Chapter 1: Happiness

He used to be such a cheerful child.

Lying in bed, Fu recalls his past—again. He has lost count of how many times he's done this. At sixteen, caught between a slightly gifted mind and an unfortunate childhood, he has developed a deeply pessimistic view of the world around him.

His bed, with nothing but a thin blanket and a small pillow, barely offers enough comfort to lull him to sleep. He spends his nights staring at the cold ceiling. Vivid faces appear, watching him. He knows they are a product of his mind—a symptom of his illness. He doesn't believe in God or ghosts.

As he slowly drifts off, he wonders—are these the ones who haunted him in the past? Or are they just parts of himself, dying in the process of growing up?

Just as the calm darkness embraces him, his vision ignites with an ugly white light. Countless eyes glare at him. Long, slithering fingers coil tightly around his body—not with the warmth of human touch, but with the cold grip of a corpse.

Before him looms an uncanny monster, its body riddled with shifting eyeballs and grotesque, writhing limbs. Fu can't move. He wants to scream, to faint—but he can't.

The creature creeps closer, its bloody mouth twisting into something disturbingly human. And then—voices. They seep into his ears, whispering, taunting. Familiar voices. The voices of his own friends and family, the ones that haunt him every night.

Its breath reeks of sewage and rotting meat. Worse still, its words sting—sharp, venomous, tearing Fu's heart into a million pieces. It always starts sweet, but he already knows where it will lead: cruel, merciless insults that crush him. His feelings go numb. He doesn't care anymore.

Even knowing it's just a dream, he can't close his eyes. He can't control anything—not even here.

The monster stops. Its cruel words fade into silence.

It stares at him.

Fu, numb and unresponsive, meets its gaze.

"Why are you looking at me like that? Like I'm the one to blame…"

Everything goes black—not the familiar comfort of darkness, but something far worse. It's hollow, empty. A place where nothing exists.

Fu can't feel his body. It's like drowning.

Then—

A shrill, tearing noise spirals through his right ear, followed by the sickening rush of thick liquid, as if something is forcing its way through his skull. His vision explodes with red sparks.

Fu wakes with a jolt, his sight blurred, as if he's just been hit with a flashbang. His head pounds. His breathing is ragged. But despite the excruciating pain, he feels relieved to see his bedsheet.

Then—

Something is wrong. The wall. It looks… odd.

He blinks.

It's not a wall.

It's the monster.

The thing from his nightmare is right there, looming over him.

His body moves—this time, he can move—but he stumbles, awkwardly falling from his bed.

"Fuck—!" Fu screams at the top of his lungs.

The monster doesn't move. But its eyes do.

They follow him, tracking his every breath, every twitch.

Fu avoids their gaze, his hands fumbling desperately for his medication. The sensation—his only way out. Morphine dulls the edges of this cruel madness, turning it into nothing more than a sick joke.

He laughs. A hollow, bitter laugh. A laugh filled with nothing but scorn—scorn for life itself.

"Brrr."

The phone's vibration cuts through his thoughts, dragging him back to reality.

Frustration flares inside him. As if life couldn't get any worse.

Calls and messages from Yuka.

He barely considers her a friend, yet she lingers in his life, day after day. He doesn't know why she stays, and he doesn't care to ask. Unconsciously, he projects his suffering onto her.

His empathy—the thing he despises, the thing he's tried so hard to suppress—still snaps under the weight of his own misery. And he hates himself for it.

He lets out a tired, bitter grunt. "Urghh…"

Despite his exhaustion, Fu still manages to put on his school uniform. Maybe it's the morphine. Or maybe it's something else—something he refuses to admit.

His house is small, cramped, suffocating. Six people living in a single narrow space where privacy is nothing but a forgotten concept. One room serves every purpose—sleeping, eating, even receiving guests. There is no personal space, no escape.

Even the family's only bathroom offers little privacy. The door has been broken for as long as Fu can remember, yet no one cares enough to fix it. Instead, they've hung a tattered curtain they found on the street—a pitiful excuse for a barrier.

