Do not look away, for this is the most important moment of your life, my life, and everyone else's lives.
Do not forget this man, nor what you felt here.
Be grateful that you are present for his birth—Kanji.
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A single, fluffy white cloud drifted in the distance like an errant paintbrush stroke, making the day resemble a cerulean blue canvas. Sycamore Lane was a quiet residential neighborhood, surrounded by houses painted in vibrant shades of buttercup yellow and lavender. The sun shone down on this beneficent giant.
Four-year-old Leo, a bright spot in this picture-perfect scene, walked along the street wearing a faded red T-shirt with a wonky spaceship printed on it and a pair of worn khaki shorts. His disheveled brown hair, constantly teased by the wind, framed a face filled with pure joy.
At the center of Leo's universe was a worn leather ball, covered in scratches and faded blue paint. He chased after it, his plump legs bouncing like pistons, letting out a happy yelp with every step.
A confidant in his imaginary adventures, the ball mirrored him in every way. He dribbled it like an old hand, kicked it high into the air, and sometimes held it tenderly in his arms, whispering things only they would know.
With an especially enthusiastic kick, the ball flew farther than usual. Leo chased after it, eyes locked on the bouncing prize, giggling with delight. He failed to notice the dented mailbox jutting out of Mrs. Peabody's picket fence.
There was a dull thud, a wobble—and then Leo lay sprawled on the asphalt, his knee scraped raw, his tongue stinging as tears threatened to spill.
But curiosity, a powerful force in any four-year-old, intervened. Sniffling, he looked up and wiped his nose with a dirty hand.
Mrs. Peabody's flowerbed was gone.
In its place stood a wall.
That being said, it was no ordinary wall. It was enormous—beyond belief—towering over everything nearby and stretching endlessly in both directions. As Leo stared, he realized it wasn't a wall at all, but the colossal trunk of a tree unlike anything he had ever seen.
Its bark pulsed with an otherworldly glow, an inky black surface with an almost iridescent sheen. The sheer size of it was incomprehensible. It had to be taller than the school—maybe even taller than his house. Thick, gnarled branches, as wide as telephone poles, vanished into the sky, their leaves lost beyond sight.
Leo's spine tingled, partly from the pain in his knee. The air here felt different—heavy, charged with something unseen.
The ball no longer mattered.
With tiny legs thrashing against the pavement, Leo turned and ran. With every step, the grotesque tree seemed to grow larger, its strange glow casting a ghostly shade over the once-familiar street.
A disturbance followed him as he ran. People stopped. Heads turned. Adults gestured and muttered, their faces painted with confusion and awe. The closer he got to the center of the neighborhood, the stronger the reactions became. Phones were raised, voices overlapping. Children stood frozen, staring, just as he had.
From a distance, he caught fragments of conversation.
"It wasn't there this morning," a woman said, her voice shaking.
"It's growing," a man murmured.
Growing? Something that big couldn't possibly grow.
Leo stopped, trembling, mesmerized. The tree stood alone, defying the natural order, refusing to bend or sway. Fear washed over him, tangled with fascination. Something like this wasn't meant to exist—it belonged in a fairytale.
A warm hand settled on his shoulder.
Beside him stood a tall, broad-shouldered man with a grin that seemed just a little strained.
"Well," the man said calmly, "that's quite a view, isn't it?"
His voice was deep and soothing, like a soft summer breeze.
Leo swallowed. "D-don't you think it's scary, sir?"
The man chuckled lightly. "Maybe for the locals," he said. "But honestly? If I had to go someday, I wouldn't mind seeing something this beautiful up close."
Leo stepped back, eyes wide. Die? From looking at a tree?
The man didn't seem to notice the child's reaction. He stared ahead, lost in thought, then suddenly sighed.
"Huh. I was supposed to go buy groceries," he muttered. "This is turning into a waste of time."
Curious, Leo asked, "What's your name, sir?"
The man blinked, surprised. "Oh—right. Manners." He smiled apologetically. "Akasaburo Kanji."
At that moment, a cloud drifted aside and a ray of sunlight fell upon him.
Kanji seemed to change.
The ordinary man now radiated something unfamiliar. His blue eyes gleamed, his blond hair catching the light. His height, once merely imposing, now felt almost divine. For a brief second, Leo wondered if he was looking at something not entirely human.
"Well, I should get going," Kanji said abruptly, his tone suddenly distant. "Take care, kid."
Leo lifted a hand and gave a small, confused wave as Kanji walked away.
Kanji climbed into an ancient pickup truck, its rust-colored body looking wildly out of place in the pristine neighborhood. The engine roared to life, scattering dust as he drove off, leaving stunned silence behind.
As the truck vanished from view, Kanji slapped his forehead.
"What was I supposed to buy again?"
He scratched his chin, trying to recall the list. Nothing came. Panic crept in—he couldn't go home empty-handed.
"Well," he muttered, "there's a giant tree blocking the road. That'll do."
It was a weak excuse, but it would suffice. He nodded to himself, turned the truck around, and drove back toward the city
After a little while, Kanji stopped into a service station. In a weak attempt to contain the situation, he picked up some candy bars for his children. He got back in the vehicle and headed down a gravel route off the main road. This was the trip home, a lonely road that meandered through an expansive woodland.
A strange feeling came over him as he drove. A golden sign glowing with an unsettling brightness caught his attention as he looked down at his palm. A reminder of a life he had attempted to flee, it was a sign he was all too familiar with.
He said, in a tone that was both dreadful and resigned, "This again..."
As he continued into the well-known area, Kanji's hold on the steering wheel grew more firm. Unconsciously, he drew the golden sign on his palm with his other hand. His mind was racing, a tornado of ideas and anxieties. What was taking place? Was there a threat to his family? One horrifying question after another, they piled up.
At last, the sight of his house appeared. A little wooden cottage in the middle of a large sugar plantation. The cold evening air did little to slow his beating heart as he parked the vehicle and got outside. Something was wrong with the home as he got closer. A red streak, contrasting sharply with the soft moonlight, extended from the front door.
A powerful mixture of anxiety and frustration arose. He kicked the door and broke it into splinters, letting out a savage howl. His presence was abruptly announced by the tremendous smash that reverberated throughout the dusk. Through his formerly serene house, the macabre guide of a blood trail called him.
The thundering thump of Kanji's heart was accompanied by a melancholy lament as his footsteps reverberated throughout the home. With every stride the iron smell intensified, a sickening perfume that hung in the air. With a raspy voice from despair, he shouted out repeatedly. "Hay marumaya! Cheers! Hey Marumaya, where are the kids? Hello, Maru! Maru!"
The home had become a haunted house after formerly serving as a haven of warmth and family. The typical clutter in the living area remained untouched, as it was vacant. Now a place of silence and sterility, the kitchen had once been a hub of laughing and shared meals. A quiet, scarlet path of blood guided him upward into an unidentified horror.
Voices came from the first floor and floated up. Reporters were examining the enormous tree on a television broadcast as their faces were carved with a mixture of terror and wonder. The TV was in one of the bedrooms. Kanji paid little attention to what was happening outside his house. He had a single, unwavering concentration because of his innate need to keep his family safe.
Kanji's bedroom, a chamber full of recollections of better days, was located along the blood trail. The red line that curled across the floor, however, destroyed the picture perfect. An unrelenting rhythm of terror and dread slammed in his heart like a battle drum.
A sizable cabinet—a piece of furniture that was home to innumerable secrets—marked the conclusion of the route. Reaching for the doorknob, his palms trembled. He took a deep breath and threw open the cabinet doors.
A terrifying scene was what met his eyes. A million parts of his universe broke apart.