VOLUME #4 - EPISODE 4
[CONTENT WARNING: MA17+]
[NARRATOR: Some people wait in shadows because they're patient. Some people wait because they're calculating. And some people wait because watching others suffer is the only thing that makes their own suffering feel less absolute. Today, Jisatsu Bara stops waiting. Today, the Suicide Rose steps out of shadows and into Riyura's life directly. Today, everyone learns that the most dangerous enemy isn't the one who wants to kill you—it's the one who wants to make you understand why death feels like mercy. Welcome to the moment where childhood connections become present-day weapons. Welcome to when shadows speak. Welcome to the introduction of Jeremy High's final monster.]
PART ONE: THE MORNING THAT FELT LIKE ENDING
Monday. Second week of senior year. Riyura arrived at school exhausted from another sleepless night—nightmares about Yakamira, about his father's knife, about all the people he couldn't save no matter how hard he tried.
[RIYURA'S INTERNAL MONOLOGUE: Joyū's still in the hospital. Pan's still baking alone at 4 AM. Owari's still desperately chasing her brother's love. And I'm still trying to help while barely holding myself together. Therapy says I need to focus on my own healing instead of everyone else's. But how do I heal when healing feels selfish? When people are drowning and I'm the only one who notices?]
The school felt different today. Wrong. Like atmospheric pressure before a storm. Students moved through hallways with unusual quiet. Teachers looked tense. Something had happened over the weekend. Something nobody was talking about but everyone knew.
Miyaka found him at his locker. "Did you see?" "See what?" She showed him her phone. Social media post from an anonymous account. Posted at 3 AM. Already shared thousands of times across student networks.
The post contained a single image: A photo of Riyura. Candid shot. Crying. Taken through a window—his bedroom window, Riyura realized with horror. From outside his apartment. Someone had been watching him.
The caption read: "The survivor who couldn't save his brother. Watch him pretend he's strong while breaking inside. Watch him try to help others while drowning himself. How long until he admits defeat? How long until he understands that saving people is pointless when everyone dies anyway? Soon. Very soon. —S.R."
S.R. Suicide Rose.
"Someone was outside your apartment," Miyaka said, her voice shaking with anger and fear. "Taking photos. Following you. We need to tell the police. This is mysterious. This is—"
"This is Jisatsu Bara," Riyura interrupted quietly, feeling ice settle in his stomach. "The student who wants to die. The one I've seen around school but never talked to. The one who—" He stopped, memory clicking into place. "The one who knew Yakamira. Years ago. Before we moved. They were friends. Almost friends. Something."
"Why would he target you?" Miyaka demanded. "Because I survived when Yakamira didn't," Riyura replied. "Because he blames me. Because he's in pain and pain needs outlet and I'm convenient enough."
The morning bell rang. Students dispersed to homeroom. And Riyura felt eyes on him—not judgmental like after his father's exposure, but pitying. Everyone had seen the post. Everyone knew he was being watched by someone with very public suicidal tendencies and a very private vendetta.
He walked to class feeling like prey being circled by predator he couldn't see.
PART TWO: THE CONFRONTATION IN EMPTY HALLWAYS
Lunch period. Riyura was heading to the cafeteria when someone grabbed his arm and pulled him into an empty classroom.
Jisatsu Bara stood there in his emo glory—white hair falling across dead eyes, black clothing making him look like death's favorite aesthetic, fingerless gloves hiding scars that ran up both forearms. And shadows. Actual shadows swirling around his feet like living things, responding to his emotional state, his psychic pressure made visible.
"Hello, Riyura Shiko," Jisatsu said, his voice carrying that particular emo cadence—melodramatic but also completely genuine. "We need to talk. About your brother. About survival. About why you get to live when better people died."
"Let go of me," Riyura said, trying to pull free. Jisatsu's grip tightened. "Not yet. Not until you understand something. Not until you see what I see. What your continued existence costs."
He pulled out his phone, showed Riyura photos. Dozens of them. Taken over weeks. Months. Years even. Photos of Yakamira from childhood. Photos of Riyura. Photos of the Shiko family before everything fractured.
"I knew him," Jisatsu said. "Your brother. Before you moved. Before everything changed. We were—not friends exactly, but something. Two isolated kids who understood loneliness. Who understood what it meant to be unwanted by the people who should love us."
