Chapter: A Bitter Awakening: Hikigaya's Trial

I don't want to spoil the chapter but the heavy topic is a trigger for some readers.

Trigger Warning: Suicide

Why I wrote this well with life: We experience many emotions, some happy and others not. As others might disagree, traumas are what make us grow. For a character like Hikigaya to continue growing, more experiences and traumas must occur.

This chapter is a prequel to my story, 'Tycoon's Unforeseen Romance: Youthful Revelations'. It occurs in my story, 'The Four Pillars, ' between Yukino's and Ishikawa Yumi's storylines. He is in his second year at university by the way. This will highlight why he is desperate to help people in a later storyline.

If I have to be honest, this is about me and my experience with the topic of suicide. This chapter is about my naïvete ideas about the subject and my inexperience.

A Note to the Reader:

Hikigaya Hachiman is a fictional character, but the topic of suicide and the emotional struggles that accompany it are painfully real. The story you will read may be filled with moments of confusion, pain, and missteps. Still, it is important to understand: that being foolish, naive, and remaining silent doesn't help anyone grow—it only deepens the burden.

We all face challenges in life, moments where we feel lost or disconnected from the world around us. Trauma, though it shapes us, does not have to define us forever. But the path to healing doesn't have to be walked alone.

If you are struggling, please know that reaching out is not a sign of weakness but courage. There are people who care, who are waiting to listen, to offer their support, and to help you through the darkest of times. Don't wait until you feel completely alone. Your life matters, and there is always hope, even when it feels out of reach.

This isn't a PSA message, but an emotional plea from someone who understands how easily we can lose ourselves in our pain. You deserve the chance to heal. Don't hesitate to reach out for help when you need it.

The harsh fluorescent light bathed the interrogation room in unyielding brightness, casting reflections off the pale walls, giving the space an almost clinical sterility. Beyond the two-way mirror, a muscular man in a tailored suit observed the young man seated at the metal table.

Detective Kiyomura's sharp gaze remained fixed on the figure through the glass. Years on the force had honed his ability to notice the smallest details—the nervous tapping of fingers against the table, the subtle slump of shoulders that hinted at exhaustion or despair.

Inside the room, Hikigaya Hachiman sat quietly, his posture heavy with the kind of weariness that went beyond physical fatigue. His once-sharp eyes were dulled, and faint dark circles underscored a story of sleepless nights and haunting memories.

Kiyomura's attention shifted to the file in his hand. The name at the top stood out in bold letters: Sato Rina. The case had landed on his desk only hours ago, and now he was sifting through the fragments of a tragedy that felt all too familiar.

As he flipped through the reports, one photograph gave him pause. It was a picture of Sato-san with her daughter, Kujou, smiling brightly for the camera. The image radiated warmth, a fleeting moment that masked the weight of an invisible burden. Kiyomura had read the details: the absence of a partner, the isolation, the spiral that ultimately ended in tragedy.

Officially, it was labeled a suicide-induced death. Still, something about it gnawed at him, an intangible thread begging to be pulled.

He closed the file with a quiet thud, his expression inscrutable. Beside him, Detective Tanaka Ayumi stood with her arms crossed tightly, as though bracing herself against the case's emotional toll. Younger and less jaded, she still carried a trace of idealism unbroken by the harsh realities of the job.

"She seemed... strong for her age," Tanaka said softly, her voice tinged with sadness and admiration. "Kujou-chan spoke highly of him—Hikigaya, I mean. She said he made her mother smile again, even a little."

Kiyomura responded with a low grunt, his gaze fixed on the glass.

"Hikigaya's statement says he only met Sato-san a handful of times. Still, the timing is convenient. A young man, barely an adult, suddenly involved with a single mother and her child? People are going to talk."

"But there's no evidence he did anything wrong, sempai," Tanaka said, her brows furrowing in defiance. "Kujou-chan's account clears him. Nothing points to him being involved in... what happened."

Kiyomura turned to her, his sharp eyes meeting hers. "I know. This isn't about fault, Tanaka. It's about understanding what drove Sato-san to that point. Hikigaya might have answers he doesn't even realize he holds."

Tanaka hesitated, then gave a reluctant nod. "You're right. Just... go easy on him. He looks like he's barely holding it together."

Kiyomura exhaled deeply, rolling his shoulders before grabbing the door handle. "I'm not here to break him. I just want the truth."

He stepped into the room, the air inside somehow heavier than before. Hikigaya glanced up at him, his tired eyes locking with Kiyomura's sharp, assessing gaze.

The detective noted the subtle changes in the young man's posture—a flicker of tension, quickly replaced by resignation. Kiyomura recognized that look. It was the expression of someone who had carried too much and seen more than they should have, now left to piece together a shattered puzzle alone.

