Someone once said that life is full of twists and turns.
The phrase means that fortune and misfortune in life change so often that they are impossible to predict.
The saying that good times are followed by bad, and bad times by good, carries the same meaning.
Happiness and misfortune have too many variables to be predicted or conclusively judged.
When everything was going so well, I should have stayed at least a little guarded.
I had forgotten, drunk on happiness, that whenever fortune comes, misfortune follows—and sometimes the reverse is true.
I had forgotten because the days I spent with my father were such immense happiness in my life.
My father was summoned by the prosecution.
Even when he was first taken away, the people around me said all the right things.
"There must have been some kind of misunderstanding."
"He will definitely be released soon."
But once it made the news, one day, two days, three days, four days... By the time a week had passed, people gradually stopped offering me comfort or words of concern.
After that, even though I did not want to know, I came to understand just how far human beings could be filled with malice.
More than once, the hostile gazes focused on me nearly made me take an unconscious step backward.
It became routine to find garbage on my desk in the classroom, along with hateful words scrawled across it.
What angered me most were the photographs of my father being arrested by the prosecution, or caricatures drawn to mock him, left on my desk alongside writing that seemed to sneer at me.
Whenever I turned my gaze toward the people around me, every one of them would look away. I could not help but feel disgusted by them.
That was why I built up an extreme defense mechanism, protecting myself and remaining wary of the world.
Otherwise, they would tear me down without cause or limit, trying to cross the line.
For someone like me, the Homu Sword Saint was one of the only people I could let my guard down around.
In a world where I could trust no one, I missed him desperately—the only person I could trust.
I endured each day just looking forward to the days when I could train with him.
And at last, that day came.
Ignoring the gazes around me, I headed for the dojo at a brisk pace.
"Homu Sword Saint!"
[You are early.]
The words written in the sketchbook did not greet me.
When I opened the dojo doors, instead of seeing the Homu Sword Saint as usual—either writing words in his sketchbook for me to read or leisurely swinging his sword—I found the dojo completely empty.
He always arrived precisely on time—no, even earlier than that. I could not help but be flustered when he was nowhere to be found.
"Homu Sword Saint?"
I searched the spacious dojo, but there was not even a trace of him.
As though he had never existed.
"...Well, he is human too. He could be late."
Somehow suppressing the anxiety rising within me, I changed into my training uniform, picked up a wooden sword, and sat in the center of the dojo.
So I could do my usual warm-up until he arrived.
I had no doubt that by the time I finished, he would be there, welcoming me with words written in his sketchbook.
Five minutes, ten minutes, thirty minutes, one hour... As time passed, I finally felt doubt begin to rise in my heart.
‘Could the Homu Sword Saint have started to hate me too, and that is why he is not coming?’
Once that thought entered my mind, the tip of my sword gradually began to waver. Eventually, I stopped training and lowered my sword.
If I kept swinging it improperly like this, I might end up seriously hurting myself.
"Oh, the phone."
Come to think of it, there was no need to worry like this.
He had once told me to save his number in case he was ever running late, so I had done so.
But he had always been so punctual that I had forgotten I even had it saved.
I picked up the phone I had placed atop my clothes and searched for the Homu Sword Saint’s number.
"Found it."
Seeing the name quite far down my contact list, I let out a deep breath and pressed the call button.
Rrring, rrring.
As the call began ringing, I waited at first, swallowing nervously.
But five seconds, ten seconds, thirty seconds... As it continued to ring without answer, dark thoughts gradually began to take hold in my mind. Then I heard the sound of the call being answered.
"H-Hello—"
—The person you are calling is unavailable. After the beep, you will be connected to voicemail. Charges may apply.
Staring blankly at my phone as the automated message played after I had been unable to reach him for so long, I pressed the end-call button when the beep sounded.
Had the Homu Sword Saint truly started to hate me too, to the point that he would not even answer my calls?
No. If that were the case, he would have blocked my number or hung up midway.
But what I had just heard was the automated response that played when someone could not answer their phone.
"I will try one more time."
Having made up my mind, I called him again.
Rrring, rrring.
The ringing sound started again.
But this time, as it rang, I heard something strange at the same time.
Bzz... bzz... It sounded like a vibration. I pulled the phone away from my ear for a moment and listened closely, and heard a steady vibration pulsing at regular intervals.
I was the only one in the dojo, yet I could hear a phone vibrating. As I moved to find where it was coming from, the vibration suddenly stopped.
"...Was I imagining it?"
As I thought that and turned my attention back to my phone, the automated message informing me that I would be connected to voicemail was playing.
At that moment, a thought suddenly crossed my mind, and I called the Homu Sword Saint once again.
The moment the call began ringing, the vibration sounded again, and I walked toward it.
"It seems to be coming from here."
The sound was coming from a drawer in one corner of the dojo. Slowly, I opened it.
And when I saw what was inside, my eyes could not help but widen. There was the Homu Sword Saint’s mask.
I immediately understood the source of the vibration too: beside the Homu mask was a phone that appeared to have fallen there, vibrating.
The phone was ringing as it leaned against one side of the drawer, as if it had slipped over. When I ended the call, it fell silent.
Watching it, I slowly reached out and picked up the phone.
Then, I accidentally pressed the lock button. The instant I saw the lock screen that appeared, I could only stare at it with trembling eyes.
It displayed a photograph of my mother—whom I had only ever seen in pictures—and me as a child.
"...Why is this picture here?"
Swallowing hard, I slowly swiped up on the screen, and a prompt appeared asking me to enter a six-digit password.
‘If the owner of this phone is someone I know—’
With that thought in mind, I slowly entered the six digits.
When the screen unlocked, I unconsciously covered my mouth with one hand.
Because the picture that appeared as soon as it unlocked showed my father giving a speech as the freshman representative at his high school entrance ceremony.
Overwhelmed by the emotions swelling inside me, I felt tears stream from my eyes. Yet I could not bring myself to wipe them away, and I stood there crying for a long while.
"...Idiot. Father, you really are such an idiot."
I murmured those words over and over without end.
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