Tsuda felt a wave of cold wash over him, engulfing his body as though he were sinking into the endless depths of the Pacific. The chill seeped deep into his bones, freezing him to the core, as if he were being preserved for eternity. Yet amidst the icy stillness, he felt an inexplicable calm—as if this was where he was meant to be.

But then, something flared within him. A spark. A memory. A scent. A warmth. It burned fiercely, igniting every fiber of his being. It was a part of him—something long lost and suddenly found.

And with that realization came the searing truth: he was leaving someone behind. Someone he could neither live with nor die without.

“Ikigai…” he whispered.

**Splash!**

The icy sting of water jolted him awake. Gasping for breath, Tsuda blinked rapidly, droplets trickling down his face. The first thing he noticed was the chair beneath him—his hands and feet were bound tightly to it with coarse rope. His surroundings were dim, cluttered with construction materials. A warehouse.

A man loomed beside him, an empty bucket dangling from his hand. Tsuda’s gaze shifted ahead, landing on the man seated at a distance. He was older, in his fifties, with a weathered face and an air of twisted smugness.

“Where is she?” Tsuda growled, his voice raw and sharp. He glared at the older man. “Give her back, Charles.”

Charles, Avery’s adoptive father and her uncle on her mother’s side, leaned back in his chair with a sinister chuckle. He wasn’t just her guardian—he was also the train driver Avery had once chosen to run Tsuda over with.

“‘Give her back? Who the hell do you think you are to demand anything from me?” Charles sneered.

Tsuda’s jaw tightened. “She doesn’t belong to you.”

Charles’ grin widened, a dark, mocking expression. “Oh, but she does. Tough little thing, isn’t she? Headstrong yet surprisingly obedient. She brought you here, right into my hands. Just as I planned.”

“You planned this?” Tsuda’s voice dropped dangerously low, laced with controlled fury.

“Of course,” Charles replied with a smirk. “We have unfinished business, don’t we?”

Before Tsuda could respond, a fist slammed into his face. The blows came hard and fast, one after the other, until his vision blurred, and one eye was swollen shut. Blood trickled down his bruised and battered body, pooling on the cold floor beneath him.

Through gritted teeth, Tsuda rasped, “I know what you did.”

Charles chuckled, his tone dripping with malice. “Good. Then you know why you need to die.”

Turning to one of his men, Charles barked, “Bring Avery here. Let her do the honour of killing him.”

“But sir,” the man hesitated, “what if he says something in front of her?”

Charles waved dismissively, his laughter echoing off the warehouse walls. “He won’t. Look at him—he’s pathetic. If he speaks, he loses her. If he stays silent, he loses her. Either way, he’s already lost.”

Tsuda slumped in his chair, his body heavy with pain but his good eye glaring defiantly at Charles.

When Avery finally entered, her steps hesitant but deliberate, Tsuda’s lips curled into a faint, tired smile. Her face was bruised, her movements stiff, yet she radiated an aura of strength and defiance. Their eyes met, and something unspoken passed between them.

“Come here, sweetheart,” Charles taunted. “This Romeo’s been asking for you.”

She stopped in front of Tsuda, her expression a volatile mix of anger and something softer, more fragile. One of the men handed her a gun, and her fingers tightened around the grip.

Tsuda looked up at her, a smirk playing on his lips despite the pain. “This feels familiar, doesn’t it? You in black, me on the verge of death, and a gun in your hand. The night we met… You chose to save me then. What will you choose now?”

His gaze bore into hers, intense and unyielding, as though his very soul were reaching out to touch hers.

She blinked, breaking the trance, her voice trembling. “Tell me something.”

“Anything,” he whispered.

“Did you kill my father that night?”

“Yes,” he answered, his voice void of emotion.

Her knuckles whitened as she clutched the gun tighter. “Did you kill my mother? Did you drag her body out of the room?”

“Yes,” he replied calmly. “And I knew their child was hiding under the bed.”

Her breath hitched, a tear slipping down her cheek as she leveled the gun at his chest.

“Why didn’t you kill me, then?” she choked out.

“You were a child,” he said coldly. “You had no use to anyone. So I left you.”

Her anger boiled over, and she pointed the gun directly at him. “Any last words?”

His voice cracked. “My family has nothing to do with my actions. Please, don’t harm them. And…” He swallowed hard. “I know I’ve done wrong. If it’s possible… find it in your heart to forgive me.”

She scoffed, her hands trembling. “May you burn in hell.”

Tsuda closed his eyes, a faint smile on his lips, as if resigned to his fate. The gunshot rang out, and his chair toppled backward, blood pooling beneath him.

Avery collapsed to her knees, staring at his lifeless body. A hand touched her shoulder, pulling her to her feet. “You did well,” Charles said.

But as she walked away, leaving behind the man who had been her heaven and her hell, she felt emptier than ever.

She walked away, determined to escape everything. Yet, for an entire week, she couldn’t bring herself to leave Japan—the land of love and agony that tethered her soul.

"Miss, where to?" the driver asked. "The hill," she replied, giving him the address. When the taxi stopped, she stepped out and stood before a vast willow tree.

"This is where you wanted to be buried, isn’t it?" she murmured, her voice cracking as she approached the newly built grave.

