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Bad people deserve to be hated. Such is the karmic law. As one sows, so shall one reap. Hurtful words shall be returned with malice. Violent actions shall be repaid with lashes. Bad people should be punished for causing harm, the punishment tenfold the severity of their crime. They have to feel, to experience the pain which they have brought upon others. So that they may repent, regret, but not forgiven.
There is no justification. There will never be a justification. Age, relationship, intention, emotional state— these factors are all, similarly, irrelevant. Every insult is a hit, every hit is a stab. The intention does not matter, for every action leaves a scar. They may mature, they may soften, they may fade, but they will never disappear. A reminder, a trace of sin.
Love shall not come for those who cause agony in others. They do not deserve it. It is even a punishment to those who have been wronged themselves. Who rejoices in seeing the smile of bad people? Bestowing such a blessing on them is akin to letting a devil taste the sweetness of Heaven.
Thus, it is wrong when a bad person desires love.
‘Ahh, you’re so cute. I love you so much, Yuichiro!’
‘Eh—?’
His father did not allow him to find his words. He embraced him, twirling Yuichiro in the air. The young boy held onto his father's light red coat tightly.
‘Papa? What about me?’ pouted Muichiro, tugging on his father's trousers leg. The man grinned, shifting one son to one arm, so he could pick up his other son with his other arm.
‘Yes, Muichiro is also very cute! Papa loves Muichiro a lot!’
Muichiro giggled and gave their father a small snuggle. ‘I love Papa, too!’
Quietly, a strange sensation began to nest in Yuichiro's heart. He watched his brother and father, chest empty with what felt like a hole was being dug right where his heart was. It was difficult to breathe. Why was it difficult to breathe?
He stumbled slightly when his father placed him back on the ground. He felt light-headed from the breaths that could not enter his lungs correctly. He felt like crying. Something was clawing the insides of his stomach, nipping at the underneath of his skin.
But all Yuichiro did was bite his lip, crease his brows, and clench the front of his yukata. He could not even muster up the tears to cry.
He glanced to the left. Dad was stretching, getting ready to carry more firewood to sell at the village near the foot of their mountain.
He glanced to the right. Mum had her sleeves tied up, a basin of water on one side of her hip, some vegetables on the other.
He looked in front. Muichiro's beaming face, a ray of light so bright that made him want to close his eyes, lest he went blind. But he knew he couldn't. He knew well that it was impossible to tear his eyes away from his treasure.
‘Nii-san?’ A curious, childish note was carried in those words.
‘Hm?’ Startled, Yuichiro met the eyes molded the same as his own. Confusion and doubt reflected in those pools of teal.
Their mother bent her knees slightly, her eyes twinkling kindly. ‘Yuichiro, Muichiro just told you something. Did you notice?’
Regretfully, he shook his head.
‘It's okay!’ Muichiro was quick to regain excitement. ‘Nii-san, listen. I love you!’
Yuichiro's mouth fell open slightly. He only gave a small “uh huh” as a response. With this, Muichiro puffed out his cheeks in frustration.
He turned to their mother, declaring, ‘Mama, I love you!’
Mum, a soft smile on her face, replied, ‘I love you too, my dear.’
Yuichiro could only watch in awe, the hole in his chest growing larger and larger. The world began to sway in front of him. Why? What was happening?
Muichiro was staring at him again, that familiar, expectant look. That action before— it must be a demonstration for him. Mum was near, also watching on.
‘I…’
The next words clogged up his throat. Yuichiro opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water. The words he wanted to say were sure in his heart, yet fuzzy in his mind and could only linger on the tip of his tongue. He let out a long, heavy breath, quivering slightly.
There was the soft sound of water sloshing, and bamboo being set on dirt. Before he could register anything else, a hand came to rest on his head.
The young boy blinked, silently savouring his mother's touch, as loving and warm as the sun's rays on his skin. He tried to memorise her every motion. Yuichiro had always wanted to be like his mother, after all.
‘Oh, dear. Yuichiro, are you all right? Your face is so pale.’ She caressed his cheek carefully.
‘Ah…’ There was something gritty in his throat. He coughed, burying his face in his sleeve.
His mother nodded, before turning to Muichiro with a small smile. ‘Sorry, dear. Nii-san is a little tired, so I'll take him back now, okay?’
‘Oh, okay.’ Muichiro was a little put out, but he stepped back anyway.
Yuichiro felt his heart stop for a split moment as he was picked up by his mother. She took small steps towards their home. Although he could not see the expression upon her face, he could tell she was still smiling. This time, a sad smile with a hint of pity.
It's not okay. Fire burned in the pits of his stomach. A tear finally rolled out of the corner of Yuichiro's eye. How can you think so?
As if she'd heard his thoughts, his mother whispered, ‘It’s okay. You don't have to say it. Mama understands. Sometimes, it’s difficult to express love through words.’
She sounded rather melancholic.
It's not okay. Don't say it's okay. Other kids don’t do this. I'm wrong. I'm sorry. I feel bad. I'm a bad kid. Why would you love someone who's bad?
He tasted blood in his mouth.
I'm sorry for being bad.
