I have been working on this chapter for more than two years now. I have writer's block because of it.

I have to tell you the truth about this chapter. I know it is short but I have been writing adding and removing details. I knew deep down, I just didn't want to release it. It still feels so raw.

I mentioned two chapters ago that traumas are painful but it is part of life, and we grow with experience. That is why I wrote a painful story about Hikigaya so he can grow into a different character. The first chapter deals with suicide but it was my experience before knowing firsthand the feelings and pain of losing someone to suicide. In that chapter, I wanted to make it cold, robotic, another person's problem. When you hear about it but never know how it feels or the firsthand experience, you view suicide differently.

The last chapter was about the feeling of finding a rebound. After a breakup or losing someone. You get attached to someone else. It might be physical at first but later it turns emotional. It is pretty normal. I wanted Hikigaya to know that feeling while he lost someone again.

This is the last chapter of Hikigaya's trauma arc. This chapter contains my experience. I still feel like it was just yesterday and was so much like a blur of events.

Chapter: A Bitter Awakening: Death of a Friend

Tragic events often serve as catalysts for a hero's growth. Hikigaya Hachiman's pain and isolation during childhood and middle school shaped him into the cynical person we know today.

As I've mentioned before, his struggles led him into a deep depression, influencing how he perceives the world and interacts with others.

As a writer, I draw from my own experiences to craft this chapter. However, given its personal nature, I'm grateful for the ability to approach it with a sense of detachment. Japan's distinct laws and cultural framework offer a different lens through which to tell this story, allowing me to write from an observational standpoint rather than direct emotional involvement. This distance enables me to explore these themes with clarity while preserving their emotional weight.

That said, I have altered aspects of the story. In my own experience, my roommate took his life with a gun. We lived together in a dorm—one large room with no living area or kitchenette. Two closets. A single bathroom with a timer that shuts the lights off. Two desks. Two beds. It was bare, almost empty, back then.

This chapter touches on a sensitive topic—suicide. While it is not the central focus, the narrative delves into the emotions left in its wake—the emptiness, the questions, and the lasting impact of loss.

This chapter serves as a prequel to my story, Tycoon's Unforeseen Romance: Youthful Revelations. It takes place within The Four Pillars, between Yukino's and Ishikawa Yumi's storylines. Hikigaya meets Yumi a few days later. And it marks the conclusion of Hikigaya's trauma arc.

If I'm being honest, this chapter isn't just about Hikigaya—it's about me. It's about my experience with suicide.

A Note to the Reader:

Hikigaya Hachiman is a fictional character, but the topic of suicide and the emotional struggles that come with it are painfully real.

We all face challenges in life—moments when we feel lost or disconnected from the world around us. Trauma shapes us, but it does not have to define us forever. And the path to healing does not have to be walked alone.

If you are struggling, please remember that reaching out is not a sign of weakness but of courage. There are people who care—who are ready to listen, to support you, and to help you through even the darkest times. Don't wait until you feel completely alone. Your life matters, and even when hope feels distant, it is never truly out of reach.

This isn't just a PSA—it's a personal plea from someone who understands how easy it is to feel lost in pain. You deserve the chance to heal. Please, don't hesitate to reach out for help when you need it.

The house was a paradox—modern in design yet worn with time[1]. The walls, once pristine, bore faint marks left by past residents, while the wooden floors creaked just enough to remind its occupants of the years they had endured. It wasn't large, but it held four bedrooms, each door concealing the lives within.

The first room, the farthest from the entrance, belonged to my senpai from high school[2]. His door was always closed—a locked mystery. Shadows flickered beneath the frame, sometimes accompanied by muffled voices—his and a woman's. On certain nights, the faint but unmistakable scent of marijuana drifted into the shared spaces, lingering just long enough to be noticed before fading away.

The second room was much the same—another closed door, shifting shadows, and the occasional sliver of bright artificial light. At night, deep bass reverberated through the walls, the pulse of EDM signaling life inside. But by daylight, the room was eerily silent, as if its occupant had vanished with the sunrise.

The third room belonged to Kiyoshi Takeda, and unlike the others, his presence extended beyond his door. The scent of marijuana was stronger here, clinging to his belongings and seeping into the living room whenever he joined us. He spent much of his time in that shared space—gaming, talking, and unwinding from the weight of his responsibilities.

