"Where… am I?"
The words slipped from my lips before I even understood I was awake. My hand twitched, and at once I felt it—something wet, cold, and strange clinging to my skin. I lifted my palm in the faint morning light. Water. A thin stream had pooled around me, soaking through the dirt and my sleeve. For a moment, my mind couldn't piece it together.
Then it hit me. I wasn't inside the house. I was lying on the ground, outside, in the small shed behind Emi's place. My head throbbed with a dull, splitting ache, and when I pushed myself up, a wave of dizziness blurred my vision.
"What… happened last night?" I whispered.
The memories came in fragments, like broken glass scattered on the floor. I remembered walking… somewhere. The kitchen? No, further. Then that heaviness in my skull, the sudden collapse. And flashes—strange, jagged flashes—like lightning in my mind. A man. A suit. A gun raised. His face was nothing but a shadow, yet the image burned itself into my thoughts.
I froze. Emi.
The name tore through me like a spark through dry wood. I scrambled to my feet, my legs trembling as I burst out of the shed and ran toward the house. My voice cracked as I shouted:
"Emi!"
The door slammed open under my hand. My chest was heaving, panic tightening my throat. Room after room, I searched—her bedroom, the kitchen, the hallway. Empty. No trace of her. My heart pounded louder, each beat hammering against my ribs.
"Emi! Emi, where are you?!"
My voice echoed off the walls, desperate, raw. I stumbled into the living room—what we called the TV room. That's when I saw it.
The television was on, the glow painting the room in shifting colors. And there, seated on the sofa with her back toward me, was Emi. My knees nearly gave out from relief.
"Oh thank God…" I gasped, stepping closer. "Why didn't you answer me? I was shouting your name—I thought—"
But as I walked toward her, the words died on my tongue. Something was wrong. The air smelled faintly of iron, sharp and metallic. My eyes fell on the dark stain spreading across her shirt. My breath caught. Blood.
"Emi…?"
I rushed forward, my legs heavy, as if moving through water. When I reached her, I finally saw. The wound was deep, right in her chest. Crimson had soaked the fabric, dripping down the cushions.
"Emi! Emi!"
I dropped beside her, my hands trembling as I reached out. The moment I touched her, her body slumped sideways, falling from the sofa into my arms. Her skin was ice-cold. I pressed my fingers against her neck, then her wrist. Nothing. No heartbeat. No warmth.
"No… no, no, no…" My voice cracked, breaking apart into sobs. "Don't—don't do this—"
The world collapsed around me. I fell to my knees on the floor, cradling her lifeless body, the blood seeping into my clothes. My cry tore through the empty house, raw and endless:
"Emiiiiiiii!"
......
The cliffside was silent, save for the low whisper of the wind brushing against the jagged rocks below. Kenji stood at the very edge, his shoes scraping gravel, his body leaning ever so slightly forward, as though the earth itself wanted to push him into the abyss. The drop stretched endlessly, a yawning black mouth waiting to swallow him whole.
He stared down, his throat dry. His reflection was not in water but in the void—this was what his life felt like now, an emptiness that stretched too far and too deep.
A coward. That word echoed again and again in his head, each time cutting deeper than a blade. From the moment he could remember, that's what he had been. Too weak to stand up for himself. Too afraid to fight back. Too timid to chase anything worth living for. Life had passed him by, and he had always stood in its shadow.
He thought of Kenji2—that strange, fractured part of himself that whispered promises in the dark. He had believed it.
He had believed that side of him would make him stronger, sharper, bolder. That the weakness would finally peel away, leaving someone capable of living without fear. Someone who could protect. Someone who could matter.
But now… Emi was dead.
Kenji's knees shook, not from the height, but from the unbearable weight pressing down on his chest. He pressed both hands to his face, his breath breaking into jagged sobs.
"It wasn't me… it wasn't me…" he whispered, voice trembling. "Kenji2 did it. He did this. He killed her…"
Yet no matter how many times he repeated it, the blood would not wash off his conscience. He had been there. He had seen her lifeless eyes. Whether Kenji 2 was real or just a monster he had made up inside himself, it didn't matter anymore. The end result was the same: Emi was gone, and he was the reason directly or indirectly .
His phone buzzed faintly in his pocket. His shaking fingers pulled it out, the glow of the screen sharp against the night.
He swiped it open and there she was—Emi's face, smiling in photos, bright in memories he could no longer reach. Each picture stabbed at him with cruel precision. Her laughter at the café. Her head tilted, teasing. Her eyes that always carried warmth, even when she was angry at him.
Tears blurred the screen. He traced her face with his thumb, but it was only glass, only light, and nothing he did could bring her back.
"I'm sorry, Emi…" His voice cracked, falling apart under the weight of grief. "I couldn't protect you. I couldn't even protect myself."
The wind howled louder now, urging him forward. The edge of the cliff beckoned like an open door.
Kenji took one final breath. His phone slipped from his hands, clattering against the rocks before tumbling into the dark. He closed his eyes, let the silence settle, and stepped off the edge.
For a moment, he felt weightless, as though he were finally free. Then gravity claimed him, and the night swallowed him whole.