CHAPTER 5 : “The Architecture of Lies”

"SOMETIMES LOVE IS MORE DANGEROUS THAN ANYTHING IN THIS WORLD "

The Sleeping Monk and the Sealed Children

The wooden doors closed with a hollow sound. The lock clicked. Silence followed.

Inside the cold stone temple, two small children sat quietly, their backs to the heavy doors.

Akumu and Kaede Tsukihara.

Their white hair glowed faintly under the dim lantern, skin pale as the snow that blanketed the mountains outside. Their eyes, crimson as falling maple leaves, were wide—not with fear, but with confusion.

Akumu hugged his knees to his chest. Kaede sat beside him, her small hand resting against his shoulder. Neither spoke.

Because they didn't understand.

Not yet.

Sensei was sleeping.

That's what they believed.

Before the doors were locked forever, the villagers had placed Sensei—their gentle monk—into the ground outside. They told Akumu and Kaede that the monk had entered a deep, deep sleep. A special kind of sleep that needed warmth and earth to keep him safe.

So they buried him.

"Sensei is cold," Kaede whispered softly, her voice trembling as she stared at the doors. "That's why they covered him in the soil… right?"

Akumu nodded.

"Sensei is only sleeping," he echoed. His voice cracked, but he didn't understand why.

Kaede rubbed her fingers together anxiously. "We'll wait, right? Until he wakes up? He'll knock. He promised to always come back."

Akumu's throat hurt. But he whispered back, "Yes."

And so… they waited.

Days passed.

Then weeks.

Food came rarely. Five times a year. Left near the door, slid through a narrow wooden hatch. Warm rice, old vegetables, sometimes sweet beans if the villagers remembered. But no words were ever spoken to them. No faces were ever shown.

The villagers outside feared them.

But Akumu and Kaede… did not know.

Their small hearts remained innocent.

When they were tired, they curled against each other under worn blankets, whispering stories Sensei used to tell them.

When they were hungry, they rationed carefully, trying to save enough until the next time the hatch creaked open.

And when the loneliness became too heavy, they told themselves:

> "Sensei is just sleeping."

Deep inside the temple, hidden behind old sliding walls, lay the monk's final gift—a vast library of scrolls and strange books written in ancient letters.

They couldn't read them all.

But each night, Akumu tried.

By lantern-light, his small fingers traced symbols as he sounded them softly aloud.

Kaede would listen, her head resting on his shoulder.

"Are you learning it for Sensei?" she'd ask.

"For both of us," Akumu replied softly. "So when Sensei wakes… we can show him."

Kaede smiled faintly at that.

And still, the seasons turned.

Snow fell.

Rains came.

The temple remained silent.

Inside, two children continued waiting beside a monk who would never wake, locked away not by their sins, but by the villagers' fear.

And yet, they did not hate.

> Because Sensei had taught them:

"Hatred is a heavy stone. If you carry it, your small hands will never be free to hold kindness."

They remembered his words.

They obeyed.

Even when no one else remembered them.

Even when the warmth of the outside world became only a distant dream.

Even when the doors never opened.

They believed.

Because that's what children do.

---

Have you ever been murdered… without dying?

No.

Not death.

That's too quick. Too kind.

I mean—

buried alive inside your own skin.

I mean—

forgotten, but fed.

I mean—

watched like an animal, but pitied like a ghost.

Do you understand yet?

No?

Good.

Because neither did they.

At five years old, they didn't understand why the monk stopped waking up.

At five years old, they didn't understand why the villagers covered his body in soil, calling it peace.

At five years old, they waited.

They waited for someone to explain.

And what did the villagers do?

They locked the temple doors.

They slid food through gaps.

They spoke their prayers not for the children trapped behind walls,

but for their own forgiveness.

> "We kept them alive," they told themselves.

As if life itself was mercy.

As if survival was kindness.

And so they were proud.

Proud they didn't kill them.

But tell me, reader—

If you put a child in a box,

never speak their name,

never touch their hand,

never look into their eyes…

Is that not the same as burying them?

Is that not the same as murder?

The villagers thought otherwise.

They called the children cursed.

They told each other:

> "The monk bewitched them. Look at their eyes."

> "White hair. Red pupils. No sunlight can purify that."

They whispered these lies until they sounded like truth.

Until their fear felt like righteousness.

And outside the temple walls, life continued.

Festivals.

Harvests.

Laughter.

While inside?

Two children sat beside their teacher's cold body for weeks,

whispering to him to wake up.