The gravestone bore a name she couldn’t bear to read aloud: Hamasaki Tsuda. The name etched in Japanese was accompanied by other inscriptions in Japanese. But the only thing she could understand was his name. She brought along everything needed to tend to the grave, replicating the care Tsuda had once shown.

She poured water over the gravestone from a wooden tub, mimicking his reverent motions. Tears threatened to spill, but she held them back until she could no longer. Sinking beside his grave, she pressed her forehead against the stone and let her tears flow freely.

"Why? Why did this happen to us?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

"I’ve fulfilled my duty as a daughter. I’m so tired now, Tsuda. All I want is to lay beside you."

As night fell, resolve hardened in her chest. She rose, determined to end everything. She turned around, startled to find herself face-to-face with Kei, her former caretaker from the hospital.

"Kei," she breathed, shame washing over her. She averted her gaze, unable to meet his eyes.

"Take me to the Hamasaki Residence, please," she whispered.

He looked at her, stunned. "They will kill you," he warned.

"I know," she replied, her voice unwavering.

Memories of that house overwhelmed her, and tears spilled anew. "I miss him," she choked out between sobs. Kei placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and pulled her into an embrace. "What a tragedy," he murmured sorrowfully.

"Take me there," she repeated. Reluctantly, he complied.

When she arrived, she bid him farewell and walked into the hall, where Tsuda’s father sat. His usual composed demeanor was replaced with one of defeat. Shoulders slumped, head bowed, and a cup of sake clutched in his hand, he looked up at her with bloodshot eyes. Abruptly, he stood, grabbing a katana from its stand.

"You! You!" he roared, rushing toward her. The blade sliced through the air, stopping just short of her neck. She closed her eyes, ready to embrace the end, but no pain followed. Tentatively, she opened her eyes to find the cold steel still pressed against her skin.

"Go ahead," she whispered. "But please, honor my final wish. Bury me beside him. Please." She bowed her head, tears streaming.

The katana clattered to the wooden floor. Confused, she looked up to see Mr. Hamasaki clutching a stack of papers. He hurled them at her.

"How can I kill you after reading this?" he growled, turning his back. She gathered the papers, her breath hitching as she recognized the author. Only one word stood out in the Japanese text: Tsuda.

"You don’t understand what’s written, do you? Let me read it to you," Mr. Hamasaki said in a weary voice.

*** My Dearest Father,

I begin with an apology because I know I have failed you and Mother deeply. Shame consumes me, and there is nothing I could do that will ever atone for it. But please know, that you guys are the world to me and I love you.

Yet, there is someone else who holds my heart you know who I'm talking about. She's someone who is my reason for living. Father, she is my ikigai, my purpose in life, my everything.

But your son has been very unfortunate in this love of his. Now I know father what it feels like to have everything taken away from you, yet you dare not lift a finger. I now know what giving up a world feels like. And let me tell you that, the poets were not lying when they said it hurts like hell.

It feels like I've swallowed the sun, if I tell you the sorrows of my heart, it will burn my tongue. If I keep them in my heart, I'm afraid it will burn me from the inside. If I let it out I fear it will burn the world down. I feel like a child again, complaining to you about my broken heart.

I am most probably not alive anymore and the only one who would honor my last wishes is you father.

So please do not hate her, do not hurt her. Protect her. Even if your son is gone, know that a part of him lives in her. Treasure her for me. And once she has lived her life to the fullest and leaves the world, steal her from her people and bury her beside me. My bones will be waiting for our reunion.

Your Sinner, With Love, Tsuda.

***

By the time Mr. Hamasaki finished reading, Avery was inconsolable.

"And do you know what’s most unfair? What hurts the most?" his father asked bitterly. She couldn’t answer, too consumed by grief.

"It’s the fact that he didn’t even kill your mother," he revealed.

Her world shattered. "What?" she gasped.

"Tsuda committed such a selfless act that, if you knew the truth, you would run to him and never let go," he continued.

"What did he do?" she demanded.

"He sacrificed his happiness so you could find yours," Mr. Hamasaki replied.

Tears blurred her vision as he added, "You’ve locked your memories away. Find them, and you’ll uncover the truth. Let me give you a clue—he didn’t kill your mother. Who did?"

She closed her eyes, breathing deeply as the sound of rain filled her mind. Suddenly, she was back in her lounge on the night of her parents’ murder.

She saw a man by the window, his silhouette illuminated by the rain-streaked glass. Thunder crashed, and in its fleeting light, she witnessed the unthinkable: her mother alive, standing before him. The man plunged a knife into her mother’s chest.

Avery froze, dread overtaking her as her eyes traced the blade to the hand that wielded it. Slowly, her gaze climbed to his face, revealed in a flash of lightning.

Her father.

The realization crushed her. Her father had killed her mother—not Tsuda.

Everything she thought she knew was a lie, and with this knowledge, her world would never be the same.

*Author's Note*

In Tsuda's letter, the part 'If I tell you of the sorrows in my heart, it will burn my tongue. If I keep it in my heart, I am afraid it will burn me from the inside. If I let it out, I fear it will burn the whole world.' Is actually from a Persian poet, Saadi Shirazi. I give the credit for it, to him entirely.