Not that they use it. It's too filthy to touch.

To make things worse, the kitchen—if it can even be called that—is right next to the bathroom. Since the entire family shares the same cramped room for sleeping, eating, and everything else, this unfortunate layout leads to ridiculous situations. One person could be cooking while another is… busy in the bathroom.

It's as hilarious as it is miserable.

Outsiders are often amazed that people can call this place home instead of a public toilet. Maybe their minds are just as cramped as their living space.

Fu steps carefully, trying not to wake his sleeping family—not that they would care. They've long since learned to ignore his screams. They're used to it.

The rusty wooden floor groans under his footsteps, a sound as unpleasant as the place itself. Hygiene is the least of his concerns as he makes his way to the door—the only thing separating him from the outside world.

From the prison he calls home.

Standing before the door, Fu watches his own shadow stretch across the frame. It looms over him, like a reflection of his past—his mistakes, his regrets.

The past where he mindlessly placed his trust in humanity.

The shadows seem to whisper to him. Is going outside even a choice? Does the choice even matter?

Fear grips him. The fear of making a decision he'll regret. But the thought of standing still—of doing nothing—terrifies him even more. He's already lived through that feeling, night after night.

He bites his lip, hard enough to pull himself back to reality. Then, before he can hesitate again, he forces himself into motion.

He opens the door.

Creak. The wooden door groans, then falls silent. Immediately, the spring breeze brushes against his skin. Birds chatter. The scent of fresh air, tainted by exhaust fumes from the nearby road, fills his lungs. His five senses, which he thought were too numb to feel anything, suddenly awaken.

After all, life is as miserable as it is. And yet, it still offers youth.

Fu stands there, contemplating. Maybe... my act of opening the door was worth it.

Fu hasn't even fully absorbed the sensation of the outside world when he notices something—a presence.

A human presence.

Absolutely unexplainable.

Squatting next to the door, right beside where he's standing, is her.

Embarrassment and shock crash into him at once. The girl he was certain had given up and gone to school is right here, sleeping in front of his house—right in front of his eyes.

He grimaces.

Now he has to make a choice. Wake her up and face her wrath, or sneak past her to avoid her inevitable obnoxiousness.

The decision is made before the question even fully forms in his mind.

He chooses the latter.

Holding his breath, he takes a step forward—

Unfortunately, before he can advance any further—

"Mmm..."

A small noise escapes the girl's lips. Her lazy eyes flutter open, only halfway.

Questions flood his mind. How? Not the creaking door. Not the birds. Not the passing cars. None of those woke her up.

Then what the hell did I do?

Panic grips him. His mind blanks.

And before he can stop himself, before he can think, he unconsciously spits out a word he hardly ever says.

"Good morning."

"Mornin'—"

Before she can finish, her words falter.

She glares at him, cheeks ripening into the color of a tomato.

Fu numbs his emotions and looks away, his body instinctively bracing for harsh words—a reflex he seems to have developed to shield himself from constant insults, like a turtle retreating into its shell.

"How DARE you!"

Yuka suddenly bursts into his sight, her voice sharp with frustration.

Normally, people treated Fu like cannon fodder—something to pour their hatred and anger into, someone to blame for their suffering.

But Yuka—she keeps surprising him. No matter how hard he tries, he can't predict her. She cuts through his defenses with ease.

Startled, he stumbles back, pressing against the door.

"Whoa!"

Noticing his retreat, Yuka slowly advances.

At this point, Fu feels hopeless enough to consider Yuka his natural enemy—a perfect picture of a cat cornering a mouse.

"Urgh..."

An uneasy feeling crawls up his spine. He shifts uncomfortably, hating every second of this situation.

"Mou! What took you so long? We have school today! Are you planning to make us late?"

Sentence after sentence, each one strikes him like a direct hit.

Fu stands there, unable to grasp how his lateness somehow led to her lateness. His mind spirals into an analyzing loop, paralyzing his ability to respond.

!!!

"Fu?"