His voice broke slightly. "He was kind to me. When nobody else was. When my family hated me for being different. When I was discovering I didn't fit into their perfect boxes. Yakamira saw me. Actually saw me. Not the freak. Not the embarrassment. Just me."
"Then why—" Riyura started.
"Then you moved away," Jisatsu interrupted. "The Shiko family relocated. And I was alone again. And Yakamira—brilliant, kind, isolated Yakamira—he tried to reconnect. Sent messages. Tried to maintain friendship across distance. But you were always there. The cheerful younger brother. The unique one. The one your father hated. The one Yakamira protected."
The shadows around Jisatsu's feet expanded, darkening the classroom. "And I watched from afar as your family destroyed itself. Watched your father become a monster. Watched the corruption network exposure. Watched Yakamira die protecting you from a knife meant for your heart."
"That wasn't my fault," Riyura said, though guilt made the words hollow.
"Wasn't it?" Jisatsu released Riyura's arm but blocked the door. "He died protecting you. Died because your father hated you. Died because you investigated instead of staying silent. Died because you—you survived when he should have."
"You think I don't know that?" Riyura's voice rose with suppressed grief and rage. "You think I don't carry that guilt every single day? That I don't see his face every time I close my eyes? That I don't wonder why I'm alive when he's dead?"
"Good," Jisatsu said. "Feel that. Understand that. Now imagine feeling that about everything. About every day you wake up breathing when better people are dead. About every moment you exist when existence feels like theft from people who deserved life more."
He pulled up his sleeves fully, revealing the railroad tracks of scars. "Forty-seven attempts. Forty-seven sincere tries at ending this. Pills. Razors. Heights. Drowning. That one time with the train that derailed. Every time: survival. Bad luck in life. Good luck in living. The universe's cruelest joke."
"Then get help," Riyura said desperately. "Therapy. Medication. Support. Don't—don't make your pain everyone else's problem. Don't hurt people because you're hurting."
Jisatsu laughed—bitter and broken. "Help? From who? The family that hates me? The therapists who tell me to 'choose life' when life is torture? The world that makes people like me feel broken for not fitting their spaces? There is no help. There's only existence. Painful. Endless. Inescapable."
The shadows coiled tighter, responding to his despair. "But you know what makes existence slightly more bearable? Watching other people finally understand. Watching the cheerful ones, the survivors, the special unique ones—watching them realize that hope is delusion. That helping people is pointless. That we're all drowning together and pretending otherwise just makes the drowning last longer."
"That's not true," Riyura said, though his voice shook.
"Isn't it?" Jisatsu stepped closer. "You're trying to save Joyū. The actor who wants death. How's that going? He collapsed from exhaustion and self-neglect. You're trying to help Pan. The baker drowning in grief. Is he accepting your help? You're trying to reach Owari. The idol desperate for love she'll never receive. Has she stopped performing yet?"
Each word hit like a physical blow. Each truth Riyura couldn't deny.
"You can't save them," Jisatsu continued. "Just like you couldn't save Yakamira. Just like I can't save myself. We're all just performing survival until we can't anymore. And you—you need to understand that. Need to stop trying. Need to accept that some people are meant to drown."
"I won't accept that," Riyura said. "I can't."
"Then watch," Jisatsu replied. "Watch as I prove it. Watch as I break your new friends one by one. Watch as I show them that hope is temporary but despair is forever. Watch as everything you're trying to build crumbles because you can't save people from themselves."
He moved toward the door, shadows trailing behind him like loyal servants. "This is my gift to you, Riyura Shiko. The same gift Yakamira gave me before you moved away. The gift of being seen. I see you. I see your guilt. I see your desperation to help everyone except yourself. And I'm going to make you watch as helping fails. Every. Single. Time."
He left, the classroom returning to normal light, but his words echoing like a curse. Riyura stood alone, trembling with emotion he couldn't name. Fear. Rage. Guilt. Recognition. Because Jisatsu was right about one thing:
He couldn't save everyone. Couldn't save Yakamira. Maybe couldn't save anyone. But he had to keep trying anyway. Because the alternative—accepting that helping was pointless—felt like death.