Sliding into the chair across from Hikigaya, Kiyomura placed the file on the table between them. He didn't speak immediately, allowing the silence to settle, thick and oppressive. Sometimes, silence did the work that words couldn't.

"Let's talk, Hikigaya-kun," Kiyomura said at last, his tone measured but not unkind. "Tell me about Sato Rina."

Detective Kiyomura's point of view:

I stepped into the room, closing the door behind me with a soft click. The young man looked up, his eyes dull and lifeless—a look that spoke not just of sleepless nights but of something far deeper: an exhaustion of the soul. His posture was slouched, his hands resting limply on the table. This wasn't the defiance or nervous tension I was used to seeing in suspects; this was something else entirely.

I sat across from him, allowing the silence to linger. His gaze dropped back to the table, but I could tell he was attuned to my every movement. Deliberately, I set the file down and folded my hands over it.

"I'm Detective Kiyomura," I began, keeping my tone steady and neutral. "I'll ask you a few questions to hear your story. Are you Hikigaya Hachiman? Twenty years old? A student at Tokyo University?"

He nodded faintly before responding, his voice quiet yet steady. "Yes. I'm Hikigaya Hachiman. I'm 20 years old, and I attend Tokyo University."

I studied him for a moment, noting the lack of inflection in his voice. It wasn't hesitant or unsure—just flat, almost mechanical, as though he were reciting something practiced. Even in his weariness, there was clarity and precision in his words. That told me something about him already.

Leaning back in my chair, I folded my arms casually. "All right," I said. "Let's hear it."

Hikigaya exhaled slowly, his shoulders rising and falling with the effort. For a moment, I thought he might stay silent. Then, his lips parted, and he began to speak.

o000

Hikigaya hesitated, his voice faltering as if unsure how much to reveal or how his words might be received. His fingers tapped lightly against the edge of the table, a subconscious rhythm that betrayed his unease.

"I'd been stuck in my apartment for a month," he began, his voice low and uneven. "I... I couldn't focus on anything. My girlfriend, Yukino, has been studying abroad in the UK for a year. It's a great opportunity for her, I know that, but…"

He trailed off, swallowing hard. His eyes dropped to the table, as though he might find the right words etched into its surface.

"But you felt left behind," I said gently, prompting him to continue.

He nodded faintly. "Yeah. I guess. One night, I couldn't take it anymore. I just... I needed to get out. To be anywhere but that apartment."

His hand moved to rub the back of his neck, his voice quieter now. "I ended up in the red-light district. I don't even know why. Maybe I thought I'd find a cheap bar where no one would care if I was alone."

I leaned back slightly in my chair, keeping my expression neutral. "I see," I said, careful not to disrupt the flow of his story.

"I found a bar," he continued, his words picking up speed as though a dam had broken. "It wasn't much, but it was dim and quiet. I ordered a drink, just something to... to forget for a while."

He stopped, his brow furrowing deeply as he clasped his hands tightly. "That's when I met her. Sato-san. The victim."

His voice caught on the last word, but he forced himself to press on, pushing through the memory. "At first, I thought she was a hostess or maybe... maybe a prostitute. She kept moving from one customer to another, laughing, smiling, like she was trying to please everyone at once."

He paused, breathing shallowly as if reliving the moment in vivid detail. "She sat down at my table eventually. She said I looked like I needed someone to talk to. I—I didn't think much of it at the time. I figured she was just doing her job, whatever that job was."

The room seemed to grow heavier as Hikigaya fell silent, his eyes fixed on the table. I waited, letting the quiet settle. Sometimes, silence brought out the most honest details.

"When did you realize she wasn't working?" I asked finally, my tone measured.

Hikigaya blinked, startled, as though the question had pulled him back to the present. "She told me," he said after a pause. "After a while, she said she wasn't a hostess. She was just... there. Trying to distract herself, I guess, like me."

I nodded slowly, absorbing his words. This kind of story couldn't be rushed; it needed to unfold naturally, piece by piece.

"Go on," I said softly, as he steeled himself to continue.

0o00

Hikigaya's words hung in the air, heavy and raw, laced with a self-loathing that was impossible to miss. I leaned forward slightly, folding my hands on the table. "So you had sex with her," I asked, keeping my tone neutral, though I already knew the answer.

"Yes," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. His hands clenched into fists, his knuckles whitening. "We went to her apartment. I couldn't wait. At the genkan, I... I embraced her."

He paused, swallowing hard, his gaze distant as if he were watching the scene unfold in his mind. "I didn't even notice how messy the apartment was. All I could think about was... was what I wanted. I wasn't thinking clearly—I was thinking with my lower head."

I didn't say anything, letting him continue.

"For the next three days, I stayed with her," he admitted, his voice trembling slightly. "We barely talked. It was just... just sex. Again and again. It was physical. That's all it was—or at least, I told myself."

