Haruchiro

chapter: 3

"I'm going now. Take care of yourself, okay ?Haruchiro?" That's what he said to me before he left for his study abroad program. Just like that, Izumi departed for his studies.And just like that, he left. Yet, in his absence, it seemed as though the rumors that had surrounded me since birth were coming true—doom began to cling to me like a shadow once more.

"Maybe he's cursed," they murmured. "His presence brings misfortune to their household."

People whispered about me. They didn't care how I would feel, even though I'm just a 4-year-old kid, barely able to talk. I never cried or opposed their beliefs; . I remained silent, suppressing my emotions, unsure of how to react. Yet, within the depths of my young mind, a dark thought lingered: the desire to silence those who spoke ill of me, to cut them down with a knife."How dare you speak of Haruchiro like that," intervened Izumi, his expression ablaze with anger.

I was somehow relieved, as if he had silenced the demons in my mind.Yet, even his intervention couldn't silence the murmurs entirely. "Izumi, you know it too," they persisted, gesturing toward me. "Look at him, he didn't even shed a tear at his mother's funeral." The words pierced through me, questioning my very existence. "Everywhere he goes, death follows," they claimed. Izumi, my older brother, snapped and began yelling at them. In that moment, it felt as though time itself stood still, the weight of their accusations pressing down upon me. Funeral? But Mother had promised she would return soon. Was it all a lie?"Haruchiro!" Izumi's voice sliced through my thoughts, drawing me back to reality. He grasped my hand firmly, leading me away. Before we disappeared inside, he turned to me, his eyes filled with determination."Big brother will take care of you."

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'Big brother will take care of you'...

As I glanced at the clock, I realized it was already late, yet the cloudy sky outside made it appear early. For the first time in a long while, I slept deeply and soundly. Memories of my childhood flooded my mind, prompted by the stories elders often share when they sense their time drawing near. Am I slowly approaching the end?

I received a phone call from Takumi, who informed me that the investigation was not on hiatus, but he added that he believed it was a trap set for us to expose ourselves. He also mentioned that we have new business with the Russian mafia involving drug and gun dealing, which would benefit our organization greatly. As I listened to him, he fell silent for a moment before saying, "But they want to deal with you." Surprised, I asked, "Me?" "Yes," he confirmed, "they want to meet you for better future business."

"Understood. Let them know that the meeting and exchange will take place next week. I'll attend if that's what they prefer," I informed him. After a brief pause, we ended the call. Doubts filled my mind—was this a trap? I decided to conduct some discreet investigation of my own before proceeding further.

After some time, I glanced out the window and realized that it was already dark. I realized I had been investigating them all day. Stepping out into the night, leaving the confines of my apartment, I made my way to my favorite spot, the bridge.

I still struggled to understand their way of life, so I gave up trying. As I reached the bridge, a familiar figure emerged – Ishikawa, capturing the essence of the fleeting moment with her camera, immortalizing the cloudy sky before redirecting her gaze towards me, her lens now trained upon my figure. I brushed her presence aside, leaning against the guardrail, and light up a cigarette. A heavy silence dropped upon us, and unexpectedly, it was I who broke it. "Your pallor worsens with each passing day," I observed.

"Almost out of medicine," she murmured.

"Medicine?" I inquired, confused furrowing my brow. It turned out that Ishikawa had been marked by illness: a heart disease and neurological disorder. Despite her illness, she clung to life with a intense determination , indulging in a waking wish fulfillment. I couldn't help but resent people who refused to know when to give up. Yet, as she continued to express her future plans and desires, particularly her longing to visit Tokyo and experience countless things, her self-pity was noticeable. "Stop pitying yourself," I interjected. She denied it, insisting she wasn't. "Yes, you are," I persisted, and a silent moment hung between us before I added, "Once you start pitying yourself, this world can become your worst nightmare."

As we stood there, she rambled on incessantly, but my mind had drifted elsewhere, distracted with thoughts of next week's meeting. Out of the blue, he emerged from a flower shop, clutching a bouquet. As my gaze lingered on him, considering my chance to approach him, Ishikawa suddenly exclaimed, "Oh, Hiroshi-san?" Then, she shouted, "Hiroshi-san!" He glanced our way as Ishikawa waved at him. He returned the wave before swiftly walking away. "Do you know him?" I inquired. "Yeah, everyone knows him; he's nice to everyone," she replied, adding, "He lives down the street at the Hishima apartments." "Yes, I know. He's my neighbor," I confirmed. It became clear to me that he used to be involved with the Yakuza, a fact known to every members of Yakuza from his generation. His information reported his death, yet here he was, hidden away in this cozy village. Finally, something intriguing had surfaced, sparking my curiosity about how he had managed to escape that life. Lost in my thoughts, I suddenly noticed Ishikawa staring at me with confusion. I shot her a fleeting glance before making my way to my apartment. Just before I left, something unexpected slipped from my lips, "I'm going to Tokyo next week. If you can provide me with information about your medicine, I'll get it for you." Excitement lit up her face as she nodded eagerly in agreement. And with that, I left her.

For the past few days, I've been absorbing a wealth of information on various topics. Despite this, Takumi has continued to contact me persistently. Finally, the day has arrived, but deep inside, I knew something was amiss, and my doubts only grew stronger. As I left my apartment and made my way to the train station, I couldn't shake the memory of what I had said to Ishikawa: if this mission were to succeed, I wouldn't return to this village. So, would the excitement she felt turn into confusion and sorrow? It hardly mattered; it didn't matter to me at all. Yet, despite this, I still yearned to hear the story Hiroshi had to tell. Perhaps it would provide the answers I've been seeking for so long. Maybe all these thoughts swirling in my mind, the tales of cursed individuals, would dissipate.

Lost in contemplation, I suddenly found myself at the train station. Concealing my identity behind a mask and hat, I assumed the appearance of an civilian, a preventions against arousing suspicion. As i sat waiting for the train to arrive, i heard heavy breathing and approaching footsteps. Looking up, I saw Ishikawa. From her expression, it was clear she had run all the way. Without a word, she handed me a paper. "These are the names of my medicines," she explained, punctuating her words with a soft giggle. Accepting the paper, I boarded the train as it arrived. I knew Ishikawa would keep an attentive watch until the train vanished from sight. Observing her face filled with hope as she entrusted me with the name of her medicines. I couldn't bring myself to tell her that, i wouldn't be returning. Once again she hoped against all odds, clinging to a seemingly hopeless belief.