The house was still the same. Everything seemed frozen in the moment of the explosion. Fifteen days had passed since that day. The house was buried in dusty silence; the sounds of life had disappeared.
When Kozuki stepped inside, the sound of his shoes echoed. The house was no longer a home, but an interrogation site. Every room, every object, was like a witness that could no longer speak.
When he entered the bedroom, he didn't lie on the edge of the bed but on the floor. Softness felt like too much of a luxury. Every time he closed his eyes, he felt like one of the fragments scattered by the explosion.
One morning, as he turned toward the kitchen, he saw a movement on the floor.
Their golden retriever, Shushu... was barely breathing. Her eyes were half-closed, tongue hanging out. The food bowl was empty. She couldn't even stand.
Kozuki looked down from above. There was no sadness on his face, no panic. Only numbness. Between Shushu's trembling body and his own lifeless state, there was no difference.
He sat at his desk. A fountain pen in hand, a blank notebook in front. He paused before writing the first line.
The first sentence was:
"I could have repaired the car three days before that day. I didn't."
Then, the pages followed.
[DAY 3]
I'm afraid of forgetting Yamato's laughter. Sounds go first. Then images. Then the life inside a person. Forgetting is silent. One morning you wake up, and someone's face no longer lingers before your eyes. That's when you know: an era has ended. That era was called: the era of living together.
[DAY 5]
Today I looked in the mirror for the first time. There was someone who looked like me, but no humanity in his eyes. "I am Kozuki." That sentence now feels like an empty shell. Rotten from the inside but still standing outside, like a building... anyone who enters will collapse.
[DAY 7]
What does it feel like to jump from a window, I wonder? Is it like flying, or is the thought of crashing heavier? Waking up in the mornings feels like punishment. Even dreams no longer offer solace. Reality chases me even in sleep.
[DAY 9]
I picked up a stone today. As I held it, I thought: is this just an ordinary rock or a chosen weight to remember by? But I still carry three gravestones in my heart. And with every breath I take, one of them grows heavier. It's as if a graveyard lives in the center of my chest.
[DAY 12]
I always thought those who committed suicide were cowards. But maybe they're the final form of courage. In a world where living has lost meaning, choosing to go may be braver than staying. Maybe true cowardice is staying and pretending nothing happened.
That night, the only thing he wrote on top of the notebook was:
DAY 15 — FAREWELL
He placed the gun in his mouth. Pulled the trigger.
Darkness came.
But death did not.
When Kozuki opened his eyes, he was outside. Blood trickled from his mouth. He was smiling.
KOZUKI (inner voice):
I moved... but time didn't stop.
The sky was gray. He began walking down the street. His head bowed. Even the asphalt beneath his feet felt like it didn't belong to him.
I couldn't save Yurika... or Yamato. But by saving others, I can keep their names alive.
He stopped in front of a local market. When he stepped inside, there were two women and a child. The air was filled with silent tension.
Suddenly, someone shouted from the back shelves:
"Get on the ground! Or I'll blow your head off!"
Kozuki didn't blink. He walked forward, smiling coldly and sharply.
"Fuck off."
The man fired six times. None of the bullets hit. Kozuki wasn't there.
The robber panicked, looking around. Kozuki appeared behind him. He grabbed the man's gun hand, squeezing it tightly. The man's fingers stiffened, the gun fell to the floor.
With his other hand, Kozuki kicked the back of the man's knee. The man collapsed. Then he delivered a strong kick to the stomach. The man whimpered and staggered outside.
Kozuki turned to the cashier. He leaned in. Smiled gently. Extended his hand.
"You okay?"
The woman didn't know what to do. She simply nodded with empty eyes.
Another day... A child dashed into the street at a corner. The traffic lights at the main junction weren't working. A truck sped forward. Everyone froze, eyes fixed on the boy, but no one moved.
As the truck screeched its brakes, a shadow stepped in front of the boy. Kozuki, arms around the child, appeared on the sidewalk.
The truck stopped in time, but death had stood where the boy was just moments before.
The mother ran, clutching the child. Kozuki said nothing. His eyes looked like he was seeing his daughter.
In the following days... Kozuki's image spread across the city. Sometimes he stopped an old man from falling, sometimes he separated fighters in narrow alleys. He slipped into people's lives like a shadow, pulled them back from death, and disappeared.
Days passed. Around ten.
Kozuki's hair had grown longer. Dark circles deepened under his eyes. Lines formed on his face—not from age, but from exhaustion. He was 25. But anyone looking at him would say 35.
It was a sunny day. Kozuki walked with hands in his pockets, slowly. The sky was clear, the air crisp, but the square was crowded. Dozens of people had surrounded him, forming a circle. Reporters, young people lifting phones, crying elders... they were close but couldn't touch him.
Some cried, others reached out, and some only whispered:
"You are our god."
"You are God's grace."
They spoke, but Kozuki remained silent. His eyes drifted across the crowd.
A police officer bent over his radio in the distance:
"Sir... we can't get close. The crowd is like a wall. We can't even breathe."
Kozuki looked around once more. Paused. His lips moved.
"Pathetic," he whispered.
Another two weeks passed... On the fifteenth day, he found himself at the door of a bar.
Inside, it was dim. A bar with a nostalgic 80s vibe, lit by neon, but far from fancy. Old album covers on the walls, a crackling tune playing in the corner. Wooden chairs were tilted, the bar sticky. The air was thick with nostalgia and fatigue.
Haruki looked up, eyes wide in surprise.
"Man... You've been gone for months. I missed you," he said warmly.
Kozuki approached and sat down. His eyes were duller than the walls.
"I'm sick of dealing with deaths caused by people's incompetence," he muttered.
Haruki gestured toward the television:
"Hey... look at the screen."
Kozuki downed his whiskey. Ran his fingers through his hair. His eyes... were dead.
He turned to the screen. A live broadcast of the Central Bank. A man in a flashy suit smiled at the camera.
Haruki nudged Kozuki's shoulder. Smiled faintly:
"If I had even a bit of that... I'd grab my friend, shut this place down, and wipe away the bad looks."
Kozuki said nothing. Thought nothing.
He just stared.
Suddenly, he was inside the screen.
Inside the bank. A security guard stood nearby. Without hesitation, Kozuki struck the man with the back of his elbow. The man collapsed, unconscious.
Kozuki turned to the camera.
Expressionless.
He smiled.
But those eyes... those eyes still belonged to the night he tried to kill himself. Hollow. Lifeless. Dark.
Eyes that gave viewers goosebumps.
Blood was dripping from his elbow.