhausted. Remember, she works three jobs. I’ve told her she doesn’t have to bear it all alone…”
Hearing this, Hiro felt a slight relief. It had been three years since his father died, and they had been living independently without him. Hiro thought that neither he nor his sister Ichika would be able to bear it if something similar happened to their mother.
When they arrived at the hospital, his grandmother was not in the garden as he expected. Instead, Hiro saw the dim hospital lights and decided to go inside to find where his mother was being treated.
The remote hospital was quiet, and at that moment, he saw his grandmother’s back. He hurried after her and then saw his mother with her, but his steps slowed. His mother was in a wheelchair, looking pale, accompanied by a nurse who was pushing the chair.
Hiro followed them silently, feeling a sense of déjà vu. They were heading to a familiar place—three years ago, to the oncology specialist’s room, where his father used to frequent…
“Senpai?!”
Suddenly, Hiro was jolted back to reality. Standing before him was a young man with dyed blond hair and bright blue eyes, a missing tooth not detracting from his handsome features. The face was so familiar, and a flood of unwelcome memories surged in Hiro’s mind, making him utter unconsciously:
“Akira?”
“Senpai remembers me! I’m so happy!”
…
After work, Akira was still waiting in front of the convenience store. He looked serious as he smoked, his gaze fixed on his phone, but that seriousness melted away as soon as he saw Hiro waving at him.
Before long, they were catching up on each other's lives. Akira had moved because of his father’s job. Now he lived with his parents and his younger brother, who was still in middle school.
“After what happened, I took karate classes. I’m already a Shodan!” Akira said. Hiro remembered how Akira used to be bullied by their classmates. His patchy hair and missing teeth were the handiwork of those bullies. But now, that weak boy had transformed into someone muscular and imposing, like a bodybuilder.
“Now, just like you, Senpai, I’ll protect the weak!” Akira said, his eyes shining with determination.
Hiro stood silent, feeling an urge to slap himself at Akira’s words.
“Look at this, Senpai,” Akira said, showing a video on his phone of him protecting someone from being bullied. “See how I took them down. I had someone record it as proof that I didn’t start the fight.”
“Look at the views. It went viral! I’m almost famous. I had to move—”
“Akira, I have to be honest with you. I’m not the person you used to know.”
“Huh?” Akira responded, his face puzzled.
“I’ll never fight again.”
Akira fell silent. He remembered how, after the incident, Hiro’s family had to move because of the community's harassment and his father’s dismissal from work.
“I might have wanted to help people, claiming it was all for justice. But I was a kid. What did I know about justice? Do you know that the person I punished is now crippled for life?”
“Senpai! I—”
“Yes, he was evil, tormenting kids, extorting money, beating them up, and preying on the powerless because his father was influential. And you… ah, you too. But then I took his future away, never giving him a chance. He begged for mercy... you know?”
Memories surged: blood, the sound of breaking bones, faint screams, the evening Go Ji Chime, the police, his mother’s sobs, death threats scrawled on their door, his father’s fury, the rehabilitation room covered in apologies, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” and his father’s grave.
“That’s why my family suffered. It’s karma, and I have to accept it, a punishment from God… Maybe you should think about the impact of your violence on your family, Akira…”
Akira looked angry, but Hiro couldn’t hear his words. His mind was a whirlwind of noise, self-recrimination gnawing at him daily. Hiro left Akira without saying goodbye, and Akira crushed the cigarette pack in his hand.
“Only a coward abandons his ideals!” Akira shouted, clenching his fists.