Until the body was gone.

Until even memory was gone.

And still—they waited.

Until waiting became survival.

Until survival became routine.

Until routine became… nothing.

Because nothing was all they had left.

Each time food was pushed through the door,

they said thank you.

They still said thank you.

Each time.

Each time.

Because the monk told them:

> "Gratitude is the first step to peace."

So they whispered thank you.

To a world that hated them.

To people who didn't care if they choked.

To hands that wouldn't touch them,

but would feed them enough not to die.

Not to live.

Just… not to die.

Now tell me, reader.

How long could you last?

A month?

A year?

Five?

Would you still whisper gratitude,

when your voice cracked from thirst?

Would you still believe in kindness,

when no face smiled back?

Or would you… forget?

Would you forget what human meant?

Because that's what happened.

That's what no one told you.

The children didn't hate the villagers.

They didn't have the energy.

They didn't even know how to hate.

Because you must first know love, to understand hate.

And both had long been buried.

So they waited.

Not for rescue.

Not for love.

They waited because they no longer knew what else to do.

And their minds grew quiet.

And their hearts grew slow.

Because monsters aren't born.

They're created.

Made.

Carved.

Shaped by years of nothing.

So tell me.

If someone finally opened that door—

and saw them sitting there,

skin like paper,

bones like glass,

souls like dust—

would you call them human?

Or would you flinch, too?

Would you lock the door again?

Be honest.

Would you?

Because here's the truth you won't admit:

You wouldn't save them.

Not because you're cruel.

But because you're human.

And humans fear what they don't understand.

Even when that fear is something you created yourself.

So pause.

Think.

Look at your hands.

What have you abandoned?

What have you left locked away?

And now ask yourself:

When silence answers back—

whose voice will it sound like?

Yours?

Or theirs?

Because the monsters you fear?

Are only waiting.

Waiting for you.

Waiting to ask:

> Why did you bury us?

---

---

So when the door opens—

when their red eyes meet yours—

when their pale lips move for the first time in years—

Don't expect screams.

Don't expect curses.

Don't expect revenge.

Expect a question.

A single, quiet question:

> Why did you bury us?

And when you have no answer—

when your mouth trembles and your heart stops—

remember this:

You are not the victim.

You are not the hero.

You are the one who locked the door.

And they—

they are only the result.

Your result.

Your mistake.

Your silence.

And they will not hate you.

Because monsters do not waste their time on hate.

They only wait.

And when they step into your world again—

under sun they cannot name,

on soil that never welcomed them—

do not flinch.

Do not run.

Because you don't deserve the chance.

They will not chase.

They will not hunt.

They will only stand.

And watch.

As you finally learn

what it feels like

to be

forgotten.

---

---

Kurokawa Central Police Station – Late Afternoon

Rain lashed against the windows as Souta stood stiffly beside Mika and Renji in the small, stark interview room. Across from them, the missing girl's parents sat, hollow-eyed, clothes clinging damply from the storm outside. The father's hands trembled as he wrung them. The mother said nothing, her expression frozen in blank terror.

Daisuke lingered near the door, his arms crossed, watching not the parents, but the silence pooling between words.

"It's been over twenty-four hours," Souta-san said softly, his voice breaking through the heavy air. "Can you tell us exactly when you last saw your daughter?"

"Yesterday morning," the father croaked. "She... she said she needed answers. She wouldn't say from who. Just kept repeating that. Answers."

Mika-san leaned forward gently. "Did she mention a name?"

"She called him... the gentleman. That's all she said. A gentleman."

The mother stirred faintly at that, her voice dry as cracked leaves. "She said... he was married."

Daisuke's gaze sharpened.

Renji's jaw tightened. "Did she seem scared?"

The father nodded, swallowing painfully. "She kept saying she wanted to end it. But... but she was afraid he'd find her first."

Silence. Then a low, aching breath from Mika.

Souta stood, a quiet urgency creeping into his voice. "We need to move. Get the team searching. Now."

Daisuke uncrossed his arms. "I'll join them."

And without waiting for orders, he turned and disappeared into the corridor, the echo of his steps swallowed by the storm.

---

Kurokawa Central Experiment Facility – Early Evening

The room felt colder than steel. Dr. Hanae Shiratori peeled off her gloves slowly, her face pale under the flickering lab lights. Aiko stood silently beside Captain Rei, both of them frozen.

"She didn't die by her own hands," Hanae-san said softly.

Aiko's breath caught.

Rei-sama spoke, voice low. "Explain."