"Are you even listening?"

"You look so pale—are you okay?"

Yuka leans in, close—too close. So close that Fu struggles to breathe. He feels like prey about to be devoured.

Realizing there's nothing left to lose, a pained chuckle escapes his lips.

"Kuhuhuhuhu..."

Then—

"KuahAhahAHa!"

His laughter twists into something unhinged, manic.

Yuka stiffens, caught off guard by his sudden shift.

"I'm TOTALLY fine!"

"Actually, I could never feel any BETTER in my entire life!!"

"NOW BACK OFF, WOMAN!"

With all his might, Fu forces himself forward, breaking free from Yuka's invisible web.

Startled, she stumbles back.

"Wha—!?"

"Why on earth would you sleep in front of the door like that???"

"Have you ever considered what people might think?"

"What are you? A street urchin or something?"

Fueled by frustration, Fu regains his footing—back in a place where logic and common sense reign, where he finally has control.

"Mou! You startled me, Fu!"

Swiftly recovering from the surprise, Yuka responds with unsettling calm.

"And for your information, I am neither a 'woman' nor a street urchin!"

???

Fu's mind twists itself into knots, struggling to grasp the logic—if there was any—behind her ridiculous response.

"I have told you countless times—I'm Yuka!!!"

With a proud stance, her words echo in his mind.

"Yuka... Yuka... Yuka... Yukaaaaa..."

Or maybe—she's just repeating her name over and over in different tones.

Contrary to Fu, Yuka is unquestionably the type to talk first and think later.

And somehow, every single thought she has is written all over her face.

"What's your point even supposed to be?"

Perhaps Yuka's interaction has rekindled something in Fu—his curiosity.

The very habit that once made him stand out from normal students.

The very habit that polluted his mind.

He asks without thinking.

"The point is..."

"I have a name!"

"And urchins live in the sea, don't you know?"

"You're so lacking in knowledge, Fu."

"How naive. You've got so much to learn, huh?"

Yuka delivers her answer with a mocking grin.

Fu, once again, regrets ever asking.

If this conversation drags on any longer, I might actually catch her stupidity like a virus.

Just like every idiot does.

Fu thinks to himself before quickly changing the subject—something proper, something that might save him from his already weakened sanity.

"You know you could've just knocked on the door, right?"

Yuka, never one to back down, decides to push the mockery—and absurdity—even further.

"Wow, Fu, your lack of awareness is astounding. Do you seriously think I'd risk becoming a suspect?"

"Do you really think I have the manners to knock on someone's door in the morning?"

Oh-ho, so this so-called Yuka dares to challenge me?

She dares challenge me with nonsense?

Does she not realize I have years of experience arguing with my own intrusive thoughts?

A mere mortal… against a mind in ruins?

Foolish!

Fine. Two can play this game.

If logic won't work, then so be it—I shall descend to her level and make her taste her own medicine!

Fu simply gives up on rational thinking. Or perhaps, Yuka is the one who has pushed him this far—dragging him out of his shell, revealing a part of himself long buried.

The part that once resonated with Yuka's competitive spirit.

"Well, this is entirely your fault for not calling me! It's not rocket science to make a phone call, right?"

Fu mercilessly strikes back, matching absurdity with absurdity.

And he knows exactly where to aim—right at Yuka's weakness.

Her insecurity about her intelligence.

"WHAT!?"

"I DID call you!!!"

Yuka's face turns red, her words stumbling over each other like a malfunctioning machine.

"Y-you absolute walnut!!"

Perhaps, at this point, anger has completely taken control.

Afraid that this fuss won't end well if it continues in this direction—and seeing Yuka on the verge of completely losing it—Fu feels a pang of regret.

He knows all too well that being called stupid has never been a pleasant experience.

"Listen, I'm sor—"

Fu's breath hitches. The moment Yuka's words hit him, it's as if a knife has carved through his chest—sharp, deep, and merciless.

Just as he had stepped out of his shell, just as he had allowed himself a moment of reckless abandon, reality slams him back down.