The fourth room, closest to the entrance, belonged to me. It was the first threshold upon entering the house—a gateway between the outside world and the secluded lives within. My door remained open more often than not, a stark contrast to the closed-off nature of the others.

The living room was the heart of the house, the one place where barriers came down, if only slightly. Aging chairs sat before an outdated TV, their cushions worn from countless hours of lounging and gaming. A battered coffee table bore the remnants of late-night gatherings—controllers scattered haphazardly, empty cans lined up like trophies, and the occasional forgotten snack wrapper. The air carried a mixture of scents—instant ramen, cheap drinks, and the faint remnants of Kiyoshi's last indulgence. Conversations here spanned the mundane to the profound, laughter blending with quiet moments of understanding.

Despite its modern structure, the house felt old in ways that had nothing to do with its walls or floors. It was a place of quiet coexistence, where lives unfolded behind closed doors, overlapping only in the spaces in between.

o000

I returned to the shared house after spending the weekend with my parents—a place I had called home for the past two years. The familiar scent of worn furniture, lingering traces of smoke, and the faint hum of electronics filled the air. It wasn't perfect, but it was ours.

Among my roommates, Kiyoshi Takeda was the one I felt closest to. We bonded over video games, spending hours in the living room, controllers in hand, caught between competition and conversation. Over time, our talks expanded beyond the virtual worlds we played in. I learned about his life—his girlfriend, his child, and the responsibilities that weighed on him in ways I could only imagine. After nearly a year of knowing him, I felt secure enough to call him a friend.

Hikigaya Hachiman, another friend of Kiyoshi's, often visited. Though he carried an air of cynicism, he fit in well with our late-night gaming sessions. The three of us would sit in the dim glow of the TV, exchanging insults over cheap takeout, our conversations shifting from meaningless banter to unexpectedly deep discussions about life, responsibility, and the future. Despite our differences, those moments made the house feel a little less empty.

That Sunday night, as the weekend came to a quiet close, I noticed Kiyoshi was late. It was unusual, but not alarming. Maybe his child had fallen sick, or his girlfriend had asked him to stay another night. A doctor's visit—yes, that seemed likely. There were plenty of reasonable explanations, none of which gave me any real reason to worry.

I went about my usual routine, taking a shower before heading to bed. As I passed my roommates' closed doors, faint shadows flickered beneath the frames, shifting in the dim light. The muffled beat of EDM pulsed from one room, while the other remained eerily silent—its usual whispers absent.

I ignored them.

I ignored everything.

And then, I slept.

0o00

My first class at university had been the usual—long, dull, and forgettable. I left without a second thought, heading straight back to the shared house.

Slipping off my shoes at the genkan, I entered the living area, greeted by the familiar silence. Kiyoshi still wasn't back. Maybe he'd stayed another night with his family. I thought about turning on the TV, letting the background noise fill the space, but before I could reach for the remote, a knock came at the door.

That was unusual. We all had keys—whoever was knocking had to be a visitor.

I opened the door to find Hikigaya Hachiman standing there, his face unusually pale. His expression was unreadable, but something about it unsettled me.

"Is Kiyoshi-san here?" he asked.

I blinked. "No."

He exhaled sharply, muttering a curse under his breath. "I heard from a friend that he killed himself. I'm sure it's a lie[3]."

For a moment, the words didn't register. Killed himself? That didn't make sense. It had to be some stupid rumor. People spread nonsense all the time. Kiyoshi wasn't that kind of guy.

"…That's ridiculous," I said, forcing a weak laugh. "It has to be a mistake."

Hikigaya looked at me, searching for something—reassurance, maybe. But I had none to give. With a tight nod, he turned and left, his shoulders tense as he walked away.

I stood there for a long moment, staring at the empty doorway. It's a lie.

Another knock. No, not a knock—a bang.

I opened the door again. Another of Kiyoshi's friends stood there, breathing hard, his hands clenched into fists. His eyes—red, frantic—betrayed him.

"…Is it true?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

He swallowed hard before answering. "Yeah. He got high and… hanged himself."

The words hit me like a physical blow to the chest.

I didn't move. Didn't speak. Didn't know what to think or feel.

The hum of the Xbox felt deafening.

I stood there, the world around me hollowing out, leaving silence.

00o0

I don't remember what time it was. Morning? Afternoon? The concept of time had blurred, becoming something distant—something that no longer felt real. The house was quiet—too quiet.