Yuichiro strung the pile of wood to his back with efficiency, before rushing down the mountain. The load was so heavy that it nearly caused him to trip multiple times. Yuichiro always managed to steady himself before continuing.
He listed off the clients in his head, and headed straight for the nearest person first. Yuichiro skidded to a halt before knocking on the door. Strangely, intuition warned him to stand back— which he followed.
The sliding door opened, revealing a woman. She gasped at the sight in front of her, and hesitated on speaking. Yuichiro decided to solve that issue for her.
‘I’m sorry I couldn’t come down earlier,’ he said stiffly, bowing with both hands folded in front. ‘There were some—’
A scream from the woman interrupted his words. Before Yuichiro could react, something flew straight for him, and he could only dodge to the right to minimize the damage. Still, the object grazed the side of his head hard enough to make his left ear ring. It landed on the ground with a loud clang that tore through the awkward air.
A name was shouted, but Yuichiro couldn’t hear clearly. He stumbled slightly while trying to look and stand up straight, both hands balled into fists, pinned to his side, so he wouldn’t raise them to hold his head.
‘It’s been way too long, you—!’ A man stumbled out of the house, dragging with him a pair of iron tongs. The kind of pointed tongs that were regularly used in a fireplace.
The scraping sound of metal against wood made Yuichiro involuntarily flinch.
Although the woman tried to reason with her husband, she was quickly shut down. The man promptly shoved her aside and pointed the tool at Yuichiro. ‘We made a deal to exchange grains for your firewood. You were supposed to be here at least a week ago, but where did you disappear off to? Have you gotten sloppier since your parents are gone?’
‘Come on, it’s just been winter, he…’ But the woman’s voice slowly grew quiet. She turned away, no longer able to look at Yuichiro.
‘Don’t defend him!’ growled the man. ‘It’s been winter for us, too! This kid didn’t think of coming down any sooner, did he? We almost froze to death!’
I almost froze to death, too! I had someone else to look after, and I can’t pay attention to everything. Your stupid firewood was rotten so I had to get a new batch. If I brought down rotten wood, then you’d blame me, too! At least you have a big house, at least you have money, at least you don’t live in the middle of a forest on top of a mountain!
In reality, the wealth gap between them was not large. One was a farmer, another was a woodcutter. Ultimately, they resided in the same working class. Everyone in the village at the foot of the mountain, save for the mayor, were more or less middle to lower class, working in their own respective fields to survive— not live— from one day to another.
But Yuichiro knew that there was something different. There was a vast ravine separating them. Perhaps, it was a physical distance in the shape of the colossal mountain. Perhaps, it was a social connection, or lack thereof, that created such a gap between them.
There was once a bridge between the two sides, a thread of connection built upon fair exchange branching into emotional trust, but Yuichiro had severed it from the moment his parents passed away. Twice a month, he only traded his wares for the village’s goods, before scurrying back to the mountain with his head bowed. He did not stay to converse with the townspeople like his father used to. Yuichiro did not care to talk to the villagers, nor did he have the skill to hold a conversation that went past anything impersonal. Therefore, guiltily, Yuichiro watched the connection with the villagers that his parents had painstakingly cobbled together fall apart, without doing anything to stop it.
The man stomped forwards. Without a warning, he hit Yuichiro's side with the tongs. Yuichiro could not even cry aloud in pain— it was a white-hot, searing sensation that spread along his ribs that quickly turned numb.
He collapsed on the ground in a daze, fully aware of every sensation, watching as the woman rushed over to stop the man. The tongs fell onto the dirt noiselessly. Yuichiro couldn't hear anything else, anyway. Only the rushing of liquid filled his ears.
But his mind was set on one thing. Miraculously, Yuichiro picked himself up, and, as both adults did not pay attention to him, he grabbed the tongs so tightly that his hand lost feeling.
An unknown, animalistic urge took over his consciousness. Yuichiro ran forwards, the sharp tip of the tongs pointed directly at the man's torso. He did not know where he gathered such strength, or such resilience. All he knew was that he wanted to hurt something. That farmer.
There was only a small moment of resistance as the metal pierced flesh. A scream rang out like thunder, but Yuichiro didn't care whether or not the sound came from his own throat or the man's. No bone stood in his way as the tongs went in further, making blood splurt out of the wound like a fountain.
The man fell on his back with his mouth hanging open. Yuichiro wretched the tongs out, blood splattering all over his body, hitting his face and briefly tainting his vision with red. He gave it little regard, wiping his eyes with one hand, holding the tongs with another, as he stepped over the man.
With a deep breath, Yuichiro lifted the weapon above his head. He fixed his aim on the man's heart and brought it down. The hard ribs stopped him, but he continued pushing, throwing his entire weight on the metal, until the bones gave way, and the tongs met a rapidly pulsating heart. The man let out a guttural croak and writhed on the ground like an insect still clinging to life, pinned down by the tongs.
‘What? Have you learned your lesson?’ It was the man's voice.
Yuichiro looked up from his bow to see the man and the woman looking at him with a slight disdain.
He bit his tongue, calmed his breathing, and bowed lower, letting his hair slide from his shoulders and cover his face. ‘Yes. I’m sorry. I promise to never repeat this mistake again.’