PART THREE: THE MEMORY THAT EXPLAINED EVERYTHING
After school. Riyura sat on the rooftop alone, Jisatsu's words circling in his mind like vultures. His phone buzzed. Text from unknown number: "I lied earlier. About not remembering you. I remember everything. —J.B."
Attached: A photo. Childhood. Three kids at a playground. Yakamira, age nine, looking serious. Riyura, age six, grinning with purple hair already causing chaos for the three. And between them: a white-haired child with dead eyes even then. Jisatsu.
Another text: "We played together once. You don't remember. You were distracted by chaos at the time. But I remember. Yakamira invited me to your house. Your father looked at me with disgust. Said I seemed weird. Said I acted weird. Said Yakamira shouldn't associate with 'that kind.' Your mother made excuses. Ushered me out. And Yakamira—he apologized. Looked so ashamed of his family. Of their rejection."
Another photo: Yakamira and Jisatsu sitting on a curb, talking. Looking comfortable in a way that suggested real friendship.
"That was the last time I saw him in person. Week later, you moved. He tried to keep contact. But distance killed it. And I was alone again. With a family that hated me. With a world that said I was wrong for existing differently. With nothing but memories of the one person who'd seen me as human."
Final text: "Then I heard he died. Protecting his unique younger brother from their father's hatred. And I thought: of course. Of course Riyura survived. Of course the cheerful one, the special one, the one everyone notices gets to live. While Yakamira—kind, isolated, genuinely good Yakamira—dies protecting someone who didn't deserve protection."
Riyura stared at his phone, at these glimpses of a past he barely remembered, at the friendship Yakamira had lost when they moved, at the person his brother had cared about who'd been drowning alone for years.
He typed back: "I'm sorry. For my father. For not remembering. For Yakamira dying. For everything. But blaming me won't bring him back. And destroying others won't ease your pain. It'll just spread it."
The response came immediately: "I know. But spreading it feels better than drowning in it alone. At least this way, others understand. At least this way, I'm not the only one screaming in the dark. See you tomorrow, Riyura Shiko. The real battle begins soon."
PART FOUR: THE EVENING WHERE TRUTH BECAME WEAPON
Evening. Riyura's apartment. His friends sat in the living room—Sotsuko, Jimiko, Miyaka, Subarashī, Shoehead, Socksiku. All of them processing the confrontation with Jisatsu, trying to figure out how to handle a suicidal threat who wasn't trying to kill them but to break them.
The silence stretched uncomfortably. Finally, Miyaka spoke: "Riyura. We need to talk about what actually happened. With your father. With Yakamira's death."
Riyura went very still. "You know what happened. I told you. Dad tried to kill me. Yakamira got in the way. Dad died. Yakamira died. That's—that's what happened."
"That's what you told us," Sotsuko said carefully. "But it's not the whole truth. We've known for weeks. We could see it in your face every time the subject came up. You were hiding something."
"We didn't push," Jimiko added gently. "Because we knew it was painful. Knew you'd tell us when ready. But now—with Jisatsu—we need to know. Actually know. What really happened in that house."
Riyura's hands clenched. "Why? Why does it matter?"
"Because Jisatsu has abilities that you've now told us about," Sotsuko said bluntly. "Shadow manipulation. Psychic pressure made visible. And if he has powers—if this is real and not just parlor tricks—then we need to understand what we're actually facing."
"And," Miyaka continued, her voice soft but insistent, "because we're your friends. We've suspected for weeks that you were hiding something massive. Something that scared you to talk about. And friends don't let friends carry that alone."
[RIYURA'S INTERNAL MONOLOGUE: They know. Of course they know. They're my friends. They notice everything. Notice when I'm performing versus when I'm honest. Notice when I'm hiding truth behind half-truths. And now—now they need to know. Because Jisatsu's abilities mean they're in danger. And I can't protect them if they don't understand what they're facing.]
"Okay," Riyura said quietly. "Okay. But—this is going to sound insane. You're going to think I've lost my mind. And some of it—some of it I still don't fully understand myself."
He took a deep breath. "When I fought my father. When Yakamira died. Something happened. To me. Something I've never told anyone because I didn't have words for it. Didn't know how to explain without sounding delusional."
He held up his hand, remembering. "Energy. Blue energy. It appeared around my hands, around my body. Like living smoke. And stars—black stars with blue outlines—they started orbiting me. Not metaphorical. Actually visible. Moving through air like they were real."
