Yoru Kazuya was a kind young man, raised in a simple family—neither rich nor poor. His mother was a loving and dedicated woman who took care of the home with affection. His father, a high-ranking military officer, was a serious, fair, and strict man who valued discipline.
His older brother was a talented and ambitious young man, destined to become a great lawyer. Playful and charismatic, he had a flirtatious nature but was always kind.
His younger sister was a mischievous yet innocent girl with remarkable intelligence, considered a genius by many. Always willing to help, she was the first to volunteer whenever a family member fell ill. Perhaps that was where her dream of becoming a doctor came from.
And Yoru Kazuya? He, the second child of the family, was always the balance. A friend to all, always ready to help, yet with a dream of his own—to follow in his father's footsteps in the military.
A united and loving family, always together through good and bad times.
But then, everything changed. Yoru Kazuya was hit by a truck. The initial reaction was terror—everyone thought he wouldn't survive. But, against all odds, he did and was rushed to the hospital.
When the family received the news, they dropped everything and ran to the hospital, only to find him in a coma. Anguish consumed them, but there was nothing they could do except wait and trust the doctors.
His father, with his military duties, his older brother with final exams, and his younger sister with her studies, couldn't stay at the hospital all the time. It was his mother who remained by his side, holding his hand, crying until she fell asleep.
She was the one who stayed, holding his hand, crying until she fell asleep.
Weeks passed. Kazuya, due to the traumatic brain injury, remained unconscious but eventually opened his eyes. Slowly, he began to speak and eat again.
Surprisingly, he recovered quickly. The doctor, optimistic, said he would soon be discharged. The family, relieved, finally had a reason to smile again.
After spending some time updating Kazuya on the latest news, each member resumed their responsibilities. Now, with lighter expressions, they carried out their duties with smiles on their faces—even the usually serious father.
The next day, the family seemed to breathe a momentary sigh of relief—until the phone call came. The doctor, with an unusually tense voice, delivered news no one could have imagined. He had spoken in calm tones throughout Kazuya's recovery, but now his voice was heavy and hopeless.
"I'm sorry," the doctor said, his voice breaking the silence with a weight that shattered the family's world. For a moment, everyone's hearts stopped, and reality turned cruel.
Yoru Kazuya, the second son of the family, always cherished and admired as a brother, son, and friend, who had dreamed of following in his father's footsteps, passed away at the age of 17.
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Thus began the long journey of Yoru Kazuya—a journey marked by suffering that seemed endless.
Sometimes, Kazuya wondered: where did everything go wrong?
He had always been a kind young man, someone who helped others whenever he could. So why did he carry this curse?
Now, he looked around.
A devastated battlefield. Rivers of blood. Thousands of corpses scattered as far as his eyes could see.
Men. Women. Children. The elderly.
His people.
His subjects. Those who trusted him, who believed in his strength. Wasn't he supposed to protect them?
But there they were. Dead. Disfigured. Their final expressions frozen in a mix of hatred, disbelief, confusion, sadness... and fear.
He lowered his eyes to his hands.
Soaked in blood.
The blood of people who had never wronged him. The blood of people who had their own dreams, ambitions, lives.
People he loved.
And he had erased them from existence.
With his own hands.
But that wasn't the only thing that affected him.
No, Kazuya had lived for too long.
He had killed before. He had destroyed nation, slaughtered thousands, condemned lives to ruin. Even innocents—whether directly or indirectly.
So why this...? Why was this time different?
The answer came in his own reflection, mirrored in the blood beneath his feet.
He was smiling.
A broken smile.
Twisted.
Inhuman.
That was it.
This massacre was not his first.
But it was the first time he had relished in the destruction.
The first time his mind didn't scream in despair.
The first time his conscience didn't revolt.
Laughter erupted like a spasm.
"Haha... hahaha... HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
It burst out, loud, filled with something unrecognizable—insanity, relief, despair? Even he could no longer tell.
And then, he heard footsteps behind him.
His subordinates.
