Desultory and hypocrisy between father and son

"How pathetic... That is the only word that best describes your situation..."

Those words echoed deep within Umeboshi's soul, like an invisible but unbreakable slash cutting straight through him.

As he opened his eyes, he saw someone he thought—no, wished—he would never have to see again. It was a man, but to Umeboshi, he was more than just a person he despised. That man was the physical embodiment of his weakness and failure. Worse still, he was the one person Umeboshi feared he could one day become.

And if that day ever came—if he ever became like him—Umeboshi swore he would take a knife and slit his own throat.

That man… was his father.

"you!..."

The man in front of him was a bald, dark-skinned figure, towering at least two heads taller than Umeboshi—a feat impressive even considering Umeboshi's own height.

"...After all that talk, your life ended up more pathetic than mine... Father like son, I guess," he said with a wicked smile.

The world around him was a dismal apartment in a sorry state, with cockroaches scurrying everywhere. It was no place for a child to grow up, but Umeboshi knew this place all too well. It was his prison—and, at the same time, his refuge. This was the house where he had once lived as a child, back when he was still in Japan.

Umeboshi didn't say anything for a moment. His eyes were hollow, yet filled with fury. He lay on the ground, his stomach pressed against the floor, before slowly pushing himself onto his knees. His voice was low, tinged with anger, as he spoke:

"I'm... not like you."

His father lingered for a moment, a tone of amusement creeping into his voice.

"Are you sure? Because, to me, our lives seem very similar. Let me give you a quick reminder of how you live and die, son."

Umeboshi rose to his feet, keeping one knee on the ground. His voice was filled with fury as he spat out,

"Don't call me that... I'm not your son, and I will never be. Just hearing that word come out of your mouth disgusts me!"

He looked up at him from below, his expression unreadable.

"What the hell have you done after you and the bitch you called mother left Japan, huh?"

Umeboshi's eyes blazed with fury. He sprang to his feet in an instant, dashing toward the man at incredible speed. His fist came hurtling toward his father, his voice laced with rage.

"What the hell did you just call her, bastard?!"

Umeboshi's fist flew forward toward his father's face, but the man ducked under it and countered with a punch to his son's stomach—precisely aimed at the liver.

"Argh!!"

Umeboshi spat in anger, blood flying from his mouth. His father, with his other hand, gripped his son's head and slammed it into the ground with incredible force, shattering the earth beneath them.

Kneeling down, the man lowered himself to get a better look at Umeboshi's face.

It was filled with fury, rage—and, more than anything, fear.

"Do you remember what you told me before we last saw each other?" His voice dripped with malice. "You said you'd never become a man as pathetic as me... that you'd rather slit your own throat than ever be a fraction of what I am."

The pressure on Umeboshi's head intensified, and a wide, malicious smile spread across his father's face.

"You've done nothing with your life since you left me. You fail at everything you touch. School? You were a lost cause there. So, to pass your days, you resorted to... well, you still do it now—playing the delinquent."

His grip tightened, and Umeboshi could almost feel his skull cracking under the pressure.

"You thought you were SO GREAT at it... I mean, who can blame you? You're the great Bokujō no Tatsu, right? You could beat entire gangs by yourself. But wait—being a delinquent isn't really the same as having a life to be proud of, is it? Son?"

A sickening laugh escaped his father's lips—so wicked, it could drive anyone mad. He laughed and laughed as Umeboshi grew more desperate. Then, suddenly, he stopped, his giggle cutting through the air.

"But now you tell me that the only thing you're good at... in fact, you were never good at it from the beginning... I'm sorry, that's just too funny. You were never strong at all!"

He grabbed Umeboshi by the hair, yanking him closer to his face. His features, still human, now appeared demonic.

"Losing over and over again—that's the entirety of your existence. You're as pathetic as me. Admit it!"

His face shifted from amusement to something far darker, his eyes now burning with rage. The room began to shake.

"Who would have believed that the pathetic trash I hold in my grasp would be the one to end my life?"

