Chapter 4.3: The Abyss

I came to class and slept for the rest of the day. I was going to read the syllable when I got home so I wasn't like I couldn't just skip class.

After school, I went to the library to read a book and also to confirm something.

Now that Suzuki and I weren't dating I didn't have to follow her on dates.

On entering the library, I went to where Fujimoto was and sat beside her.

"You didn't come during break,"

"…Sorry,"

"It's ok, but I'm leaving now so see you," she left.

Was she waiting for me? To see if I would come.

I couldn't confirm what I wanted to, but I think my guess was sufficient.

The school couldn't allow my classmates to spread my alleged sexual assault on Suzuki.

One, the nepotism of me still being in the school was a big issue, especially a government-owned school.

And two, girls won't allow a rapist to roam freely.

I think the school told my classmates to keep their mouth shut.

I went to the shelf to pick up a book that spoke to me or rather understood me perfectly.

The book felt new, its cover smooth under my fingertips. No creases, no bent corners.

The spine resisted slightly when I opened it, as if it hadn't been cracked open often.

The title, The Abyss Behind a Smile, was printed in bold, precise letters.

No dramatic imagery, no flowery design. Just plain black text on an empty background.

I turned to the first page and began reading.

"I don't remember when I stopped being real."

Simple. Straight to the point. No hesitation.

The story followed a man named Elias, someone who spoke when he was spoken to, smiled when he was expected to, and lived each day as if reading from a script written by someone else.

He didn't resist it, didn't question it. He wasn't pretending, not really. It was just easier this way.

The narration didn't beg for sympathy. It simply laid things out as they were.

Elias existed. He moved, he spoke, he reacted. But there was a gap—something missing between the lines. Something hollow.

I turned another page.

Elias didn't have a tragic backstory. No dramatic moment that broke him, no single event to blame.

Just time, slowly wearing him down until nothing was left but a person-shaped thing going through the motions.

In the mornings, he looked in the mirror and adjusted his face. A slight furrow of the brows to show concern. A neutral expression for when no one was looking. A polite smile, not too wide, not too shallow.

It was easier when people didn't ask questions.

He nodded at the right moments. Laughed when necessary. He could go days without thinking about himself at all, just existing in the space others left for him.

And when something dark pressed at the edges of his mind, whispering, nudging, waiting—he ignored it.

I shifted slightly, resting the book against my knee.

It wasn't a sad story, not exactly. Just a quiet one. One that made sense.

I turned another page.

Elias's coworkers liked him well enough. He responded well to jokes, never made things awkward, and never caused problems.

No one would call him cold or distant because there was nothing off about him. If anything, he was easier to talk to than most.

Because Elias wasn't unpredictable. He was whatever people needed him to be.

One afternoon, someone invited him out for drinks. He agreed, naturally. When the time came, he laughed at the right things, made the right comments, nodded at the right times.

At some point, someone turned to him and said, "You're a good guy, Elias."

And he said, "Thanks."

Because that was the right response.

But later, when he was home and staring at the ceiling, he found himself repeating the words.

"You're a good guy, Elias."

He didn't know if it was true.

Did it matter?

I let my eyes rest on the words for a moment before flipping the page.

The book never described the darkness clearly. It wasn't a monster, wasn't a ghost, wasn't something he saw in the corners of his vision.

It was just there.

Waiting in the silences. In the pauses between conversations. In the moments he was alone with himself.

It didn't speak. It didn't threaten. It just was.

And that was worse.

At work, someone told a joke. Elias laughed, but his voice came a second too late, just slightly off. No one noticed. No one ever did.

Another page.

One night, Elias stood in front of the mirror, adjusting his tie.

He watched his reflection for a long time.

"I am real," he said.

His reflection said it back.

That should have been normal. That was how mirrors worked.

But for a moment—just a moment—he wasn't sure which of them had spoken first.

I closed the book for a second, pressing my thumb against the page.

The library was quiet.

I glanced at my own reflection across from me. The dim light made it hard to see the details, but it was there. Same posture. Same face. Same everything.

Of course it was.

I exhaled, opened the book again, and kept reading.

Elias stopped trying to figure things out.

Because, in the end, there was nothing to figure out.

He still went to work. Still had conversations. Still laughed when he was supposed to.

When he lost time, he chalked it up to exhaustion.

When his reflection seemed a little off, he ignored it.

When the darkness in his mind shifted, inching closer, he let it.

It wasn't like it had anywhere else to go.

Another page.

By the final chapter, nothing had changed.

Elias still existed. Still performed. Still moved through life the way he always had.

The book never ended with a revelation. Never gave him an epiphany. There was no breaking point, no moment of collapse, no desperate fight to reclaim himself.

Because there was nothing to reclaim.

He had been gone for a long time now.

The book simply ended.

I closed it.

The room was still. The air felt heavier than before.

The book was in perfect condition.

No creased pages. No bent spine. As if it had never been read.

Or as if it didn't matter how many times it was.

I ran a hand over the cover, tracing the title.

The Abyss Behind a Smile.

It wasn't a sad story.

It was just how things were.

After leaving the library I went to the dorms to get some rest. After some time I heard a knock on my door, I opened the door to see Kagura.

"Can we talk?"

"Uh sure."

She sat on the living room couch and gestured me to sit beside her, I did so.

"So about Aiya…"

"Oh so you know it's a false accusation."

"Of course it is, you're not the kind of person who would do such."

"I'm guessing that isn't all you wanted to talk about."

"I wanted to inform you; it wasn't orchestrated by Aiya but by Satou-senpai."

Satou, huh?

"He made no one be able to explain Rp to you."

"I see, can you explain it?"

She explained it in finer details than what the principal said but at it's core they both said the same thing.

When she finished, she stood up to go. Before leaving she turned back at me, grinned then said.

"Nakamura if you need an ally, I'm always here."

Hmm.