His friends stared. Nobody interrupted.
"A mask formed on my face," Riyura continued, his voice shaking slightly. "Comedy mask. Half my face at first then eventually full. Sinister. And I could move faster than possible. Could see trails of shadow when I moved. Could create illusions from despair. It was—it was like my grief and rage became tangible. Became weapon."
"My father had the same thing," Riyura said. "Red version. Full mask. Red stars. Red energy. And he—before Yakamira died, before the final fight—he explained it. Told me things I've been trying to process for two months."
He closed his eyes, remembering his father's words:
"The ability. The thing that makes certain people different. Only those who learn to hide immense despair behind immense joy can reach it. And it's unique to our bloodline."
"It's genetic," Riyura explained to his friends. "Passed down through my family's bloodline. And through my Uncle Hiroaki's bloodline too. They're connected somehow—our family histories are linked."
"It was first recorded in Edo-period Japan and later dismissed as a foolish legend—one tied exclusively to our family."
"Dad said it goes back to Edo period," Riyura continued. "Some kind of war. Our ancestors fought together—both bloodlines, both families. They had this same ability. This same psychic manifestation of hiding pain behind performance. They survived. They won. And they passed it down through generations."
"That contradiction—performing happiness while drowning internally—creates something unusual."
"The ability only awakens in people who hide enormous despair behind enormous joy," Riyura explained. "People who perform cheerfulness while dying inside. The contradiction—the psychic pressure of maintaining that performance—it creates visible effects. Energy. Speed. Illusions. Stars that represent the light we hide behind."
Subarashī finally spoke: "You're saying you have superpowers. Actual superpowers. From your bloodline. That's anime level crazy. Like Son-Goku."
"Not superpowers," Riyura corrected. "Not magic. Just—psychic pressure. Emotional energy manifesting physically. It's real but it's not supernatural. It's just—human. Extremely unusual human, but still human."
"And your father had this too?" Miyaka asked.
"Red version. Mine was blue—like Uncle Hiroaki's apparently, though he stopped using his after my father became corrupted. Dad's ability changed when he embraced corruption. Became violent. Became weapon. Mine was—" Riyura struggled with words. "—mine was grief. Rage. Desperation. It came from wanting to protect Mom. From wanting Yakamira's death to mean something."
"Yours activates at will of pure anger. You don't even realize it, but I can tell that's how yours works."
"Dad said mine activates through anger," Riyura explained. "Pure rage mixed with despair. That's why it came out during the fight. Why it was so powerful. Because I was—I was so angry. At him. At everything. At Yakamira being dead. At the unfairness. At—"
His voice broke. "At myself. For surviving. For being the one Dad hated. For causing all of it." Jimiko leaned forward. "Can you still use it? The ability?"
"No," Riyura said flatly. "I tried. After. Tried to make it come back. But it won't. Because I'm not angry anymore. Not like that. I'm sad. Grieving. Depressed. But not—not that pure rage that activates it. Jisatsu doesn't make me angry enough. The situation doesn't. So the ability stays dormant."
"Which means," Sotsuko said, processing implications, "you can't defend yourself if Jisatsu attacks using his shadows. You're powerless against someone with active abilities."
"Yes," Riyura admitted. "That's why I needed to tell you. Why you needed to know the truth. Because if Jisatsu comes after me—after any of us—I can't protect you the way I protected Mom from my father. I'm just—I'm just normal now. Broken and normal."
Silence settled over the room as everyone processed this revelation.
Then Miyaka asked the question they were all thinking: "If the ability is unique to your bloodline and your uncle's bloodline—if it's genetic and hereditary—then how does Jisatsu have it? He's not related to you. Not related to Hiroaki. So how—"
"I don't know," Riyura said. "That's what doesn't make sense. Dad was very clear. The ability is bloodline-specific. Edo-period legacy passed through specific families. Jisatsu shouldn't be able to access it unless—"
"Unless he's related somehow," Sotsuko said. "Or unless there's another explanation we're missing." They sat in thought. Then Jimiko spoke quietly: "What if it's not genetic? What if your father was wrong?"
Everyone turned to look at him.
