Chapter 3
I instantly decided that Aomori was far better than Matsue as soon as the plane made contact with the ground. The swirling discomfort in my stomach had returned as soon as I boarded the plane; the sudden realisation of my mission hitting me over and over again – the optimism would come and then go as soon as it came.
My apartment the agency had kindly rented for me was only on the first floor (probably because Junko knew I had a fear of heights), which soothed the nervousness eating away at my stomach that little bit more. I smiled quietly to myself at her consideration. Would any normal boss do this for her hitmen? As I stepped inside the room, the rational side of me knew that Junko wasn't an ordinary boss to begin with – Remnant was mafia style, anyway.
As I lay down my suitcase and began unpacking, nothing particularly interesting about the room caught my eye – it was simple, plain and painfully ordinary. My smile dropped as I thought this and, once again, soon decided I hated this building. Part of me hoped Nagito had better taste in décor than whoever chose this piece of crap.
Unpacked and refreshed, I decided that I didn't want to spend a second longer in this place; the feeling it gave off was unnatural and uncomfortable compared to the warmness of my place back home. Correction – this was my home now. Whether I liked it or not, part of me had already accepted the fact that I would be here for a considerable amount of time. As I shut the door behind me, I lay my forehead onto the cool wood of the door. It was a simple gesture, but always managed to calm me down when I was overwhelmed or anxious. I exhaled a firm breath, a memory resurfacing to the front of my mind that I had previously tried to forget…
The shot had been fired a few heartbeats ago, my finger still hovering over the trigger as though I were afraid the gun would be ripped away from my grip. I could hear Junko's rushed, excited words at the success of my first kill at the tender age of 15, eyes trained on my victims lifeless body as the blood began to seep out.
A scream erupted from my lips – the sob of a nightmarish realisation settling into every corner or my body – I could feel the pain and anguish as my own fingers robbed the life away from the stranger lying in front of me. Who was he? What family did he have? Who would miss him? Did he deserve to die? I shook away the last question with absolute certainty in my next thought: nobody deserved to die, no matter who they are. And yet, he was still dead…because of me….my actions and decisions that had led up to this very moment of my life. And that was it, really.
Junko was crouched down in front of me, her eyes wide with apprehension as her mouth moved frantically, grabbing hold of my shoulders and shaking them until her grip began to hurt. Except, I couldn't hear her. Her supposed words were silent and ineffective to my aching soul, a constant ringing sounding in my ears as thought someone had struck a bell. I was still screaming…screaming and screaming until my throat began to tire and ache and hurt although I still couldn't hear…can't hear can't listen can't accept what I'd done even though I had watched, in an agonised ecstasy, as he inhaled his last fateful breath. Then, she grabbed me.
My first idea was that she was going to kiss me. Forcefully grabbing my tear-stained cheeks, Junko drew me into her so that our foreheads were just about touching, the gesture halting my screams and returning me back to reality. Her eyes were squeezed tight shut, her mouth a thin line as I watched her mutter a few harsh words of comfort to my ear.
"I know it's difficult, I really do. The first time is always the worst, but…" she bit her lip, trailing off. "But…this is your reality now, Hinata. And you need to learn to hide your pain," My teeth clenched, images of the motionless body resurfacing to the front of my mind.
"I know," I managed to choke out, "Junko…I don't know if I can do this," At least that was the truth. Her hands fell away from my face and into her lap, the blue of her eyes now shining peacefully on the roof top. She stood up, staying silent as she carefully swung round her legs with a graceful confidence about her. Under the bright glare of the sun, she looked powerful and all-knowing – like a true leader, I thought. We locked eyes.
"If you cannot do this, then we have no use for you. Your only purpose is to kill now, Hinata. Do not let your meaningless life go to waste," She turned away from me, her curls bouncing as she headed back towards the stairs. The coldness in her tone had taken me aback from the empathy she had so openly expressed beforehand – as if her whole personality had suddenly changed. However, even as I lay crying and shaking on the rough texture of the roof, I knew she spoke honestly. This was my reality now; a reality that involved killing strangers for food, hospitality and money. A weak smile toyed on my lips. And maybe a new family, too, as I thought of Fuyuhiko and Peko's smiling faces.
I pressed my head to the gravel-filled floor, breathing a shaky sigh in a feeble attempt to calm my heartrate. Warm pictures of Junko filled my mind, each memory untying a knot tangled in my stomach and easing the nausea cascading through my body. I had never experienced something so pure and overwhelming - a feeling that I simply couldn't shake even when I tried to feel the pain again.
Was this love? Or something deeper? The mere thought of 'love' shied me away from the images sprouting in my mind, leaving a dreamy smile drifting on my face
The memory began to fade, leaving me in silence in the flat's hallway. Part of me longed to feel that connection to someone again – the overwhelming emotion, obsession and hurt that love brought along. As I walked out of the apartment building, I was left with one resounding thought: even if I could love again, nobody would want a person who kills people for money. They are cold, emotionless and sociopathic who do not deserve another's love. And that was what I deserved.
The bookshop Nagito owned was called 'Hope's Peak': a small store in Matsue's local village. As it came into sight, I noted how clean and tidy the outside of it looked compared to the scantiness of the rest of the village's shops. That already told me a lot about his personality, I guess.
It's outward appearance was a sleek brown wood, with the sign illuminated in bright white and black letters. A great number of flowerpots containing eccentric plants followed up to the door placed between two large windows. Cautiously, I peered into one of them, surprised at the many rows and rows of books a small bookshop like this could contain. As I breathed out, the warmth of my breath against the cold air steamed up the window, so much so that I couldn't see through anymore. With a gloved hand, I wiped the steam away, revealing once again the inside of the shop. And that was when I saw him.