That same old sting. That same wound. That same suffocating, familiar pain.

His thoughts spiral.

What the hell is this girl talking about? How is her failure my fault???

Why the fuck is everyone like this? Always complaining. Always blaming.

I never asked to become like this.

His vision tunnels. His mind folds in on itself, drowning in the echoes of his own bitterness.

Fu struggles to say anything.

If talking only leads to conflict, what's the point?

Suppressing his voice, he feels like he must get it all out—otherwise, he might end up crying in front of her.

"Tch."

"Whatever… School is pointless anyway."

"No matter which school we go to, nothing will change."

His hostility fades, replaced by something worse—emptiness. His eyes turn dull, emotionless, staring at nothing. Or maybe, staring at something inhuman.

Just like the first time she spoke to him.

Yuka's heart clenches.

"Haha..."

A dry, bitter laugh escapes Fu's lips—like he's mocking himself, like life itself is a cruel joke. His words spill out, a twisted ramble, as if he's torturing himself and everyone around him.

"You think life suddenly becomes worth living just because I go to a better school?"

"Like that gullible pig—"

"The one who swallows whatever they're fed, only to get their throat slit the moment they stop growing."

A twisted smirk forms on his face, but his eyes remain hollow.

"All those fancy little nicknames they give… "

"Hahaha, I'm literally dying just thinking about it."

"Only after they killed me once did I realize—everyone's just full of themselves."

His voice trembles, but not with sadness—no, it's something colder.

"I was never their 'joy' or their 'pride.' I was their future pension, their status, their hard-earned trophy."

"But the moment I stopped shining, I became nothing but a burden… a mistake."

"You don't know what it's like—"

"To wake up and feel like there's no reason to."

"To tiptoe through your own house just to avoid your own family."

"To feel sick to your stomach just from the thought of talking to people."

His fingers curl into fists—

Then, they loosen.

The last remnants of resistance slip through his fingertips.

No anger. No sadness. No pain.

Nothing.

Only an empty husk remains, fully consumed by the void.

His voice drops lower, almost a whisper, yet every word cuts deep.

"And even when I try to escape into sleep… they're still haunting me."

"Every night. Every damn day."

It's over.

Fu closes his eyes. Nothing matters anymore.

His mind clings to a single thought—a final will.

To sleep.

And never wake up.

The only real peace he can ever have… is in death.

Smack.

"Fu! Listen to me!"

The sharp sting spreads across his cheek.

Fu's breath hitches. His body freezes.

The tears he tried so hard to hold back spill over, tracing hot lines down his face.

But… instead of anger, something else stirs inside him. A strange, unplaceable mix of confusion and—relief?

His blurred vision sharpens, and through the haze, he sees Yuka—her palm red, trembling, and clutching itself as if to stop the shaking.

Her lips are pressed tight, her eyes brimming with unshed tears.

She's holding back. Just like him.

"Why do you always focus on the negative things?"

"Don't deceive yourself like that. You know your parents never got the chance to go to school, and they regret it.

But you are their hope. They sacrificed so much for you, whether they wanted to or not…"

How ironic.

His own words, thrown back at him—the very ones he had buried deep, hoping to forget.

But no matter how much he denies them, they claw their way back.

They were nothing but bargaining.

A desperate attempt to cling to the illusion that things could return to normal.

A delusion he no longer had the strength to entertain.

"You've always been the smart, outgoing one. I admired you."

"I don't know why you changed so much after that summer.

But because of that… when people stopped talking to you,

I got the chance to talk to you… to be your friend."

The haunting grip of his past tightens around him.

Fu feels alienated by her words, like they belong to someone else—someone who no longer exists.

He hates friendship. He despises the word.

And yet…

Coming from Yuka, it somehow eases the pain.

"Do you remember the first thing you said when we met?" Yuka say with concern

Fu don't quite remember, or perhaps he don't want to, such past is not worth clinging, he remain silent

From pouting at Fu's silence, Yuka shifts to a numb expression, like a method actor.

