Looking back

(1)

I was trying to restore a photograph.

I carefully lifted the scraps of photographic paper tucked inside the book with tweezers, hardly daring to breathe throughout the process. Spread out on a sheet of pure white A4 paper, the scorched fragments and their clinging ash looked, at a glance, exactly like some postmodern artist's exhibition piece on the theme of destruction, its blank spaces inviting viewers to reimagine the original.

Unfortunately, I had no use for flights of fancy. I only wanted to fill those blank spaces with the person I wanted to see again.

The photograph was only palm-sized, which meant I needed extremely fine strokes to restore her features bit by bit, like one of those fun mirror-image tracing exercises taught in elementary school math.

I found a mirror in a drawer, stood it upright against the missing section, and used a pencil to trace the symmetrical half of the face reflected in it, stroke by stroke.

Anyone with hands should be able to do this, I thought confidently.

But then I removed the mirror and suddenly caught sight of what I had drawn.

It was a true masterpiece by an unconventional abstract artist. With my artistic accomplishments, if I had lived in the Middle Ages, I would probably have had to stay dead for tens of thousands of years before aliens discovered my work and auctioned it off for a fortune.

-You never saw that coming, did you, Yuanli? My talent for drawing was just like your cooking: shocking beyond belief.

I refused to accept it, or perhaps I had simply run out of options. I clung stubbornly to this method and kept trying. Only when the wastebasket could no longer hold my work, and my drawing skills had become so warped they could practically be called realistic depictions of Cthulhu, did I finally admit defeat.

I simply couldn't draw her.

My expectations were actually very low. Even the slightest resemblance would have done. But they really looked nothing like her. I couldn't find a single expression in those bizarre creations that might stir a memory.

I put the photograph back between the pages and lowered my expectations. I thought I could accept going to my final rest clutching those fragments.

I bagged the rubbish in the wastebasket and left it by the door, planning to carry out the next item tomorrow.

(2)

The backpack hanging behind the door was the color Yuanli's hair used to be.

That dazzling, eye-catching red had become an unremarkable black in this life, and even her face was different from before.

I missed who she used to be, so I had deliberately spent ages wandering around the mall before buying a brightly colored backpack that didn't suit my tastes.

Now this backpack wouldn't carry memories, but heavy tools.

Nylon rope, which wouldn't easily snap when hung from a tree; sleeping pills, which worked slowly but could be taken in advance; several kitchen knives, ideal for ending things if necessary. A larger sushi knife would have been best, but age restrictions prevented me from buying one, so I could only use what I found at home.

With the red backpack on my shoulders, I stood in the kitchen and thought things over, making sure I hadn't forgotten anything. Since Toji was nowhere in sight, I prepared to leave for the cemetery.

I wasn't going to end things immediately. I wanted to test things on-site.

I pushed open the front door, but before I could step outside, I saw Toji watching me with his arms folded.

"Where are you going, kid?"

I made up an excuse. "To clear my head."

He looked me up and down, and my heartbeat quickened along with the movement of his gaze.

After a while, he said, "Come somewhere with me."

My plans were disrupted because I didn't choose to refuse. Instead, I obediently followed him.

This was the first time Toji had taken the initiative to bring me out.

(4)

I followed him down the street, him in front and me behind. I had spent eight years watching his back-or, more accurately, their backs.

I had watched Yuanli walk briskly ahead alone, the ends of her hair bouncing slightly with her steps. I had also watched the three of them huddle together, their backs radiating warmth. At those times, Toji would hold Megumi, and Yuanli would rest her left arm lightly around Toji's waist. It was something Yuanli unconsciously did with people who mattered to her. She had done it to me and to Princess Tsukuyomi.

Only in this life, I had been excluded.

I walked slowly behind them. It wasn't that I had never wanted to stride forward and join them. I had tried, but Yuanli would give me a cold look, as though she were looking at an outsider's daughter.

That look was like a thorn lodged deep in my memory. Afterward, whenever I went out with them, I never dared move closer. I could only stand frozen until their retreating backs were as distant as strangers, and only then could I take my first step.

-Yuanli, you wouldn't wait for me. All you could see was the way ahead with them.

Eventually, I stopped going out with them altogether. Every day, I would hide in my isolated room and watch through the window as they happily returned, laden with shopping bags, to this home that belonged to them.

It wasn't the first time I had witnessed Yuanli's coldness. In the past, humans and monsters alike had come one after another, hoping to forge a bond with her. She had ignored them all and given me her one and only share of special affection.

So I had never imagined, never even considered, that one day I would become the person she ignored, the one who received none of that affection.

When such a catastrophe struck, I was only an ordinary person, frightened and lost.

Toji had walked so very, very far ahead of me. Just like Yuanli back then, he kept moving forward without looking back even once.

When an entire road crowded with cars and people separated us, the traffic and passing figures blocked everything from view.

Suddenly, I felt that my obedience and expectations were meaningless.

I had always been the one who should have left the stage early.

Perhaps, to Yuanli, my familial affection and hopes were like the inedible greeting card stuck on top of a cake. Once she had acknowledged the sentiment, she could throw it in the bin.