His hands still felt wet with blood.
A sack of rice was tossed at him after he had finished apologising two more times.
Yuichiro continued to other houses for more trading. Every time, he was scolded, some critical and harsh, others understanding but reasonably disappointed, though not as violently as the farmer had. He apologised profusely with every word of criticism in a frantic, regretful voice while he secretly cursed every single person out in his heart. Yuichiro excused his internal, irrational, ridiculous outburst with the rowdiness of his jumbled emotions. He also understood that he shouldn’t be excusing this.
Rice, greens, root vegetables, dried meat, some fabric… Yuichiro counted the fruits of his labour, the pit in his stomach growing deeper with every item. The haul this time had been less than the last time he went down the mountain.
It wasn't a significant loss— if the entire lot was for one malnourished child to use. But there were two children at stake.
Yuichiro bit his lip. When he had expressed confusion towards the small portions, many of the townspeople had said that it was their way of “teaching him a lesson.” He desperately wanted to fight back, but he wanted to maintain the fragile agreement between him and the villagers even more. He dreaded imagining what would happen if this transactional relationship were to be severed completely. There were only so many things Yuichiro could collect by himself, without needing the assistance of other people. He wished he could do everything. He was frustrated that he couldn’t. So, he could only emotionlessly thank them for their “generosity”.
Yuichiro counted again and again, but the amount of goods didn't seem to increase. Instead, the insufficiency became even more apparent to him.
His mind began to stray as he walked back up the mountain. Should he tell people that there were actually two, and that he couldn't bear to let his brother go weak and hungry? He turned back on the spot. The village was still visible, and he could make it there and ask again if he tried moving his feet as fast as he could.
‘...I can't.’ muttered Yuichiro, as he steered himself back in the direction of his home. ‘No, I can't.’
When his father first took him down the mountain, he had introduced Yuichiro as his only son. He emphasised to Yuichiro that, no matter what, Yuichiro was to be his only son. Under no circumstances must he reveal the existence of his brother.
At first, Yuichiro had protested the idea. He felt that it was unfair to Muichiro. After all, who would want someone else, much less their own twin, to deny their existence? But his father had smiled sadly and shook his head.
“Yuichiro,” he whispered calmly, “that would only be in town. When we get back home, Muichiro will still be there.”
He had only been seven then, so he accepted this explanation. As he grew up, he began to understand what his father was referring to.
Now, Yuichiro was eleven, and he realised just how young he was when he heard that. But he had no brainpower to think about himself.
What if I tell them and then they take Muichiro away? They're going to ask to see him, and say that this place isn't good, and they'll take him to who knows where—
The thought was a punch sinking into Yuichiro's stomach. He staggered before squatting down, two hands covering his mouth to fight against the sudden onset of nausea that tickled the back of his throat. The heavy package on his back both steadied him and threatened to tip him over.
‘I can't trust them,’ he said shakily through laboured breaths. ‘I won't.’
They can't take care of Muichiro. I promised Mum, I promised Dad, I promised myself. It’s my responsibility to look after my younger brother, now that my parents are gone. These people aren't good, they could take advantage of us at any moment.
His own thoughts were muddled with the vague memories of his parents’ ideologies. Help people, trust people, love people. With a great effort, Yuichiro stood up straight, swallowed what little liquid had spilled from the depths of his stomach, and exhaustingly trudged back home.
The sun’s heat burned the ground from the highest point in the sky, while the dry breeze fought feebly against the warmth. Early spring.
Yuichiro leant against the door of his house, watching the sky with his arms crossed. His eyes narrowed at the bolt of lightning that noiselessly flashed amongst the clouds. He had just returned to an empty home.
Yuichiro searched the forest with his gaze, growing more agitated as each second passed.
What is he doing? Didn't I tell him to stay at home? Don't tell me he went to play again?!
He stomped back into the house, pouting furiously. Idiot! I'll scold him when he gets back.
The sun sank lower behind the grey clouds. Yuichiro constantly glanced outside, jumping slightly whenever he heard the roar of thunder. The fragrant smell of grilled fish spread in that small home. But Yuichiro could care less about food at the moment.
His hair was trapped between his fingers, twirled, tangled, and roughly tugged at. Letting out a long, shaky breath, he fell back— letting himself lie on the hard wood floor with a loud thud. For reasons that Yuichiro was unaware of, the back of his head throbbed.
What if something happened to him?
The thought made his blood run cold. Yuichiro pulled harder on his hair. His breath turned shallow as he tried to suck in air through his teeth. He sat up and curled into himself, hugging his knees with his arms.
What if he got hurt? What if…! That Muichiro…! All he does is make me worry. Can’t he pay more attention? What is up with that air-headed attitude all the time!
Another boom of thunder shook the land, startling Yuichiro, making his vice-like grip break skin. Drops of water began to fall from the sky, now a dull grey.
‘No... what? Why’s it raining now?’ The words were barely audible over the pouring rain, over his rapid heartbeat, over the strange fuzzing in his mind which blocked all senses. He stumbled while standing up, and almost fell over at the house’s threshold had he not caught himself by the door.
