A Single Step, a Thousand Miles—Halfway to the Truth

"What was I doing with my life?" Umeboshi muttered, his expression hollow. Yet, deep within his empty soul, something stirred—an ember buried beneath the ashes, flickering to life.

Like a dying fire on a bitter winter night, it flared once more—not out of anger, nor desperation, but from a shame so profound it burned through his very being. A shame not just of failure, but of existence itself.

And so, the fire raged, knowing that if it did not burn now—both within and without—it might never ignite again.

As he sat up, Umeboshi looked down at his trembling palm. His vision gradually cleared, and for some reason, he turned to his left.

There, he saw the same kappa—the one he had vowed to help, the one seeking revenge against the Jubokko that had slaughtered its parents and left it orphaned. Even after everything that spirit had done to him, the cursed tree had still denied the child the right to bury its parents.

And in that moment, Umeboshi realized—he had failed.

He hadn't avenged the child's parents. He hadn't even reclaimed their bodies. He had accomplished nothing.

So what kind of face would the child make upon seeing the man who had promised vengeance but delivered nothing?

Umeboshi wondered. Would it be anger?

Yes… that would make sense. After all, hadn't he insulted the child for being too weak to avenge its own parents?

How fitting it would be, then, for that same child to now look upon him with the same scorn, the same resentment—witnessing the hypocrisy of a man who had failed just as miserably.

Would it be sadness?

Yes… that too would make sense. After all, Umeboshi had been the child's only hope—the one who was supposed to avenge its parents and reclaim their bodies. Perhaps, with his failure, the child now understood that everything was truly over.

The possibilities churned in his mind, spiraling endlessly, like a whirlpool with no destination—only an eternal cycle, bringing him back to where he began.

But as he stopped trying to imagine the spirit child's expression, he simply looked at it.

And in that moment, he realized—he had been wrong about everything

The kappa's expression was not one of anger, rage, desperation, or even sadness. Instead, it was something far more profound—kindness. A quiet, unshaken empathy for the man who had failed to help him.

Umeboshi realized the kappa was holding his arm gently, yet no words reached his ears.

There was something indescribable about the way the child looked at him—an understanding so deep, so pure, that it felt like the kind of love only a mother could show her child.

And in that moment, as he gazed into the young spirit's eyes, a single thought echoed in his mind.

Is it… possible?

That this child—the one I thought I was stronger than—was always stronger than me?

As he looked into the child's eyes, the weight of his shame deepened, swelling inside him like an unbearable tide. His chest tightened, and he clutched his hand against it, as if trying to hold himself together.

Yet, the kindness in the child's expression only grew stronger—unwavering, boundless.

A thought echoed in his mind.

Is he like him?

No… he is beyond him. Beyond me.

Something I thought I could never achieve, even years after his death…

That child is stronger than both me and my father, despite being weaker in body.

How? I don't understand… Will I ever?

As the numbness in his senses faded, Umeboshi found himself looking into the child's eyes once more—seeing that kindness, that quiet strength. But the weight of his own shame was too much to bear. He turned away.

To his left, his gaze fell upon a young girl lying beneath a blanket.

She wore a black kimono, a red scarf tied around her head, and a veil of black silk covering her eyes.

Her breathing was heavy, strained. Sweat clung to her face as she slept, her body restless even in unconsciousness.

The girl sleeping before him was Anna.

Umeboshi looked at her, worry tightening in his chest. His voice trembled as he asked,

"What... happened?"

The kappa remained silent for a moment before finally speaking in a low voice.

"I was watching your fight with the Jubokko... and that girl saved you. She used some strange spell just before you were about to be killed.

I followed her from a distance. She carried your body for as long as she could, but just before reaching the cave entrance, she collapsed.

So I carried you both inside."

As Umeboshi gazed at the young girl's face, the weight of his shame grew unbearable. He bit his lip hard—so hard that blood began to drip.

His voice was strained as he asked, "How long… has she been sleeping?"

The kappa hesitated before answering truthfully.

"She's been asleep for a week… but not the whole time. She wakes up for a few hours now and then, but she always says she needs more rest—a lot more.

It seems the spell she used to save you… took a serious toll on her."

As soon as the child finished speaking, Umeboshi bit his lip harder, his body tensing.

Suddenly, he pushed himself up, ignoring the lingering weakness in his limbs. His eyes fell on his wooden staff lying on the ground beside him—without hesitation, he grabbed it.

Then, without a word, he turned and rushed out of the cave, his movements frantic—like a man fleeing from something unseen.

The child's voice called after him, laced with worry.

"Mister? You can't go! You haven't recovered yet!"

The kappa took one last glance at Anna, his expression conflicted.

Then, before rushing after Umeboshi, he whispered softly, "I'm sorry… I'll be back. I promise."

Without another moment's hesitation, he turned and left the cave.

***

"Where are you going, mister?!"

The young kappa called out, struggling to keep up as he followed Umeboshi through the mountain forest.

Umeboshi tore through the trees in his path, shattering them with each swing of his staff. The sound of splintering wood echoed through the forest, the broken trunks crashing to the ground in his wake.

The kappa leaped over fallen branches, doing his best to navigate the destruction. But Umeboshi was moving faster—his pace relentless, his steps heavy with purpose.

Desperate to catch up, the kappa cried out again, his voice filled with worry.