His generals.
And his children.
Their eyes burned with hatred, disappointment, and sorrow.
He didn't need to ask what would come next.
"He has become a monster..." someone whispered.
The weight of those words didn't surprise him. He knew. He had known for a long time.
One of his sons stepped forward.
He was trembling. Not with fear, but with hesitation.
"Father... why?" His voice broke at the end, almost like a plea.
Another soldier raised his sword. His voice was cold, but his eyes screamed of restrained despair.
"It doesn't matter why. If we don't stop him now, he'll continue this massacre."
Silence.
For a moment, time froze.
And then, the first strike came.
Kazuya didn't hesitate. His body moved on instinct, repelling the attacks. His blades clashed against theirs—steel against steel, blood against blood.
They were strong. He had trained them to be.
But now... now they were the ones trying to take him down.
And they were succeeding.
A faltering movement. A fraction of a second too slow.
Then came the pain.
Something warm pierced his abdomen.
His eyes lowered and met the blade buried in his body.
And at the hilt of the sword—his own son's hands.
The boy trembled. Silent tears fell.
The others hesitated. But only for a moment.
They knew that if they stopped now, he would rise again.
With eyes filled with tears and determination, they struck again.
And again.
And again.
Until, at last, the great emperor fell.
Silence swallowed the battlefield.
The only sound was the heavy breathing of the soldiers.
And of the children who now looked down at the fallen man—their father—realizing that they had succeeded.
But victory carried no triumph.
One of them knelt beside him, hesitant fingers hovering over his bloodstained armor.
"Father... if there had been another way, would you have taken it?"
Silence.
The question hung in the air like a thread about to snap.
Kazuya opened his mouth, but his voice failed.
Not from pain.
But from irony.
If there had been another way...?
He blinked slowly, the taste of his own blood mixing with his ragged breaths.
His gaze drifted to his son's face—the one still gripping the sword buried in his body.
Then, he laughed.
Low, hoarse, as if his own voice mocked the question.
A dry, empty chuckle escaped his throat—like the cry of someone who had been lost for far too long.
He took a deep breath, ignoring the pain.
"If there had been another way... then that means, at some point, I had a choice."
He paused.
The pain in his chest was no longer physical. It was the weight of eternity.
The weight of being a monster that never died.
He lifted his gaze, now dull, lifeless.
"And that is a lie."
His son's eyes widened slightly.
But Kazuya continued.
"People like to believe they are the masters of their own fate. That everything could have been different if only they had tried harder, if only they had been stronger, more righteous, wiser..."
"But the truth?" His voice dropped to a whisper.
"The truth is that no matter what we do..."
"In the end, we always return to the only thing we know."
He coughed up blood, but his smile did not waver.
"And I... I have only ever known war."
His son shuddered.
The words weighed heavier than any blade.
"So no. There was no other way."
He tilted his head slightly.
"And even if there had been... I wouldn't have recognized it."
Kazuya looked up at the sky—the sky painted red by the blood soaking the fields.
He had seen this too many times.
So many lives, so many deaths.
Nothing changed.
Nothing truly mattered.
But this time, something was different.
It wasn't the blood.
It wasn't the corpses.
It wasn't the stench of death clinging to the air.
It was the emptiness.
The emptiness within him.
The weight of an existence where the only constant was war. Where every battle ended the same way, where every victory was merely a prelude to more bloodshed.
He remembered something. Something distant.
A memory buried in time.
A blue sky.
The laughter of his children running through the fields. The sun shining softly upon them.
That day...
That day, he had believed he could protect them from everything.
Believed he could be more than a monster.
But that blue sky...
He would never see it again.
His eyes slowly closed.
And the monster fell into slumber.
Creating a story that would transcend generations, carrying an eternal message: not even the emperor of all mankind was perfect. He too bore flaws, invisible scars that no one ever truly understood.
The story of the emperor who carried an incomprehensible burden.
The story of Yoru Kazuya, the man who, in the end, lost the last remnants of his humanity.