He stood up from his chair, walked to the window, and stared blankly at the sky.
He was no longer a child—or rather, he had never been one.
Across both his lives, he was nearly forty years old.
Perhaps he had once wanted revenge, but he no longer felt that way.
Because it was truly pointless.
No one wanted him to do such a thing.
If it came down to suffering alone, Shiraishi Eizawa had suffered a hundred times more than he had.
But what had he done?
Was numbing himself with alcohol truly what he wanted?
No. Shiraishi Yoshijo believed his uncle must have thought about revenge every waking moment.
The world was always cruel, and yet it was beautiful.
Life was a choice whose meaning was hard to grasp.
If he pursued revenge, he would drag himself into that same suffering. That was something he didn't want to see happen.
If so, he would let all the suffering end with him.
He had always told himself to look ahead and not let hatred blind him, yet he himself was struggling desperately in its vortex.
He had wanted to save his uncle, but now it seemed like nothing more than a child's willful tantrum.
Saving him would only mean letting him continue to struggle in pain. Better to let him find release sooner and journey to the Pure Land of his dreams.
At that thought, all Shiraishi Yoshijo could do was sigh.
He wasn't an intensely extreme child like Uchiha Sasuke. He might feel melancholy, but he would soon recover.
If he wasn't going to seek revenge, did that mean he had to live the way they wanted him to?
Shiraishi Yoshijo refused.
Adults didn't think like children, especially not someone like Shiraishi Yoshijo.
He was perceptive. He saw