The day their father left, it was also raining. No, it was storming. Screams of thunder shook the land and droplets of rain shot down like arrows from Heaven. Still, the sound of someone softly weeping had cut through the cacophony.
Yuichiro could feel Dad’s veins bulging underneath his wrist. Despite that, he gripped on tight. Furiously.
‘I’ll come back.’ said the man, a small smile resting on his face. But his voice dripped with tiredness, worry, and frustration. He tugged again, only to be held back by his son digging his heels into the dirt. Hesitantly, he relented, letting the boy hold him back. ‘Listen—’
‘Can’t you get it in the morning?! Why do you have to do it now?!’ growled Yuichiro, unsuccessfully fighting back against his father’s movements, unless he threw his entire weight down. ‘It’s dangerous! You’re a grown man, can’t you understand that?’
‘Calm down, okay?’
They stared at each other, locked in a stalemate.
Dad continued smiling, though the corners of his lips were stretching too much skin to seem genuine. His eyebrows were creased, while his eyes twitched ever so slightly.
Yuichiro wanted him to stop holding back. He decided right there that he wouldn’t let go until his father matched his own level of anger.
Rationality had long been washed away by the storm.
‘Yui, please listen to me before saying anything. I beg of you.’ He knelt down.
Yuichiro bit his lip and obeyed. His hand was gently pried from his father’s wrist. He glanced up, meeting eyes as red as rubies. What he remembered of rubies.
‘That plant I saw earlier today can cure Mama’s illness. I’ve been travelling as a merchant for 16 years before I met Mama, remember? I’ve seen, heard, and learned many things.’ His voice was a gentle breeze against the raging winds whipping at the walls of their home. ‘Among the things I’ve experienced, I learned a bit about sickness and treatment. Your mother’s sickness… with that plant, it can be cured.’
Yuichiro couldn’t find words to refute those claims. He hadn’t been the one who went around selling all sorts of wooden items. He hadn’t experienced that.
‘Papa… Nii-san…’ pleaded a familiar voice.
Both of them, stuck at the threshold, looked further inside. Muichiro was helping Mum sit up. She had her arm over his shoulder, and her head was bowed.
‘I’m… I’m still fine.’ She tried to sound determined, but the raspy noise that came out of her throat barely formed anything coherent. The songbird had been dead for some time. ‘Stay. Rest. Don’t push yourself.’
Yuichiro’s head hurt worse with her feeble attempt at making her husband stay. Does she think that would work? If those words had no effect on her, why would it have an effect on her husband, who was practically built from the same mould?
Chosen ones. Good people. Selfless and foolish people.
Dad wore a sad smile as he stood up. ‘I’ll be fine.’ He whispered. ‘If it’s for you, I’d do anything. We can’t have a complete family without you.’
‘We… can’t have— one— without you, either.’
Already hoarse from coughing, she doubled over, harsher sounds emitting from her mouth, and Muichiro rushed forwards to support her. A cup of sloshing water was in his trembling hands.
‘Mama, drink this…’
Yuichiro was unable to find his voice, as he looked back and forth between his parents.
Another strike of lighting flashed through the sky, accompanied by another boom of thunder. Yuichiro flinched harshly as he snapped out of the recollection, and with a gasp of pain, brought a hand to the place where he got the copper teapot thrown at his head.
‘Stop thinking about these things,’ muttered Yuichiro, pressing against the small bump on his head, where he knew the farmer had grazed him. The pain shot through his mind like an arrow, clearing the fog within it. ‘Focus. Focus.’
His legs shook from restlessness, and his breath grew ragged from fear. Yuichiro could wait no longer. Without gathering anything to protect him from the raging storm, the young boy set forth from the safety of the roof above his head, and headed straight into the wind and rain.
‘Muichiro!’ he called, once, twice, each time trying to strain his voice louder than the last. The gale whipping at his skin did not deter him, the water soaking his hair did not steer him away from his goal.
Bits of debris flew through the air. Though they were only small pebbles and short sticks, the strength that hurled them enhanced their damage to those of large stones and long branches. They grazed his skin, causing blotches of pale red and purple to appear wherever they touched.
The musky, earthy smell clogged his nostrils.
The forces of nature made his mind conjure up scenarios against his will. Horrendous visions took over his consciousness, partially obstructing his sight, as if he could see them right in front of his eyes. A body lying in the dirt. A person laid against a tree. A child fallen at the bottom of a ravine, blood and brain matter mixing with the filthy rainwater, the mirror image of his late father. All the corpses wore a face like his— a face that used to smile— now empty and lifeless.
Yuichiro slipped— coming to crash against a tree. He fell on his side, caking part of his body in mud. Trembling and hurting, he failed to get up twice, slipping against the slippery ground, before finally managing to get on his knees before standing up straight. The intense adrenaline flowing through his veins was enough to push him forward. For him, there was no storm, there was no wind, there was no pain. But there was the fact that his little brother was not here.
He called for his little brother again, screaming against the rushing wind, straining his voice to the point of stripping his throat raw. Yuichiro cradled his neck, coughing violently, while his eyes continued to dart around, searching among the trees for some sign of those familiar greenish-blue hair tips.