"Think about it," Jimiko continued. "Your father said the ability awakens in people who hide immense despair behind immense joy. People who perform happiness while dying inside. That's psychological, not genetic. What if the bloodline thing is just—coincidence? What if anyone with that specific psychological profile can develop the ability, and it just happens to run in families because trauma can also sometimes possibly be known to be hereditary?"
"That would mean—" Riyura started.
"That would mean Jisatsu developed it independently," Sotsuko finished. "Because he fits the profile perfectly. Emo aesthetic hiding genuine despair. Performance of wanting death while being terrified of it. Contradiction between his dead eyes and his desperate need to be seen. He's performing constantly. Just like you were. Just like your father was. It seems to fit the profile perfectly."
"But his family would have noticed," Miyaka argued. "Shadows swirling around him. Energy manifesting. That's not subtle. How could they not know?"
Riyura thought about it. About Jisatsu's family hating him. About him being isolated, unwanted, spending most of his time alone in his room or wandering at night.
"What if they did notice?" Riyura said slowly. "What if they saw the shadows and just—dismissed it? Jisatsu talks to himself constantly, right? Mutters about death and despair and wanting to stop existing. His family already thinks he's weird, attention-seeking, dramatic. What if they saw the shadows and just—assumed it was more emo theatrics? More attention-seeking behavior? Dismissed it as him playing with lighting or special effects or something?"
"That's—" Subarashī started.
"That's exactly what a family like that would do," Jimiko said. "I know families like Jisatsu's from my time with depressed kids Riyura's told us he's helped and for the rest of you's to, as you've heard him say this as well or have seen it like me for are selfs. Families that see what they want to see. That dismiss evidence contradicting their worldview. If Jisatsu showed them shadows and they'd already decided he was a dramatic attention-seeker, they'd rationalize it away. Convince themselves it wasn't real."
"Plus," Sotsuko added, "if the Edo-period legend was known but dismissed as a foolish myth—if most families don't believe in the ability stuff—then Jisatsu's family wouldn't have framework to understand what they were seeing. They'd assume tricks. Effects. Performances. Anything except actual psychic manifestation. Which is why the world today with the with the world leaders and all that, seems to have not spread the word about the abilities being dangerous and supernatural. Because they didn't know about them because of never wanting to believe they exist. So they blamed stuff like supernatural events on normal things in the worlds system."
"And Jisatsu," Riyura said, pieces clicking together, "Jisatsu wouldn't tell them the truth. Wouldn't explain. Because why would he? They already hate him. Already think he's broken and wrong. Revealing he has genuine psychic abilities would just make them think he's more broken. More wrong. More deserving of hate."
"So he hides it," Miyaka said. "Uses it alone. In his room. At night. In places where nobody sees. Talks to the shadows when he talks to himself. And his family just—never takes it seriously enough to investigate. Lucky we know he talks himself though, because for some reason a random fact like that has helped us move forward with this stuff. Thanks Riyura pal for knowing him in the past and lending us that fact before we started this meeting."
"But how did he even access it?" Subarashī asked. "If it requires knowing you have the ability, knowing how to activate it—how did Jisatsu figure it out without guidance?"
Riyura thought about his father's explanation. About the contradiction. About hiding despair behind performance.
"He didn't need guidance," Riyura said. "The ability activates instinctively when the psychological conditions are right. I didn't know about it before my father explained, but it came anyway. Because I was performing joy while drowning in despair. The contradiction was strong enough to manifest the ability without conscious control."
"Jisatsu's the same," Jimiko added. "His whole existence is contradiction. Wanting death while being cursed with life. Performing emo aesthetics while genuinely suffering. Hiding his kind heart behind sinister outlook. He's living the exact psychological profile needed to activate the ability. It probably manifested naturally during one of his suicide attempts. During a moment of pure contradiction between wanting to die and desperately wanting to be saved."
"And once it manifested," Sotsuko said, "he'd experiment. Test it. Learn to control it. Because unlike you, Riyura, Jisatsu doesn't have anything else. No friends. No family who care. Just himself and his abilities and his desperate need to make his pain mean something."
The room was quiet as they processed this. The revelation that abilities weren't just bloodline-specific but psychologically triggered. That Jisatsu had developed the same power independently. That they were facing someone with genuine psychic capabilities created from the same kind of trauma Riyura carried.
