My parents smiled so kindly at me only because I played classical music.
I realized that the love they showed me wasn't really for me, but rather because they had put me on a pedestal as their ideal performer.
The two people who I wanted to understand me more than anyone else never heard my true feelings.
So I couldn't bear to look at the sheet music that my father had given me.
And I couldn't make my fingers, which my mother had so praised, touch the strings again.
After being thrown away and sent across the ocean, I arrived in a room that was far too big.
It was cavernous and barren, and a deafening silence echoed in the emptiness.
Every day, I just go back and forth between this empty room and a classroom where I don't understand half of what's being said.
Even as I sit at my desk and tightly grip my pencil, I don't know what good this is going to do me.
Nobody needs me, so there's no point in living like this and holding my breath in hopes they will.
The time I spent changing into the clothes that I loved in front of the mirror felt like magic.
But it was a magic that made my mother scream, so loudly that I wanted to clap my hands over my ears.
Being true to myself would someday tear a rift between my parents.
But even though I knew I was causing my beloved parents such pain, I couldn't bring myself to be the one to fold.
Staying true to what I loved came at the cost of destroying the most important place in my life.
If I let my guard falter for even an instant, the tears that should have dried up will spill forth unbidden.
I spent days drowning my melancholy, ebbing and flowing like the waves, in whiskey.
What should I have done that day? Was heeding her wish the right thing to do?
The days when we called each others names, when we pressed our lips against one another's, when we laughed together-- they are never to return.
I see the phantoms of days gone by play cross the sepia-colored surface of the liquid, and I drink it down as though to banish them.
And so, my own exhausted face was the only thing reflected back at the bottom of the glass.
Ever since that day, my life has had no more color in it than the keys of a keyboard.
How many nights has it been since my partner last showed his face at this store?
Even if I were to put my feelings into lyrics and piano melodies, there's nobody who would listen to them.
I've got no intentions of giving up on music. But there's not much point in doing it without my partner.
There are some things that you don't have to give up on. That's something that person taught me, too.
When I closed the piano lid, the only applause I received was the sound of the rain hitting the window.
Everyone can feel the pain of their cherished memories. They can cry.
The pain and suffering is something that everyone bears together.
So why can't I?
I am completely empty. I have no happiness, and I have no pain.
Amidst the cries of compassion and emotion all around me, I remain alone.
My name is Natsume Ryu.
But I'm nobody.
Panting, I raced through the back alleys.
Tears welled up in my eyes; I felt like I was going to throw up.
If only I had been able to move my body at all. No-- if only I had been able to stop him from taking part in the clinical trial that day.
The final smile that Nayuta-kun showed me was like a knife that cut straight to my heart.
He called me his friend, and I left him to die.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry.
I had no choice but to run away, choking out the words-- but I wasn't sure if I was saying it to Nayuta-kun or to myself
A dimly-lit alleyway reeking of rusting iron.
These hands have commited sins as effortlessly as breathing.
There's something that I want to protect, but my hands are too dirty to be protecting anything.
I've managed to survive by using strangers as stepping stones.
Living this way, I know my days are numbered.
So it doesn't matter what happens to me.
Just so long as Nayuta can continue to eat his fill and live with a smile on his face.
Even as my body slammed into the cold ground, I felt warmth.
The heat of my brother's tears falling onto my face hurt far more than the pain coursing through my entire body.
I just hadn't wanted to worry my brother.
But in the end, I may have just wounded him all the more.
The last thing I heard was my brother's heartbroken voice.
For days, I couldn't sleep; for days, I couldn't make myself swallow food.
Even as my body wastes away, my anger only grows.
I hate you. I hate you.
The bastard who took the people I held dearest in the entire world -- my family and the old man -- away from me.
I swear, I will make sure that you suffer a fate far worse than the one I have had to endure.
The motherfucker who took everything away from me, and the rat bastards from other gangs who saw this as a chance to capitalize on our moment of weakness, too.
If it's to make sure you get what's coming to you, I wouldn't even mind selling my soul.
Once again, they were not protected.
So what purpose do these hands -- this body -- even serve?
If only I had acted back then.
If only I had understood what the old man meant.
The irreparable regret leaves my throat and my mind dry as husks.
All I could do was stand there, frozen, as my family sank deeper into a sea of blood.
I gritted my teeth and clenched my fists, but there was nothing that those fists could do.
Once again, I was the one who failed to protect them.
"The child of a criminal" "Just disappear already"
At this point, I've grown used to the sight of school desks with things like that carved into them.
Even when the teacher admonishes them and tells them to stop, I know it's just a formality.
There's nothing I can do that can change what my father did.
My heart twists. I want to let go of the need to feel anything at all.
So eventually, the only thing I ever saw was the ground.
The first thing I saw when I came home after getting out of juvenile detention is a sign that said "Managed Property".
Apparently, this isn't my home anymore.
I never really got along with my parents in the first place, and to be totally honest, I caused more trouble for them than I can keep track of.
Then on top of that, I ended up in juvenile detention for taking the fall for a crime my best friend committed.
But isn't just disappearing without saying a word a bit too harsh?
I came back to try and show them that I was getting my shit together, to say, "this is who I am now".
I thought maybe they might acknowledge me, if only a little.
What was the first thing I thought when my father disappeared?
"Well, I guess that's just how it is. Turns out everyone thinks they're the most charming person around, huh?"
A sense of resignation made my heart ache and flutter.
At the same time, I felt a sense of unease that the same blood as theirs flowed through my veins, too.
What does it mean to be loved? And what's the difference between that, and a happy family?