Muichiro, come back! Don't scare me, don't worry me. I can't stand it! Where are you? Come back, Nii-san won't scold you anymore. I'll be nicer to you, I'll make you your favourite daikon every day. You can do anything you want, I won't…
Water streamed down his face, whether they were tears or rain Yuichiro did not know.
Don’t leave me. Don't leave me here.
Then, all of a sudden, a clear sound rang throughout the air, louder than any thunder, wind, or rain.
‘Nii-san?’
Yuichiro came to a halt, and, as if he were in a trance, gaped at Muichiro emerging from the trees. He was equally as soaked as his older brother, and carried a small basket in his hands.
Muichiro trotted over to Yuichiro with a grin and showed him the contents of his basket. Inside were an assortment of mushrooms, mostly brown and beige in colour, a significant number of them as large as either twins’ palms.
‘Look! I found so many mushrooms!’ chirped Muichiro carelessly. He continued smiling despite the roaring storm. ‘Do you think we can have these roasted today?’
While Yuichiro was still stunned into silence, Muichiro continued, rather bashfully, ‘You work so hard, Nii-san. Before, we split our jobs equally, but now, you’re collecting wood and selling it. I’m thankful that you’re doing so much, but it’s still a lot of work. So, I picked mushrooms to try and do something to help you! Don’t they look good? We can also dry these, so that we can eat them another day, too! What do you think?’
A hurricane seemed to jumble up Yuichiro's thoughts as he stared at Muichiro in disbelief. Morally, he understood that he should be grateful. His younger brother had braced the stormy weather to gather food for the both of them, even thinking ahead to store them for later. It was a clear display of devotion and affection, even towards someone who had been so ruthless towards him.
He wanted to thank Muichiro. Maybe, pull him into a hug, check him for injuries, and hold his hand as they walk back, so Muichiro wouldn’t stray away. But Yuichiro was unable to think of anything else. The silent promises he had made mere moments ago faded into obscurity. His heart and blood had turned black.
‘Are you stupid?’ He began, voice low, trying to hold back his fury, but it all exploded into screams in two words. ‘Didn't I tell you to stay at home and not go anywhere? Can’t you do something as simple as that? You're not five anymore. You didn't even think of leaving me a message— or anything! What’s wrong with you? Why couldn't you just sit still and wait? Look at all this rain, look at this storm! What if you slipped and died? Do you want to end up like Dad? Do you want to fall down a cliff and smash your head open? Or did you want to get sick like last time? Do you want to die like Mum?’
Muichiro dropped the basket of mushrooms on the ground, his mouth open and trembling, his eyes wide with dilating pupils. Yuichiro was too angry to care.
‘You keep talking about helping people, you keep going on and on about wanting to be virtuous, but you know what's the truth? You're too air-headed, you're too dumb! Just stop trying to do anything! You'll only end up making stupid mistakes that will screw both of us over! The “Mu” in “Muichiro” is the “in” in “ineffective”! Drill that into your head! Remember that before you decide to do anything, so you don't run around like a headless chicken! Don't waste my efforts to try and keep you alive. I'm sick and tired of your attitude.’
Yuichiro had been yelling nonstop, and he eventually reached his limit. He doubled over, clutching his stomach and hacking so strongly that he felt he could vomit out his organs right there. Hands reached out to touch his shoulder, but Yuichiro slapped them away.
Yuichiro finally straightened as Muichiro bowed his head. But he could see, judging from the shaking figure opposite him who had his hands covering his face, that his little brother was crying. As much anger he was feeling, it also equally pained him when he realised how many cruel words he had dumped on Muichiro.
He was desperate to apologise, but Yuichiro knew that he couldn't just switch up right after he had said all those things. Instead, he spat, weakly, hoarsely, ‘Come back if you want. I don’t care anymore.’
Yuichiro stood in the rain with his back to his younger brother, waited for Muichiro to gather his mushrooms into his basket, before setting off back home with Muichiro following, maintaining an affectionless distance.
When they got back, Yuichiro insisted on drying Muichiro and checking him for any injuries. Whilst Muichiro fervently tried to communicate, Yuichiro did not open his mouth even once. He kept his lips pressed together in a thin, straight line throughout the entire night.
‘Nii-san, I can dry myself… Shouldn’t you take care of your bruises first? That one on your arm must hurt really bad.’ He didn’t care. There was no pain at all, no matter how hard he pressed and squeezed on the blemishes. They only became pale and sunken for a moment, before popping back up and regaining their deep colour.
‘Nii-san, you don’t have to eat that—! Here, have some of my food, too.’ The burnt parts of the fish were bitter on his tongue, but not as numbing as his anger. Why couldn’t Muichiro just be quiet and eat the mushrooms that he had so painstakingly picked?
‘Good night, Nii-san.’
Muichiro fell asleep the moment his head hit the pillow. Or so Yuichiro presumed. Just earlier, he noticed that Muichiro’s pillow was a little bit too dented. He could feel the soft mass of fabric sink beneath his head. Maybe, he could take some filling out of his own pillow to stuff into Muichiro’s. He didn’t need it that much, but he was sure that his younger brother did. Yuichiro made up his mind without hesitation. He would carry out what he wanted to do in the morning. Of course, he had to make sure that Muichiro was nowhere near while he sewed up his pillow.