He looked down at his hands, his voice growing quieter. "I didn't think I'd get attached. I thought I could leave and forget it like it didn't matter. But it wasn't that simple. It never is, is it?"

I leaned back in my chair, watching him closely. His shoulders were slumped, his head bowed, as if the weight of his confession had crushed whatever strength he had left. This wasn't the story of someone trying to cover their tracks or avoid blame—this was the story of a man drowning in his guilt and confusion.

"And Sato-san?" I asked after a moment, keeping my tone even. "How did she feel about it?"

He flinched, as though the question itself was a blow. "I... I don't know," he said, his voice barely audible. "She seemed... happy, I think? At least, she smiled. But sometimes, when she thought I wasn't looking, I'd catch her staring at nothing like she was somewhere else entirely."

He shook his head, his frustration evident. "I didn't ask. I didn't want to know. I was too scared to know. I just kept pretending it was fine, that we were both fine. But she wasn't, was she?"

The silence was suffocating, the kind that spoke louder than any words could. I let it linger, watching Hikigaya wrestle with his thoughts, guilt, and regrets.

Finally, I broke the silence. "Hikigaya-kun, I need you to be honest with me. Did you see any signs that she might hurt herself?"

His head snapped up, his eyes wide and filled with something that looked like fear—or maybe it was a shame. "No. I didn't. I swear, I didn't. If I had... if I'd known, I would've done something. Anything. I wouldn't have just... left."

His voice cracked on the last word, and for the first time since we began, I saw tears welling in his eyes.

00o0

I watched him intently as he spoke, his words spilling out in a torrent of emotion he seemed powerless to contain. His fingers fidgeted with the edge of his sleeve, a nervous habit that betrayed the storm within.

"I didn't see it," Hikigaya said, his voice heavy with regret. "I was stupid. I got attached to Sato-san."

He took a shaky breath, his gaze fixed on some distant point beyond the walls of the room. "On the second day after we met, I found out she had a small child. Kujou-chan." He hesitated, as though even speaking the child's name carried an unbearable weight.

"But by the end of the third day," he continued, his voice gaining a fragile resolve, "I started thinking... maybe I could be a good father figure. I wanted to make Sato-san mine. Officially. I started planning it all out. I wanted her and Kujou-chan to move in with me."

I nodded slightly, careful not to interrupt. His story wasn't unique in its tragedy—lonely people often clung to fleeting connections—but the depth of his conviction was striking.

"Today," he said, his voice breaking, "was the fifth day I'd known her. I left my apartment early this morning to ask her to move in with me. I thought... I thought I could make her happy. We could be a family."

He exhaled sharply, the words seemingly painful to release. "When I got there, it was freezing. Kujou-chan was standing outside the apartment. She wasn't dressed warmly, and she looked so small, so fragile."

His hands clenched into fists on the table, his knuckles whitening. "I should have known something was wrong. I should have seen it. But I didn't."

He paused, swallowing hard before continuing. "I took Kujou-chan to get breakfast. A hot, fresh meal. Something good for her. I'd seen the trash in Sato-san's apartment—ramen cups, empty snack bags. I wanted to give her something real, something warm. Like a stepfather would."

His voice faltered, and he looked down, guilt shadowing his face. "I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was helping. But..."

He trailed off, unable to finish. I studied him, my thoughts churning. This wasn't the story of a callous predator or manipulative liar. He was a confused, emotionally vulnerable young man who had stumbled into a tragedy far beyond his ability to navigate.

"Hikigaya-kun," I said finally, my tone calm but steady. "What happened when you went back to the apartment with Kujou-chan?"

000o

I straightened in my chair, sensing we were nearing the pivotal moment of Hikigaya's story—when his life intersected with a tragedy no one should ever endure. His voice trembled under the weight of his memory, faltering as he began.

"I-I opened the apartment door," Hikigaya stammered, his eyes fixed on the table as though meeting my gaze would shatter him. "I wanted to see her, to tell her about moving in with me. I told Kujou-chan to wait at the entrance."

His breathing quickened as he recounted the moment. "I walked further in, toward the inner part of the apartment. It was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of silence that feels... wrong. But I kept going."

He gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles whitening as though anchoring himself. "I closed the door behind me and stepped into the room. It was dark, and I thought... I thought maybe she'd be waiting for me. Maybe we'd..." His voice cracked, and he shook his head, swallowing hard. "Maybe we'd celebrate. Start fresh. I don't even know what I was thinking."

His shoulders trembled as he took a shuddering breath. "Then I turned on the lights."

He fell silent, his throat working as he struggled to speak. His fists clenched, the tension radiating from him. "It was... a nightmare," he finally whispered, his voice raw. "That's the only way to describe it. I couldn't process it. I couldn't breathe."

I stayed quiet, letting him face the memory at his own pace.