As he said those words, his face twisted into something unrecognizable—like the face of someone beaten to death, or perhaps someone who had died in a horrific way.

"You hated me for abandoning you and your mother... but tell me, Umeboshi... isn't that what you did too? You promised them you'd always be there... but you left. The only difference is, I don't make promises I can't keep."

He yanked Umeboshi's hair, forcing him to face the abyss of his own despair. His son's face was hollow, filled with a crushing hopelessness that could break any man. With a look of indifference, his father slammed Umeboshi's head into the ground violently.

Umeboshi lay there, motionless, his eyes still hollow.

"I guess you're right about one thing," his father sneered. "You didn't become as pathetic as me... you're ten times worse. Even after killing me, it seems you're still weak—too weak to face me or yourself. Hell, even a street dog has a more honorable life than you."

He turned to walk to the apartment door, but as he reached for the handle, he stopped. Silent, he stood there, frozen in place.

Umeboshi was already upon him, his hand pressing tightly into his father's right shoulder. He breathed heavily, over and over again, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Wait, bastard..."

His father didn't respond, still facing the door.

"Why?" His father's voice was cold. "There's nothing worth staying for."

Umeboshi's face was slick with sweat as he spoke, his voice cracking.

"You never responded to my question back then..."

His father's bloodied face finally turned toward him.

"What?"

Umeboshi's hand trembled against his father's shoulder. Tears streamed down his face as his voice shook.

"Why... why was it so hard to love Mama and me? Why was it so hard for you to be a loving and caring father... and husband?"

His father's expression returned to a blank, unreadable state, and he looked at his son with thinly veiled indifference.

"Why... Why was it so damn hard for you to be a good person, Akile Mbuyi? Why was it so goddamn hard for you to be a decent human being and not cause pain and suffering everywhere you went?!"

As he looked into his son's face, his father giggled softly, a slight smile curling his lips.

"Heh... you really haven't changed at all."

Umeboshi's teary face contorted in confusion, his sadness and anger boiling over.

"What?"

His father sighed, his voice cold.

"You're still the same scared child who used to hide in a corner, covering your ears, unable to bear how I was beating your mother."

A wicked laugh escaped his lips as he shoved Umeboshi's hand off his shoulder. He stepped toward the door, but before leaving, he turned back and spoke in a low voice.

"You said this to that spirit: 'If you want revenge so badly... if you want your parents' bodies back, why don't you do it yourself? Why ask a stranger to do it for you?'... Let me ask you a similar question. If you want so badly not to become like me, then why the hell did you abandon your own child and the love of your life? And more importantly... if you wanted so desperately not to end up as pathetic as me, then why..."

He paused, stepping forward, but glanced back one last time. His expression unreadable.

"Are you so goddamn weak? In fifty years, you haven't grown strong at all. You're truly not worth anyone's time... not even the afterlife."

Here's a revised version of your passage to improve the flow and emotional depth:

Just as Umeboshi was about to take a step forward, the door slammed shut violently. In an instant, he found himself lying in a cave. He knew this place well—it was his refuge from the rain, the one spot where he could escape everything.

As he lay there, he didn't cry, nor did he show any hint of emotion. No... it wasn't that. He simply felt empty. Hollow. It was as though no emotion could even reach him, leaving only a vast, consuming nothingness.

Then, something so quiet it seemed impossible to hear escaped his lips. If one were able to read lips, they might have seen what Umeboshi murmured:

"What was I doing with my life?"

chapter seventy end

{after chapter poem}

To I, who was born fateless—

To the living me,

born without love, compassion, or guidance.

To the dead me,

who feels like a missing piece

in this hollow, fate-starved heart.

To the living me,

who answered everything with his fists,

believing his strength was beyond compare,

never realizing that "strength"

was nothing more than a word.

The monster I once feared—

I do not want to become it.

So perhaps, in death,

let my soul grow beyond ignorance.

Let the missing pieces of my fate take shape.

And one day, may I outgrow both

the monster and my own insecurities—

so that I may truly become strong.

So that the Dragon of the Pasture may be reborn.