Well, whatever, it doesn't matter. Just sitting around thinking too hard about it won't solve anything.
The moment we stepped out on stage, the crowd erupted into thunderous cheers.
A superior track, and the greatest rap on top of it.
And if I looked to my side, the best partner was standing there beside me.
There's not a person in the world who hasn't heard Buraikan's name.
Back then, we had no doubt that we were invincible.
Like naiive fools, we believed that this time would last forever.
We didn't have the slightest idea that the end was approaching, one step at time.
When I was young and I stood on stage, it made everyone happy.
So I tried my best to make everyone smile more and more.
But then, I realized it.
The praise that everyone was giving to me wasn't actually praise of me.
"The son of a superstar actor".
That label was the only worth I had to any of the adults around me.
A burning weight pressed against my face.
After that, everyone started calling me "a ghost".
I even grew my bangs out long to try and hide the inflamed burn scars, but it didn't help at all.
Being insulted was too miserable, and being feared hurt too much, so I locked myself away in my room.
I spent so long just doing the bare minimum to survive, with no purpose, barely speaking to a soul.
At some point, I stopped bothering to long for the dazzling light.
Ever since I was old enough to understand, there's been a sense of uneasiness in my heart that's never gone away.
I suppressed it and tried so hard to force myself to be "normal" and fit in with those around me, but every time I did, my heart felt like it was being worn away.
Before long, the worries and the doubts grew so big that I couldn't ignore them anymore.
So, clinging to the faintest sliver of hope, I confesssed what was in my heart.
"I'm just sorry that I couldn't raise you right."
As my mother cried, she unwittingly uttered the cruel words that pierced me to the bone.
I thought I was special.
Someone who belongs in the spotlight, who everyone would love.
I really believed that if I played my cards right, it would happen for sure.
But my hopes were dashed in an instant.
After I failed, everyone started treating me like I didn't exist.
Being invisible hurt so much more than being ridiculed or insulted ever did.
There are many specialized books lined up in my father's study.
It never occurred to me to so much as doubt that this was a microcosm of what lay in my future.
The path set forth by my esteemed father is absolute; disobeying and straying therefrom is out of the question.
So why does the sound of a pen moving across paper sound so distant?
People speak of "dreams", but my own has bled out on the page like an ink stain, and I never tried to understand its true meaning.
What will be left when I, who have no dream of my own, reach the end of the path?
The sound of a whip cracking across a concrete floor.
The intermingling smells of mold and dust.
Surrounded by people with clouded eyes, I am subjected to nothing but an endless, merciless violence.
How much time has passed?
It may well be that help will ever come.
The urge to cry out has faded, and even the desire to protect myself from bodily harm has grown faint.
When I accepted that my life would end, I heard the sound of my heart breaking.
Our entire world lay atop the keyboard's black and white keys.
The warmth of my younger brother beside me, and the melodies that gently overlapped with one another. So long as I had that, I didn't need anything else.
Then on that day, you were showered with applause at that competition, and then you disappeared without a trace.
Even as the lights of the city began to grow dim, even as I called your name until I lost my voice, all that comes back to me is an empty silence without you in it.
How far will my legs have to carry me before I can catch up to you?
God, I beg of you.
Do not take away the one and only light I have in this world.
A sterile room permeated with the smell of disinfectant.
There are other people who are numbered the same as me, and it is clear that they are growing weaker with every passing day.
It is as though the fate is inevitable; eventually, the same thing will happen to my own body.
While I hope that it ends at five, deep down, there is still a part of me that longs for someone else.
Even though I could never forgive myself for it, that loneliness only ate away at my heart.
All I needed to be happy was to be playing piano with my older brother.
But I was drawn to this place by a unknown hand, and then that gentle warmth was completely gone.
Where did the hand that I should have been holding onto disappear to?
Why am I all alone here?
Just past the heavy door, there was a boy with a tremendous sadness in his eyes.
I saw the answer to my questions in the despair reflected by those eyes.
I was never going to see my older brother again.
Even now, a voice yelling "you're so useless!" still rings in my ears.
I continued to subsume all of my anger and humilation into another personality. The price that I paid was that every place that's ever been precious to me has been destroyed one after another.
A friend who had trusted me turned to look at me with fear in his eyes.
The kind of person I am means I will probably go my whole life without ever being understood by anyone else.
Only those who have experienced it can truly understand the crushing emptiness of forever being on the outside looking in.
Every time I opened my mouth, I was made fun of and laughed at.
I had no other way to argue back, so instead I shut them up with my fists.
I did this over and over, and before I knew it, I was all alone.
My mother.
My only friend.
I had thought that I still had those important things, at least, but by the time I realized what was happening, I had nothing left.
I once made a promise to live an honest life, but even now, I still can't keep it.
By the time I understood that I had been born looking unusual, I had already fallen into the depths of hell.
I kept running away, trying desperately to escape from their horrified gazes, and before I knew it, I was standing at the precipice of loneliness.
I want to connect with someone.
I want to be able to believe in someone without reservation.
I want to be accepted the way that I am.
Holding onto those wishes that will never come true, I wandered aimlessly through the city under the cover of night.
I've never seen my mother's face, and I don't know who nor where my father is.
The only adult I ever believed in thought I was a "special kid", and he built me up only to betray me.
I was brought to prison without even understanding that I had committed a crime, and was told that from that day forward I would spend the rest of my life here.
A windowless room. A cold, unfeeling monitor. Stiff iron bars fitted over every entrance.
This became my entire world.
A humorless laugh welled up from within me.
Was there any reason for me to be born at all?