"So what do we do?" Miyaka asked finally. "Riyura can't activate his ability. Jisatsu can. We're normal humans. How do we fight someone with shadow manipulation?"
"We don't fight," Riyura said. "We can't fight. Not with abilities. Not with force. We just—we help people. We refuse to let Jisatsu's attacks work. We keep supporting Joyū and Pan and Owari. We prove that helping isn't pointless even when someone's trying to make it look pointless."
"And if Jisatsu attacks you directly?" Sotsuko pressed. "If he uses his shadows against you?"
"Then I survive it," Riyura said. "Like I survived my father. Like I survived Yakamira's death. Like I survive every day with grief that should drown me. I survive. Without abilities. Without power. Just—surviving."
His phone buzzed. Multiple texts arriving simultaneously. From Joyū—released from hospital, agreeing to therapy, thanking Riyura for not giving up on him.
From Pan—admitting he'd been reading Riyura's positive reviews repeatedly, admitting they helped more than he wanted to admit. From Owari—asking if they could talk more, asking if there was life beyond performance.
Small progress. Fragile progress. But progress nonetheless.
"He's wrong," Riyura said, showing his friends the texts. "Jisatsu. He's wrong about helping being pointless. It's just slow. And hard. And painful. But it works. Slightly. Eventually. If you're persistent enough."
"Then we're persistent," Miyaka declared. "We keep helping. We keep being present. We refuse to let his despair become our despair."
"And," Subarashī added with determination, "we find a way to help Jisatsu too. Because abilities or not, he's just another broken person who needs help but is too scared to ask for it."
They made plans. Would support each other. Would support the new students. Would face Jisatsu's psychological warfare together instead of alone. Would try to reach the kid hiding behind shadows and suicide attempts and the desperate need to prove pain was permanent. It wasn't much. Might not be enough. But it was something.
And sometimes, something was all you could offer.
[RIYURA'S INTERNAL MONOLOGUE: They know now. The whole truth. About the abilities. About what really happened with my father. About why I can't defend them if Jisatsu attacks with his shadows. And they're still here. Still willing to help. Still choosing to face this together. Maybe that's what family actually means. Not blood. Not abilities. Not shared trauma. Just—choosing to stand together even when standing means facing the impossible. Yeah. That's family. That's worth protecting. Even without powers. Even without anger. Even when all I have is persistence and hope and friends who refuse to let me drown alone.]
EPILOGUE: THE ROSE THAT UNDERSTOOD MORE THAN EXPECTED
Midnight. Jisatsu sat alone in his room, shadows swirling around him in response to his emotional state. He'd been experimenting again. Testing the limits of his ability. Seeing how far the darkness could spread.
His phone showed Riyura's earlier response. The apology. The refusal to accept blame. The insistence that helping mattered. "You're wrong," Jisatsu whispered to the screen. "Helping is pointless. I'll prove it."
But even as he said it, the shadows flickered. Uncertainty made them unstable.
Because part of him—the part that had developed these abilities through pure psychological contradiction, through hiding his kind heart behind sinister aesthetics, through performing death-wish while desperately wanting to live—that part wanted to be wrong.
Wanted to believe that Riyura was right. That helping mattered. That connection was possible. But believing required hope. And hope was the poison that had kept him alive through forty-seven failed suicide attempts.
So he'd stick to his plan. Break Riyura. Prove that survival was pointless. Use his shadows—his abilities that nobody understood, that his family dismissed as theatrics, that he'd discovered alone during his darkest moment—use them to shatter everyone's hope.
Or maybe—maybe—find out if hope was actually stronger than despair. He didn't know which outcome he wanted more. And that uncertainty terrified him more than any shadow ever could.
[NARRATOR: And so the truth is revealed to those who needed it most. Riyura's abilities explained. Jisatsu's abilities understood. The Edo-period bloodline legacy exposed as psychological trigger rather than purely genetic inheritance. Everyone knows now what they're facing: not just a suicidal antagonist, but someone with genuine psychic powers born from the same trauma that shaped Riyura. Next episode: Jisatsu's first real attack. The shadows strike. And everyone learns that fighting abilities with normal human determination might be the bravest thing of all. The battle accelerates. Stay with us.]
TO BE CONTINUED...