"Mister! You haven't healed completely yet!"

The aura radiating from the man… it was overwhelming.

Spirits of nature, even from a young age, could sense the hearts of others. They could understand emotions that words failed to express. Yet, from Umeboshi, the kappa felt nothing but absolute shame—a feeling deeper than sadness, heavier than despair.

His small hand reached out instinctively, as if trying to grasp something slipping away. His eyes, filled with sorrow, softened as he whispered:

"Mister…"

It was then that the young kappa understood where Umeboshi was heading.

Even if he didn't recognize the exact path, he could feel it—their route was circling back toward the hunting grounds of the Jubokko.

Umeboshi was going back.

Despite his wounds, despite his weakened state, he was trying to cut the tree down again.

The realization sent a jolt of panic through the kappa. Without hesitation, he dashed forward, pushing himself past Umeboshi. Spinning around, he spread his arms wide, blocking the man's path.

His voice, thick with desperation, burst out.

"You must not! If you go there… you will die for sure! And the girl won't be there to save you this time!"

Umeboshi took a step forward.

The sheer force of his movement pulled the young kappa backward, his small feet dragging through the dirt, carving two lines into the earth.

Yet, Umeboshi didn't stop. With each step he took, the kappa was pushed back further and further, struggling against the overwhelming strength of the man's resolve.

The kappa's eyes welled with tears as he pressed against Umeboshi, trying desperately to push him back.

"You must not!" he pleaded, his small hands trembling against the man's unmoving form.

But Umeboshi took another step forward.

"You will die!"

Another step.

The kappa's feet scraped against the dirt, dragged backward by the sheer force of the man's will. Then, unable to hold back any longer, he screamed—his voice cracking, tears streaming down his face.

"Why… why are you doing this?! I know it's not just because of my favor—I can see it, I can feel it!

"So why? Why does your soul feel so ashamed… so much that you want to die?!"

Umeboshi finally stopped walking.

They were mere moments away from stepping into the Jubokko's hunting ground.

His body trembled as he stared into the young spirit's tearful eyes. A thought clawed at his mind, growing louder, more unbearable.

Why… why are you all looking at me like that?

Why do you bastards know something I don't?!

Those damn eyes.

Those damn, fucking eyes!

A desperate scream tore from his throat as he swung his staff violently, shattering a tree with a single strike. The impact sent the kappa stumbling backward, falling onto his back.

"Mister?!" the child gasped, his voice unsteady with confusion.

But Umeboshi didn't stop.

He swung his staff again, obliterating another tree—then another. Each strike wasn't born from rage, but from something deeper, something uglier.

Desperation.

Shame.

The unbearable weight of his own existence up until this very moment.

The kappa didn't try to stop him.

Somehow, he understood—the man needed this moment.

He also knew now that Umeboshi wouldn't throw his life away in the Jubokko's domain. That alone was enough to ease his worry.

With a quiet nod to himself, the young spirit stepped away, turning back toward the cave, leaving the man to his solitude.

Time passed. Hours, or maybe only minutes.

Umeboshi lay amidst the wreckage of fallen trees, his body sprawled across the broken remains of the forest.

Above him, the sky stretched vast and clear—the canopy now torn open by his desperate rampage.

The sun and moon hung together in the heavens, locked in their silent, endless waltz.

As he gazed upward, something stirred within him. A sorrow too deep for words.

Tears streamed down his face.

His hand trembled as it reached for the sky—toward something distant, unreachable.

And somewhere along the way, without even realizing it... he wept.

Tears streamed down his face as he gazed into the vast heavens.

His voice, trembling and hollow, barely escaped his lips.

"For fifty-one years... I thought I was strong."

"For fifty-one years... I believed I was unbeatable, that no matter how many times I fell, I could always rise stronger."

"But I never became stronger than that man."

As those words left him, silence followed. A silence that weighed heavier than any battle he had ever fought.

Then, unexpectedly, a bitter laugh escaped his throat—one devoid of joy, filled only with weary resignation.

"To become truly strong... to be strong at all... What does it even mean anymore?"

He no longer knew.

And then, like a whisper from the heavens, voices echoed within his soul.

"No one has power over when or where they die. So why do you bear the weight of a fate that was never in your hands?"

"If you focus only on the target in front of you, without first turning your gaze inward, how do you expect to find the strength to fight anything beyond yourself?"

"Why 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."

As the voices faded, so too did the tears.

His outstretched hand trembled, fingertips barely grazing the sky.

Lying there, amidst the fallen trees, beneath the eternal sun and moon of Mount Osore, he felt it—a realization, one so profound it threatened to shatter him.

"To be strong... to be unbeatable... to desire strength itself..."

His gaze drifted upward. The sun and moon stood together, untouched, eternal. So far beyond reach that it seemed foolish to ever believe one could harm them.

He compared himself to them.

To the sky.

To the mountains.

To the rivers that carved their paths through the land.

To the universe itself.

And then—it clicked.

All of it—strength, power, the very idea of being strong—

It was all just an illusion.

A fragile concept created by men too afraid to acknowledge their own insignificance.

His lips parted, and in a voice barely above a whisper, he spoke the truth that had taken fifty-one years, eighteen years of life, thirty-three years of wandering, and even his own death to understand.

"I am nothing."

chapter eighty end...