"I ran out," he said at last, his voice breaking. "I grabbed Kujou-chan without thinking, and I ran to the neighbor's place. I banged on their door, screaming for help. I... I didn't even realize I had my phone. I was too scared to think straight. I couldn't stop seeing it. Her. Just... hanging there."

His words lingered in the air, heavy with the unbearable weight of his confession. I met his gaze, now rimmed with unshed tears.

"So the police came," I said softly, helping him finish. "You gave your statement, and now you're here for a follow-up."

Hikigaya nodded, his face pale and hollow.

"I didn't know," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "I didn't see it coming. If I had, I... I don't know what I would've done, but I wouldn't have left her alone. I wouldn't have let this happen."

I studied him for a long moment, piecing together the person sitting before me. He was not a criminal, a manipulator, or a young man caught in a tragedy far beyond his understanding.

"Hikigaya-kun," I said firmly, my tone balancing understanding and resolve, "you're not responsible for what happened to Sato-san. The choices she made were her own. But you did the right thing by helping Kujou-chan and calling for help."

His eyes met mine, guilt and doubt clouding them, but he gave a faint nod.

"Thank you," he said at last, though the words sounded hollow as if they carried no solace.

00o0

I leaned back in my chair, narrowing my eyes as I processed the final details of Hikigaya Hachiman's testimony. The young man was visibly shaken by what he had witnessed, but the facts were unambiguous. A woman, burdened by a heavy past, had made a tragic choice. Her life, now reduced to numbers, moments, and statements, was laid bare in the cold confines of the case file before me.

Suicides in Japan are statistically underreported, yet the reality remains grim. Data from the Ministry of Health, Labour, and Welfare shows a steady rise in suicide rates over the past decade. The methods differ—poisoning, hanging, self-inflicted wounds—but the outcome is always the same: a life lost.

The most common psychological factors underlying these tragedies include depression, unresolved trauma from past relationships, and an overwhelming sense of isolation.

Sato Rina's case was no exception. Young and a single mother, she had been abandoned by the man who fathered her child. Her life followed a familiar, heartbreaking cycle: unhealthy relationships with multiple men, deep emotional dependency, and the eventual collapse of her mental state. In the end, she saw no escape and chose to end her suffering in the only way she believed was possible.

Hikigaya's role in all this was tangential—a misplaced attachment formed during a vulnerable moment. He wasn't responsible for her death, nor was he the trigger for her despair. Yet, the repercussions for him would be profound. The guilt, the confusion, and the endless "what ifs" would linger, haunting him for years to come. These were his burdens now.

The facts were clear: Hikigaya was a witness, not a perpetrator. But the emotional toll of this case would weigh on him, just as it would on Kujou-chan.

I stood from my seat and prepared to leave by straightening my jacket.

"Hikigaya-kun," I said, my tone steady and detached. You're free to go. We'll contact you if we need anything else."

He nodded silently, pale and drawn, before rising and walking out. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving me alone with the case file still open on my desk. The room's silence pressed in, echoing the gravity of a life cut short.

0o00

I sat back down at my desk, staring at the file. My eyes lingered on the cold data, but my thoughts drifted far beyond the sterile confines of the interrogation room. As I processed the case, a memory surfaced—something from before I understood what I know now.

Before I understood suicide, I thought it was something that could never touch me. It felt distant, a tragedy that happened to others—people living lives I couldn't comprehend. I never imagined it could reach my world. It wasn't something I'd ever seriously considered. The topic was shrouded in silence, hidden behind society's taboos, locked away in the darkest corners where no one dared to look.

I remember seeing a number once, printed on a piece of paper. A hotline, they called it. Back then, it was just that—a number. I didn't know it was there to save lives, to pull people back from the edge. To me, it was cold and meaningless, just a string of digits. I didn't see the faces of those it was meant to help. I didn't feel the desperation, the silent pleas it answered. It was a line on a page—detached, impersonal, devoid of emotion.

But now, after the truth had sunk in, after everything had fallen apart, I saw how wrong I'd been. It was never just a number. It represented a life—a life that could be saved, or one that had been lost. It symbolized a cry for help, often unheard, and all the moments I might have reached out but didn't. Opportunities to make a difference had slipped through my fingers because I hadn't recognized the signs.

Sato's case wasn't just a statistic. She wasn't just a name on a file or a face in a photograph. She was a person, with a life, a history—a daughter. Her future had been stolen, cut short by despair. Yes, there was a number attached to her case, but behind that number was a story I could no longer ignore.

I really didn't want to write this arc, it's personal but I mentioned that this arc is the reason Hikigaya is different in my series Tycoon, Investment, and Four Pillars.

If you read it, I hope you understand that life can not be predictable and for that reason, we keep changing. I want to explain how Hikigaya's storyline ended in the original story. This is my story, I want to continue his growth.