Then came a knock at the door. Steady. Firm.

I forced myself up, my legs heavy beneath me, and made my way to the entrance. When I opened the door, the manager of the shared house stood before me.

For a moment, I just stared at him. I had never really paid attention to the man before, but now, in this moment, he looked different—older, wiser, as if he carried the weight of something I wasn't ready to hear. His face was calm, but there was something in his eyes. Pity? Regret?

Then he spoke.

"It's about Kiyoshi-san."

The air in the room felt thinner.

"He passed away over the weekend. Suicide."

The words hit me like a distant echo, hollow and muffled as if they were coming from underwater.

My grip on the doorframe tightened, but the rest of me remained numb. I didn't respond. I didn't react. The world outside the doorway seemed to stretch endlessly as if I had been untethered from time itself.

I must have nodded—I wasn't sure. The manager continued, offering words of condolence, and asking if I needed anything. His voice sounded far away. My own body felt far away.

How long did we stand there? A minute? An hour?

When the door finally shut, I turned back into the house. The silence was deafening.

000o

I don't fully understand how it all unfolded. It was both a blur and an eternity—days slipping by in fragments, yet stretching endlessly.

I remember sitting in a group counseling session with Hikigaya, the manager, and a few of Kiyoshi's friends. Faces blurred together, voices distant. Someone spoke about grief. Someone else mentioned Kiyoshi's laugh and how he made bad jokes to lighten the mood. There were discussions about him going to the gym, lifting weights, running on the treadmill. I think I talked about Call of Duty— the nights we spent in the living room, controllers in hand, lost in virtual worlds. I don't remember what anyone said in response.

I remember the manager coming by, removing Kiyoshi's belongings, piece by piece as if he were erasing his presence. The space Kiyoshi had once filled grew emptier with each passing day.

I remember when the manager returned Kiyoshi's belongings to his girlfriend. The way she stood there, trembling, her face twisted with grief and fury. She screamed. At us. At the university. At the world. She blamed us for not seeing the signs, for not stopping him. I stood there, numb, unable to understand how we had become the villains in her story.

I remember talking to my parents and my close friend—saying words that felt rehearsed, detached, as if I were recounting someone else's story.

I remember the manager pulling me aside one day, his voice gentle but firm.

"If you want to move into a different house, you can."

I don't remember how I answered.

But I stayed there. Living in that house.

000o

At some point, I began to notice Hikigaya changing. It was subtle at first—his visits became less frequent, his usual dry remarks quieter, more reserved. Eventually, he stopped coming altogether.

I couldn't even remember the last time I saw him at the university. Had we drifted apart, or had we simply been swallowed by the weight of it all?

I found myself wondering—was he going through the same thing I was? Did he carry the same questions, the same guilt, the same hollow feeling that refused to fade?

Had this changed us for better or for worse?

I didn't know.

00o0

Trauma is a strange thing. It lingers and reshapes us in ways we don't always notice, weaving itself into the fabric of who we are. It's both a scar and a lesson—a wound that continues to ache, even after it has healed. It forces us to change, but whether for better or worse, that's something we can never truly see in ourselves.

I don't know exactly how it affected me. Maybe I became more attuned to others' pain, more desperate to help, to keep them from slipping away like Kiyoshi did. But in trying to help, I hurt myself. I stretched myself too thin, unable to say no when someone needed me, as if saving others could somehow make up for the one I couldn't save.

And Hikigaya? I can't say for sure. He changed—that much is certain. But did it make him stronger? Did it harden him, pushing him deeper into his cynicism, or did it awaken something else? Something softer, more vulnerable?

I don't know.

All I know is that he was always someone who cared, even if he never admitted it. And now… now, that part of him has changed. Whether for better or worse, only time will tell.

End

1. I lived in the dorms of my university. This story occurs in a shared house.

2. Each room, represents my past roommates. My first roommate was on the same soccer team. He was a grade older. I was reunited with him in my first semester of university. He transfers to my university. But yeah, after one semester he disappeared. My second roommate moved in the spring semester but I only saw him four times before he disappeared. My last roommate, well you know what happens.

3. The events after learning about my roommate passing away. This still feels like a blur to me. Even after years.

I'm taking a break. I have been writing but I finally posted this chapter, it was the hardest passage to write. Two years, a fight with my emotions