I did something bad.
My first bad deed was sneaking out of the house against Dad's wishes to secretly eavesdrop on his conversation with a friend.
At first, I didn't really understand what they were talking about.
“Anti-anxiety medication”? “Panic attacks”?
The words were difficult, but one thing was certain: Dad was sick.
I knew he tried his best not to let me see how much he was struggling. But I had no way of knowing just how serious it really was.
Mr. Hitokawa’s reaction gave me the answer I was looking for. His voice was a tangled mess of confusion, tension, worry, and anger.
It was the reaction of someone who knew exactly what Dad was going through—a reality that already exceeded my own understanding.
“A guy who hates trouble so much, yet he throws away his entire youth just to raise a kid...”
Even that muttered comment from Mr. Hitokawa reached my ears with piercing clarity.
I knew he didn't mean any harm. He was simply venting his frustration.
But I couldn't just brush it off.
To borrow a phrase from a novel I once read, those words became a dagger that pierced my heart with unerring precision.
Ah. It's because of me.
It's because he's raising me.
Dad became this sick because of me.
That was my second bad deed.
I was ruining Dad. Slowly, so gradually that I wouldn't have noticed if someone else hadn't pointed it out.
It was my fault. It had always been my fault.
As Dad saw his friend off and headed back into the house, I struggled to keep my expression neutral.
No, if I do this, he'll notice. I'll only make things harder for him.
I hurriedly looked in the mirror, practicing my usual expression and tone. It worked better than I expected; I managed to slip past without arousing any suspicion.
My third bad deed was lying to Dad so I could go out.
I couldn't just sit still.
I had to do something.
I didn't need a pardon or an excuse saying I was too young to feel responsible.
If I was the one making Dad suffer, then I had to be the one to lighten his burden.
And so, I decided to commit my fourth bad deed.
If Dad caught me, it wouldn't end with just a spanking... but I went through with it anyway.
I ransacked Dad's room.
It didn't take long to find the map he always took when he secretly left the house in the early hours of the morning.
When I unfolded it, I saw red X marks scattered across various locations.
Here.
The places Dad visited for my sake, only to return with a shattered heart.
The places where "death"—the thing gnawing away at Dad—resided.
I put on the bag Dad had bought me for picnics.
And for the first time, I ventured out into the world alone.
***
Time was limited. At the very least, I had to return home before Dad finished work.
Koma had a bicycle to get around, but Eto had no such luxury.
I had about 4,670 yen on me. It was a significant amount for a five-year-old, but since Eto didn't yet grasp the true value of money, I had simply gathered every coin and bill I could find while searching the house.
When I first stepped outside, I was overwhelmed by confusion. I had never gone further than the playground without Dad, and the anxiety began to set in.
Eto knew far too little about the world; the "common sense" I possessed was merely a fragmented collection of facts gathered from books. I lacked actual, practical experience.
For someone who couldn't read a bus timetable or a subway map, finding a suicide spot on her own seemed nearly impossible.
However, there was one detail that couldn't be overlooked.
Eto was cunning.
“How do I get to this place?”
I boarded a bus and asked the driver.
I might not understand schedules or routes, but a professional would.
The driver, who had been preparing to take on passengers, looked flustered when a small child suddenly thrust a map in his face. Nevertheless, he kindly gave me directions.
“I don't know why you'd want to go to a deserted mountain road... but there's a stop nearby. Wait there and take the number 22 bus. And then...”
I memorized the driver's instructions and boarded the number 22 bus ten minutes later.
However, when the driver asked, “Where are your parents?”, I found myself at a loss for words and bolted from the bus.
I then lingered around the stop, prowling like a predator waiting for the right prey.
Eventually, I spotted a woman boarding the number 22 bus with two children, and I slipped in right behind them.
The woman paid the fare for her children, and I followed suit, paying my own fare immediately after.