He opened his eyes again. A cold breeze swept through the house, tickling the surface of his eye, to which his eyelid jerked in response. Yuichiro had never been able to sleep in storms after that autumn night. A buzzing occupied his ears, even louder than the storm that refused to quell. Just like Yuichiro's anger. Perhaps, he was kept awake by that night, once again. But, Yuichiro had to wake up early tomorrow. He was worried that the rest of the mushrooms had not been dried correctly. He wouldn’t want them to rot.
The child closed his eyes again, and tried to clear his mind.
‘P…Papa…’ Yuichiro’s pitch rose, and his vocal chords trembled. He gripped his father’s hand even tighter to hide his own fear. ‘You remember… the doctor in the village? Can’t we ask her if there’s a-a-anything for Mama?’
His father bit his lip and tried to force a smile, the corners of his mouth stretching and resisting at the same time. ‘I’ve asked already. They didn’t have the medicine we needed because they said it’s dangerous to get. Do you understand now?’ His voice was low, gruff, as the usual warmth he possessed died out.
Yuichiro struggled to answer. Some force shoved his body, and his knees nearly gave away, before he was quickly caught by both of his father’s hands. Both. He struggled and tried to regain his grasp on the wrist that was twice his own size, but was firmly kept in place.
‘There’s no other way.’ Even though he was looking at Yuichiro, frowning at Yuichiro, kneeling to talk, Yuichiro knew that he was addressing everyone in the house. ‘This is… this is the only…’
‘Takeru.’ called his mother weakly. She had sat up straighter than before, though her left arm was slung across Muichiro’s shoulders. ‘Be reasonable. Fool.’
The man groaned and let go of Yuichiro. He stood up with one hand covering his face. ‘Aika, please. You don’t know your own sickness. If I don’t get it now… you will…!’
Muichiro sniffled, and Yuichiro had half a mind to go and comfort his brother. But he was now the closest person to their father. If he were to let his attention slip, then…
It only takes a moment for someone to disappear into the night.
‘None of you… you really don’t know as much as you think.’ blurted his father, before taking a sharp breath. He opened his mouth— did he want to apologise, cover up his words, or say something else? But, he shut it again.
Yuichiro had to crane his neck to look at his father’s face. As he continued to tilt his head back, the fury bubbling in the pits of his stomach reached a boiling point. Those words, whether they were accidental or intentional, he did not know. He did not care. They had finally made the anger flare up, attacking Yuichiro’s mind—
From that point on, his mind was blank, except for that burning sensation.
‘Fine, go, then.’ Yuichiro grasped at his own hair, as if he was trying to rip the skin off his scalp. His frown deepened, more than he thought was possible, when he locked eyes with the perturbed man before him.
‘Yui…?’
‘We just want you to be safe, we don’t want you to go, but you keep being so stubborn. You don’t care. You don’t care at all!’ Tears streamed down Yuichiro’s face, half from the throbbing in his head, half from the throbbing in his heart. He couldn’t see the expression on his father’s face. ‘Then, I also don’t care anymore! Go if you want, do whatever. If you want to die, then just—!’
‘Yuichiro!’
Yuichiro slowly turned around, finally blinking the tears out of his eyes.
Even though her chest showed that she was coughing, her mouth did not open for a second time. The soft eyes that usually gazed at him with love were now glaring at him, frosty, sharply, devoid of any affection. Muichiro stood beside her, shock paralysing his face, his body, making him resemble a statue. Horrid chills went down Yuichiro’s spine. He breathed hard, choking on his own tears, his knees threatening to buckle. The more he looked, the more difficult it became for him to tear his gaze away.
Then, a hand lightly patted his head, and just before Yuichiro had the chance to look up, a shaky voice spoke.
‘I’ll be back. Wait for me.’
There was a small groan. That small sound easily snapped him wide awake. Yuichiro slowly got up and glanced to the side. Ignoring his own increase in body temperature and throbbing head, he murmured, ‘I told you that you'd get sick.’
Creeping as quiet as a mouse, Yuichiro gathered the basin of cool water and towel that he had prepared beforehand, and walked to where Muichiro lay— panting, red-faced, and whimpering quietly with a painful grimace contorting his features. In gentle motions, he carefully wiped down Muichiro's face and limbs with the towel. Yuichiro observed his brother with half-lidded eyes. Pity seemed to overtake the anger in his heart.
‘It hurts, doesn't it?’ He tenderly laid the back of his hand against Muichiro's burning forehead, before replacing it with a towel. ‘You see? Don't stay in the rain for so long next time.’
Even though Muichiro's fever was much lighter than what he experienced in late autumn, Yuichiro didn't dare leave his side. He could only sit, wipe Muichiro down with cold water, wring the towel out, dip it into the basin, before repeating the process over and over again.
‘I was really worried that you got hurt. I couldn't stop thinking about what could've happened to you. It felt like I couldn't think straight.’ The dripping of water onto hard dirt slightly overrode his voice. He turned back to the water basin, and wet the towel again.
Tiny drops returned to the larger pool of water. Yuichiro held Muichiro's arm up to continue wiping. ‘I… I was even scared that you left me. That— that you got sick of me, and you left, and that you were never gonna come back.’