"The ligature marks don't match hanging patterns. She was strangled first. Post-mortem staging." Hanae paused. "Her arms were bruised. She fought. Hard."

Aiko closed her eyes, grief folding over her like cloth.

Rei, though, stayed still as stone. "Did she know him?"

"Intimately. Defensive wounds on her inner wrists. He grabbed her there. That's someone you trust. Someone who gets close."

Aiko whispered, "Her husband."

Hanae-san shook her head. "No. Not directly. There's something else. I found skin under her nails."

Rei-sama's voice was ice. "From who?"

"DNA is still running. But... preliminary results say male. Not her husband. Someone else. Someone related."

Rei-sama stilled. Aiko opened her eyes. The storm outside howled louder.

"We wait," Rei-sama said.

---

Kurokawa West Garden – Nightfall

Thunder cracked.

Mika-san was the first to spot her. Beneath the flickering neon from the west district, the girl ran — her school uniform torn, her hands bloodied, terror screaming from her every step. Souta-san and Renji-san rushed forward, voices echoing across the alleyways.

"Soha-chan!" Mika cried.

The girl didn't respond. She ran blindly, panting, until she crashed directly into Riku-san, who had rounded the corner ahead.

She sobbed against his chest. "Help me! He's coming!"

Behind her, shadows flickered.

Naomi-san saw him first. A figure lurking at the alley mouth. The moment their flashlights struck him, he bolted.

"GO!" Naomi roared, and the team exploded into pursuit.

Mika cradled Soha-chan, shielding her.

Renji shouted directions. Souta dashed left, but the figure vanished into the labyrinth of Kurokawa's backstreets.

Too late.

Riku-san cursed under his breath. Naomi-san slammed a fist against the alley wall, frustration raw.

The girl kept sobbing. Mika whispered softly. "It's over now. You're safe. We have you."

But the girl shook her head. "No... he said he'll find me."

And the rain kept falling.

---

Kurokawa General Hospital – Midnight

Mika-san and Renji-san stood quietly by the bedside. The parents wept, collapsing into each other's arms the moment their daughter was brought in. Soha-chan lay curled up like a child, eyes swollen, lips split. She refused to let go of Mika's hand.

The doctors moved quietly. The machines beeped. Nothing louder than breathing.

Finally, after endless silence, Soha stirred.

"Mika-chan..." she whispered.

Mika leaned close. "I'm here. You're safe, Soha-chan."

Tears streamed silently down the girl's face. "Why... why did he lie to me?"

Renji stepped back, biting his lip.

Mika brushed the girl's hair gently. "Tell me what happened. Who hurt you?"

Soha-chan whimpered once. Then, she began to speak.

---

Kurokawa Central Police Station – Early Morning

Kenji-san slammed the apartment door open. Daisuke followed silently. Riku-san's footsteps echoed behind them. They searched everything: closets, shelves, digital files. Every drawer. Every shadow.

Nothing.

Then, Daisuke opened the study door. And found it.

Wedding photographs.

Two wives.

"He was married before," Kenji-san whispered.

Riku frowned. "That wasn't in any record."

Daisuke said nothing. He kept moving.

Kenji ripped open file cabinets until something fell to the floor. A photograph. Not of a wife.

Of a man.

Riku picked it up, heart sinking. "Who is this?"

Kenji's answer was stone. "His step-brother."

---

Kurokawa Central Experiment Facility – Same Morning

Dr. Hanae Shiratori didn't need to say it.

Aiko, Naomi-san, and Souta-san saw it in her eyes before she spoke.

"The DNA matches him. Not fully. But partially."

Aiko's voice cracked. "A relative."

Hanae nodded grimly. "The attacker... is blood. Either a half-brother. Or a son."

Naomi whispered, shaken. "But he only had one brother."

Souta cleared his throat, his voice hoarse. "Who disappeared five years ago."

And the pieces began to fall.

---

Kurokawa Central Police Station – Strategy Briefing

Every officer stood silent.

Captain Rei-sama paced, her gaze blazing.

"Listen carefully. His name is Hajime. Half-brother of Takashi. Missing for years. He didn't vanish. He was hidden. Protected."

She pointed at the map spread across the boardroom table.

"Takashi isn't a grieving husband. He's a guardian. Every clue points to this: his wives were obstacles. The girl was a mistake. A target Hajime picked. Takashi enabled it."

The team listened, silent. Breathing slowed.

"This ends today," Rei-sama said. "We take both of them. Together."

And the storm outside roared louder.

---