The woman didn't seem to notice me, and while the driver saw me paying separately, he didn't think much of it. He likely assumed I was just the woman's precocious daughter, insisting on paying her own way.
After getting off at the correct stop, I consulted the map and began the trek up the mountain road.
According to the map, the suicide spot was located at the end of this path, atop a sheer cliff.
Will there be anyone there? There has to be...
With a heart pounding from a mix of worry and anticipation, I finally reached the cliff after the long journey.
And... there was someone.
A battered, old car sat nearby. A guardrail, rusted by wind and rain, lined the edge. Beyond it lay a dizzying drop into an abyss. Yet, as if she felt no fear—or perhaps she simply enjoyed the thrill—a woman sat casually atop the guardrail, staring down into the depths.
“Huuuuu...”
A long sigh, heavy with exhaustion, released a cloud of pale smoke from her lips.
Though hidden from my angle, a nearly finished cigarette was gripped between her fingers.
With my sensitive sense of smell, I detested the scent of tobacco, but I gritted my teeth and walked toward her.
“Hm?”
Sensing my presence, the woman looked back.
She looked to be in her mid-to-late twenties, wearing heavy makeup and a piercing in one ear. Her eyes were as sharp as razor blades, but a layer of languor softened them, making her seem less intimidating.
Her crimson-dyed hair cascaded down to her hips, brushing against the guardrail. She wore tight jeans and a cropped tank top that left her navel exposed.
Finding my presence in such a place bizarre, she tilted her head and asked,
“Kid, are you lost?”
Her voice was husky, roughened by years of smoking.
“No. I’m not lost.”
Because I've arrived exactly where I wanted to be. I swallowed the rest of the sentence.
The woman stared at me for a moment before losing interest. She pulled out a new cigarette and lit it.
She took a deep drag and exhaled a sigh even longer than the last.
“...Go home, kid. This isn't a place for someone like you.”
“Is it okay for an auntie to be here?”
“Auntie? Watch your mouth, brat. I’m only twenty-six.”
“You’re older than my dad.”
“...Is that so? Then call me whatever you want.”
Having run out of arguments, she stopped correcting my choice of words.
I stepped closer and placed my hand on the guardrail, peering over the edge. The height was so dizzying it almost forced a gasp from my throat.
“Kid. It’s dangerous to lean on that.”
“Why are you trying to die, auntie?”
The woman’s eyes widened in surprise at my question, which I asked without ever taking my eyes off the cliff.
Perhaps she found it unexpected to hear such a thing from a child who looked like a clueless brat.
“Die...? I’m just... hesitating over whether I should or not.”
“Why?”
I finally looked away from the abyss and turned to face her.
The woman seemed to wonder if she really needed to give a serious answer to a child. She chewed on her cigarette in silence for a moment, then spun around on the guardrail to face me.
“Life isn't exactly full of great things, you know. You start thinking that dying might actually be better. That's why people come looking for a place where they can be sure of it. ...But it turns out that dying takes more courage than you'd think.”
“Won't anyone be sad if you die, auntie?”
“Who knows. Maybe a few people... but in the end, humans dying is just how it goes.”
Huuuuu...
The pale smoke trailed off, vanishing into nothingness. The woman stared blankly at the dissipating cloud. It felt as though she were saying that this was the essence of humanity—to vanish so effortlessly.
Then, snapping back to reality, she scratched her head and grumbled to herself.
“What the hell am I doing, pouring my heart out to a brat... Anyway, why are you here? Did you come to die too?”
“No. I came to watch you die.”
“...What?”
The woman blinked, rubbing her ear as if she couldn't believe what she had just heard.
I stepped a few paces away from the guardrail and looked her in the eye.
Should I say it? I have to.
I can't hesitate now that I've come this far. If I'm afraid, I'll burn my bridges.
I took a deep breath.
To drive myself into a corner, to force myself to act,
I spoke the one word Dad had strictly warned me never to utter.
“I’m a Ghoul.”
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