He let out a shaky breath while setting the towel on Muichiro's forehead.
‘I get it if you want to leave. I won't stop you if you decide to leave. It's unbearable to live with someone like me. Who’d want to stay here?’ A tear leaked out of Yuichiro's eye, and he managed to catch it in time. ‘It sucks. Getting yelled at and all that. You would definitely find a better life if you went somewhere else.’
‘I’m sorry I yelled at you. I shouldn't have taken my anger out on you. Sorry, Muichiro. It's just… the people in town made me so, so mad. I even…’ He bit his lip, deciding to not go into the details of his vision. Instead, a small, noncommittal smile grew on his face. ‘They were really mad that I didn’t come down sooner, so they didn't give us a lot of food, or supplies. It’s dumb— they didn’t understand that—’
Yuichiro took a deep, shaky breath to try and calm himself. Going on a tangent would only make things worse. ‘It's okay. It doesn’t matter how much they give, or how much I can get. You can have more.’
If we get bad grains, I'll pick out the good ones and cook them for you. If they gave us frayed fabric, I’ll sew the pieces together so you’d have something complete to use. It doesn’t matter what scraps I can get. I’ll gather them all to turn them into something that can help you. Because…
‘Though, when you leave, you’ll probably find a better life. You can meet… good people. People who can love and care for you. In a better way. More than I ever can. So… don't hold back. If you can't stand me anymore, just leave. I won’t… be… mad. I’ll try not to be.’
He could almost laugh. Just earlier in the day, wasn’t it he who said that he couldn’t trust anyone else? How could he dream about a better life? How dare he say one thing but also believe in its opposite? Did he trust people? Did he not trust people? Or, was it that he refused to trust his own judgement? Idiot. Yuichiro viciously scolded himself. You don’t make any sense.
Clumsily, he continued in a low voice, ‘I’ll watch your back, and make sure no one comes for you. I’ll try not to get close. I don’t want to scare you. And, if you were to meet bad people, I…’
Another thunderous roar shook the house, making Yuichiro squeak in fear. He let out a seething hiss and glared at the weather outside, as if it could apologise for causing such a ruckus.
Just as another boom ripped through the air, so did an almost inaudible groan of pain.
Muichiro’s breathing had turned intense and sharp as he rolled onto his side and curled into himself— a vulnerable position, like a fetus. His grimace was so pronounced that veins popped on his jaw.
‘Mui…!’ Yuichiro reached out a hand, which was immediately grasped. He winced at the strength gripped his hand. ‘What’s—?’
His younger brother could not reply. He continued to have his eyes screwed shut as he whimpered in agony. The towel had been knocked to the floor, and sweat had begun to run down his forehead like a river.
A nightmare? A stroke?
Yuichiro lowered his voice and used his remaining hand to rub Muichiro's trembling back. The blue of his yukata resembled a river with irregular, fierce waves. ‘It’s okay, it's okay. Don’t be scared, Muichiro. Shh…’
But Muichiro showed no signs of calming down. Tears leaked out of his eyes as he continued to shiver. He only held onto Yuichiro's hand even tighter, an almost bone-crushing force.
The sight before him was oddly, eerily familiar. Yuichiro could feel fur beneath his fingers, see small specks of blood dotting the yellow ginkgo leaves, and smell the metallic scent of fear in the air. A voice might've called him. A squeak might've unnerved him. He stared at the black eye in front of him. Both of them were swallowed up by terror, connected to one another by the need to survive. He remembered biting his tongue, murmuring a soft apology, before steeling his resolve and bringing his arm down onto the rabbit that continued to bleed out, ending the already too-prolonged suffering.
Muichiro's breathing, stuttered and heavy, was similar to the rabbit that had been hit that day by his flimsy slingshot.
The world seemed to stop when the realisation slapped his face, even stronger than the wind had just hours ago.
‘No. No, no, no, no…’ Yuichiro repeated the word like a mantra, using the same tone he had whenever he was met with the game he hunted. ‘Muichiro, Muichiro, don’t…!’
Don't what? Don't die, don't go to sleep, don't give up? Don't leave my side, don't be so unkind as to abandon me?
‘Don’t let the fever get you.’ he whispered in a frantic, his rationality slipping away. Double vision appeared. Something knocked against the inside of his skull. Yuichiro shook his head like a dog trying to get rid of water. But, it was difficult to clear his head by then. The dark anguish and fear shot from the depths of his decaying heart and latched onto his brain like parasites. Claws seemed to dig into every organ he had in his body.
Yuichiro returned the tight squeeze and blabbed, ‘If you die, it means you hate me, okay? If you die now, it means you're a horrible person, and that you’re no better than Mum and Dad. You don't hate me, right? You're not a bad person, right? Then, don't you dare die. Don't you dare leave me like this. I don’t want to go through this again!’
What… what should I do? He wasn't this sick back then…! He didn't have this…!
With the back of his remaining hand, Yuichiro brushed Muichiro's forehead. He sucked in cold air at the scalding hot touch. Gritting his teeth, he held his little brother's shoulder firmly, and opened his mouth—
Not a single sound left his throat. An ominous premonition settled in his stomach, swirled around his mind. Vague conversations rose from the depths of his subconscious, dressed in the voice of a songbird.