Gripping my backpack straps, I turned and left. I wove through the crowds and reached a quieter roadside. Just as I was about to hail a cab, a rough tug caught my backpack, and a voice tinged with anxiety said, "Kid, what are you running off for?"

That drifting cloud of self-denial vanished instantly at those words.

So there was still someone who would turn back to find me.

(5)

"Don't look back."

His wife pinched Toji's arm and whispered in a voice only the two of them could hear.

-Why?

Toji wanted to ask, but when he saw Yuanli's eyes, he no longer dared. What kind of emotion was that? So complicated, so impossible for him to understand.

It had been an ordinary day before his wife's death. A family of four, though everyone else would only see a family of three.

While buying drinks for his wife and son at a street corner, Toji caught sight of his daughter out of the corner of his eye, standing alone in the crowd several dozen meters away.

Yuanli had just turned six then. She wasn't even as tall as the fire hydrant beside her.

She neither cried nor fussed, simply standing quietly a good distance from her family as she participated in their so-called family outing.

For no reason he could name, Toji thought of his former self. Hadn't he once been treated this way by the Zenin Clan?

Even though he knew his daughter wasn't close to him, he wanted to go over to her. But his wife held him back.

"Don't go over there."

"Why?!"

At last, he asked.

Yuanli spoke to him in an unfamiliar tone.

"Toji Zenin, listen to me carefully. You are not to go over there. There is no reason. Stop asking."

His wife, who was always so warm, delivered that warning in a tone she might have used toward an enemy. It frightened him, someone who had always longed for the warmth of family.

Toji felt that if he disobeyed Yuanli, perhaps he would be the one abandoned.

So he ran away.

He refused to watch that tiny figure being ignored, refused to listen to the faint, broken sobs he heard when he woke in the middle of the night, and took refuge in his wife's favoritism.

Running away only made him despise himself more, so now he was fighting his own nature.

When Toji turned around, Yuanli was already out of sight.

He silently cursed himself, then retraced his steps, searching the crowd for that figure. He was so anxious, so desperate, as though this were an alternate timeline from two years ago. He hadn't become the man who ran away, but the father who turned around to embrace his daughter.

His superhuman sight, hearing, and perception allowed him to find the child standing alone on a street corner, preparing to leave.

He grabbed her backpack firmly, then-then took the initiative to show her concern. If he could, Toji truly wanted to hug her. But he hesitated again, not out of avoidance, but because he was afraid Yuanli would reject him.

Not daring to hug his daughter or take her hand, Toji chose to hold on to Yuanli's backpack strap as they walked forward together.

(6)

I had never expected Toji to turn back.

Although that made me feel a little better, his current habit of tugging on my backpack strap was making me physically uncomfortable.

Because he was pulling on the strap, the hard, dangerous objects inside the bag pressed ever closer to my back. Several times, I felt as though the outline of a kitchen knife had been traced against my spine.

"Toji, I can walk on my own," I protested mildly, only to receive a look that said, If I let go, you'll disappear.

It was my fault, admittedly. I was used to it, after all, and my mental state really had crumbled a little just now.

"I really won't get scared and run off again," I promised.

After checking my eyes to confirm that I meant it, Toji let go, but he still watched me closely as I walked.

Being watched like a criminal under police surveillance made me uncomfortable, but it also left me a tiny bit touched, though I didn't want to admit it.

Being cared about felt good.

So, for once, I responded to that concern and reached out to hold the hem of his shirt.

This was the first time in all my lifetimes that I had held on to my father's shirt. I thought it must also have been the first time Toji's daughter had held on to his.

So both of us were painfully awkward, yet silently savored the familial affection rekindling from its ashes.

That warmth lasted until he led me into an alley, upstairs, and stopped in front of a door covered with ridiculous children's stickers.

"What's this?" I let go of his shirt and asked in confusion.

The answer came from a young woman who opened the door.

"Oh my, has Daddy brought his daughter to try out our children's drawing class?"

I looked at Toji in utter astonishment. He calmly nodded.

Ignoring my horrified gaze, the smiling, friendly teacher, whose grip was remarkably strong, pulled me into a seat beside a chubby little boy. Then she clapped her hands and said with a smile, "All right, children. It's time to begin our drawing adventure. Please take your drawing supplies out of your bags."

The children around me all started moving, pulling supplies from their backpacks.

The teacher looked around in satisfaction until her gaze landed on me. Then she repeated in a syrupy voice, "Please take your drawing supplies out of your bags."

I didn't budge, clutching my backpack tightly.

Thinking I hadn't understood, the teacher crouched beside me. She first glanced at Toji, who was leaning against the doorway outside, then gently asked me, "Sweetie, did you not bring any drawing supplies?"

I quickly nodded, but because of the way I was sitting, that movement made the dangerous objects inside my bag clink sharply together.

The teacher's expression stiffened. She probably thought I was some brat deliberately making things difficult for her. Then, like a kindly older sister, she coaxed, "Children mustn't tell lies. Come on, tell me what drawing supplies you brought in your bag."

Teacher, out of nylon rope, sleeping pills, and assorted kitchen knives, which one do you think I could tell you about without making you scream and immediately call the police?

I gave an awkward smile, lowered my head, and stubbornly refused to speak.