"We are born to suffer."

"Doesn't matter if it's more or less."

"We all suffer."

"There is no true freedom in life—we are chained by our bodies and minds. It's better never to have been."

"I don't fully remember your words, and at the time, I didn't understand a single thing you were saying. After all, Yuka's head isn't that great." She sighs, as if admitting a harsh truth that goes against her competitive nature.

"But as I grew up, I started to find meaning in them." She smiles—a smile that is somewhat proud, somewhat sad.

"We were all innocent when we were born, but as we live, our minds and bodies begin to control us. We end up doing things we don't really want to do.

We cling to the idea of doing the 'right' thing. But maybe the line between right and wrong becomes blurrier the more we grow up. Sometimes, doing the 'right' thing leaves no impact, while doing the 'wrong' thing might actually be more right than right."

Her eyes close as the words flow out, her tone resembling that of someone giving an important lecture, though Fu wears an uneasy expression. It seems like he's both trying to understand and refusing to understand her.

"Mah! Thinking about it is so frustrating that people end up not wanting to choose at all. They just… do nothing." Yuka says with frustration, ignoring Fu's confused expression. Fu somewhat understands this point, as he has often felt that urge—the urge to do nothing.

"But since we already exist, it doesn't matter if we're right or wrong. What matters is whether we make a choice or not. We can choose to accept the absurdity of life." Yuka declares proudly, flashing a cheerful smile.

But to Fu, her words only seem to mean: just live without a brain, just be stupid, just be ignorant. He has always wondered if that would be a better choice for him, but gradually, he has come to hate that way of living.

"And by 'accept,' I mean to forgive life itself. Yuka believes there is one true freedom—the freedom to forgive."

As the profound phrase lingers in the air, Fu wonders: How can he forgive life when it's not even an individual? Something stirs lightly in his heart, but he immediately suppresses it. Perhaps he's too used to harshness, too accustomed to the bad habit of distrusting optimism. He has learned to doubt—but not to believe.

"Fu… Life is full of dilemmas, but instead of staying home, isn't it better to go to school?"

(Is this a joke? All those fancy words just to get me to go to school? What's wrong with you?) Fu grimaces, suppressing his words since Yuka looks too happy—happy enough to make him too scared to shut down her light.

"Besides, if you didn't go to school, we never would have become friends. And befriending someone as intelligent as me is a blessing!"

(Now no one can stop her…) Fu is amazed by Yuka's ability to delude herself into extreme happiness no matter how sad she was moments before.

"I can help you overcome your anger issues." Yuka winks.

(This girl… calling herself intelligent… Just how delusional is she?

And I don't think my condition can be summarized as just 'anger issues.') Fu smiles in frustration.

"Mou! You can't just leave me winking like this! Say something, Fu!" Yuka pouts against Fu's smile.

"…Thank you, I guess." Fu awkwardly replies, unused to thanking anyone.

"Besides, even though being friends with a beautiful childhood friend like Yuka is a dilemma… it's better than having no friends at all." Fu attempts to break the awkward atmosphere.

"Mah!"

"Don't praise me like that! It's not like it makes me happy or anything…"

That face—undeniably the face of someone who is literally on top of the world.

(I still can't tell if she's smart or not… but her words are worth considering.) Fu simply accepts his defeat.

"Stop overthinking things. Let's go to school, okay?"

"…Okay." Fu slowly starts walking.

"Mou, come on, we're gonna be late." Yuka offers her hand.

Grunt "Why would you offer me your bag? You stupid tsundere!"

Snap "Fine! Let's go then."

With all his resolve, Fu grabs Yuka's hand and rushes to school, not even looking at her expression.

Most students are already on their way to school, so it's unlikely that Fu will be caught going in late while holding hands with a girl. Yuka happily walks ahead, never doubting Fu's actual fear—being mistaken as part of a delinquent couple.

(There's no going back at this point. I'm already late for school, and now I probably have to endure that annoying face for the whole day.)

Fu just being Fu—plain melancholic and depressing.