“Don't wake him up, Muichiro.” said the songbird with a hush.
“Eh? But why?” drawled a child's voice.
He could see darkness, he could hear the people around him, but he couldn't open his eyes. No matter how much he tried, he couldn't open his eyes. Yuichiro quickened his breathing, straining to wretch his eyelids apart. But his limbs were stiff against his body, his fist clenched tight with no chance of unravelling. He desperately wanted to call out for help, but the only thing that he could force out were small groans.
A gentle touch held his head. “It's because it can really scare him if he wakes up in the middle of a night terror. And Yuichiro has a fever… so you really don’t want to force him to wake up, you know?”
Muichiro let out an “oh” of understanding.
“Now, be quiet, okay?”
“Got it!” In an almost inaudible whisper.
His mother let out a small chuckle before she cleared her throat softly. Then, she began to sing a lullaby that she composed herself.
Oh, right. Mum had been a songstress before she married Dad…
The song was like a magical hand detangling the confusing mess of thoughts and actions in his brain. It made him forget the fever, forget the discomfort, and lulled him into a deep, relaxing sleep…
Yuichiro’s eyes snapped open, and he quickly pinched his thigh to stay awake. The force was so strong that it left a fingernail mark on his skin.
‘Don't sleep,’ he muttered obsessively to himself, ‘don’t sleep. Stay awake.’
Yuichiro ignored the pounding in his head as the recollection of that lullaby replayed in his mind. He stopped breathing for a short moment as a sudden stroke of madness hit him.
He wasn't a good singer. In fact, Yuichiro never thought that he had any artistic ability whatsoever. However, right then, he was desperate to try anything that provided even the slimmest of chances to bring his little brother a moment of peace.
Yuichiro quietly coughed while taking a quick glance at their roof. He hoped that it would hold in the storm. If not, he would try a different way of fixing it.
That tune continued playing in his head. Yuichiro closed his eyes and rested his hand on Muichiro's head, like his mother had once done for him. His lips trembled, so he bit his tongue, just enough to hurt, so he could quell his own nervousness.
‘Hush, my love. Hush, my dear… Ah—’ He stuttered as he realised that he'd forgotten the next words. Small, melodical hums soon left his mouth. ‘...and go to sleep. Dream land is lovely.’
His face grew hot, creating a strange sensation that contrasted strongly with the cold air. Half of his fluster came from embarrassment. Yuichiro wanted to stop moving, feeling that this image was an unsightly look compared to how he usually portrayed himself. Yet, he couldn't help but relax as he continued to sing while his right hand was tightly held, and his left rhythmically patted his brother's head. The warmth transferred from the tips of his fingers to his toes, seeping into his muscles, as if he was being embraced by the sun itself. It made him want to cry like a child.
The other half of his fluster came from shame. The more he hummed, the more shame piled up at the bottom of Yuichiro's stomach. It was not just a lullaby, it was something that was born from the boundless love that his mother had in her heart. How dare he forget parts of it? Even Muichiro, who rarely paid attention to anything, remembered every song their mother had sung. Yuichiro sometimes heard him singing to himself while they collected wood. It seems like Muichiro had a better memory than him.
‘And when you awake, I will be waiting…’
Miraculously, Muichiro began to calm down the more Yuichiro sang. His eyebrows lifted, his fists unclenched, and he shifted his body to sleep comfortably.
‘...a hug and a kiss, all for you.’
The hand that was previously holding Yuichiro’s hand in a life-or-death grip loosened. But Yuichiro didn't find it in himself to pull away. As he stared at Muichiro’s serene expression, he couldn’t help but let out a sound between a relieved sigh and a whimper. It’s over… it’s over…! For now, at least. That’s enough. He wordlessly thanked his mother. When the storm quelled, he supposed he could go find some flowers to put on her grave.
Tentatively, Yuichiro stretched out his fingers to regain some feeling in them. Luckily, Muichiro had not completely cut off the blood's circulation in his hand.
Hesitantly, Yuichiro curled his fingers inward, and relaxed them again. He repeated the motion multiple times, but his hand still trembled ever so slightly.
Then, he relented, and squeezed the hand that held his own again. Yuichiro bowed his head and covered his face with his other hand. He didn't know who he was trying to hide from. He only wanted no one to see his expression, not even himself.
‘Since you’re still here, don't leave me, okay?’ Yuichiro couldn't hear his own voice above the wind and rain. He hoped the only other person, the recipient of his confession, didn't hear them, either. ‘I’m scared for you. You're so… naive. You think the world is better than it is. You can’t do anything right. So, let nii-san do it for you. Just do what I tell you to do. Nothing else, okay? It's my responsibility to protect you until the end. So, please, just let me do that. I’m… I’m really, really tired. I don’t want to be tired. I won’t be able to finish tasks if I’m too tired. Just... please...’
As drowsiness overtook him, Yuichiro, exhausted, softly fell onto the hard, cold floor. He had released the hand on his face, and looked in front of him with empty eyes.
‘Don't leave me until I die.’