Chapter 24: Endless Bitter Tears
For a moment, as tension and fear coiled through the crowd, there was also an absurd, almost laughable feeling mixing into their hearts.
They actually—really—had used such a childish trick to provoke it out?
This was too petty, too ridiculous to be true!
Everyone held their breath, torn between dread and curiosity, as they turned to stare at the youkai before them.
They saw a creature of small, gaunt build, barely over a meter tall, with the approximate look of a child between three and ten years old. It resembled a human and a monkey at once—slightly hunched—and if one looked closely there was a large turtle-like shell fixed to its back.
"Hiss—" When the crowd could finally take in its appearance, a chorus of sharp intakes of breath broke out, followed by someone's startled shout: "That's… a kappa!"
The kappa was a creature of Japanese myth: a composite of features—bird-like beak, frog limbs, a monkey's torso, and a turtle's shell—an uncanny mix of animals spun into one being.
Legend held that its weakness was the dish upon its head; if a kappa were tricked into bowing so that the water in that little bowl ran out, it would lose its strength completely and become helpless.
Of course, legends are called legends because no one is sure whether they're real. Most people listened to them as entertainment.
Who would have expected to run into a real one today?
For a heartbeat, everyone instinctively stepped back.
After all, in those stories a kappa was no kindly spirit. In Japan there was an old saying to describe catastrophic drownings: "kappa swallows you."
Many unfortunate people had drowned over the years—some accidents, but many surely the work of kappa.
This kappa was plastered with wet tracks, draped in clumps of waterweed. Its presence felt bone-chilling and unclean; instinct told humans to keep their distance. Much like a mouse quivering before a cat, some primitive code in humanity might be written to recoil from such beings.
Even the shrine maiden's face went grave in an instant.
She drew a long breath and asked, "Why are you making trouble in the resort?"
But the moment she asked, the old kappa's little eyes brimmed with red.
"Why?"
"You dare ask me why?!"
Every syllable carried grievance and rage, as if the kappa itself were the injured party and they were the villains.
"You wretched humans! A hundred years ago I lived in the great river—back then the sky was blue, the water clean. Then a few decades ago the river blackened. It stank so badly one sip and your stomach would ache for days!"
"Fine! I put up with it! I moved!"
The kappa's voice rose, trembling with bitter indignation. "I moved to a smaller stream, thinking to live in peace. But not long after, someone built noisy factories upstream. In a few days the whole river was dyed black. I moved slowly and already I got skin disease from the filth!"
"..."
Faces around the lake went oddly soft as they listened. Sympathy, unexpected and awkward, crept into some of their expressions.
This old kappa's life had been miserable indeed.
"These years I've kept moving from place to place. Finally I found this secluded, clear little lake—"
"Damn it! I'm a kappa! I can't even live in the river now. I found this little wide lake to eke out a life, and you humans still won't leave me be!"
"You bunch of bastards—after I've barely settled, you follow me here! All your machines constantly hum day and night, lights burning through the hours—your racket is enough to blow my head apart!"
The kappa's rant grew louder, more frenzied. Its small limbs shook, eyes reddening toward a near-hysteric pitch. It screamed accusations that rolled like thunder across the water.
The sound rattled in everyone's skulls, leaving security guards pale and trembling.
"I cannot stand it any longer!"
"I've reached my limit!"
"I only wanted to scare you away so I could live in peace for a while, but now you come here and call me a 'shrinking turtle'—you're forcing me to kill!"
As the old expression went, "a man's tears do not fall for minor hurts," and this kappa seemed utterly stricken—his eyes poured real tears, the creature tilting into near-hysteria as sorrow and fury tangled.
Truly, an endless river of bitter tears.
As the kappa's final words fell, a murderous aura flared outward like a chill wind.
Everyone felt a cold gust strike them. A shiver crawled across their skin as if plunged into an ice cellar. Gooseflesh rose on arms and necks in spiky, visible rows.
"W-what do we do?" They exchanged panicked looks and swallowed, stumbling backwards.
If it were just ordinary trouble, they might stand their ground—but this was a mythic predator; one careless moment and someone could be gutted, their heart taken as a trophy.
Who would not fear?
Who could be brave now?
"It seems my patience only encouraged you to be worse—thinking me meek to be bullied. Fine! Today I'll kill you all!"
Manager Hirata Sachiko sucked in a breath. "M-mister... Old man, you misunderstand. We only..."
"Enough talk! Die!" the kappa roared, throwing its head back.
The water beneath its feet exploded upward, sending a veil of spray and mist skyward. But the droplets did not fall—instead they froze into a spear-like tendril of liquid, a whip of water that jabbed toward the crowd.
"I'll skin you and feed you to my thirst!"
The shrine maiden's face tightened; she formed an incantation with her hands and cried sharply, "Lin!"
A surge of spiritual energy burst forth, coalescing into a translucent shield that flew out to meet the assault.
The water-javelin struck the barrier with resounding force. The shield shuddered, the edges trembling as if on the verge of splintering.
The shrine maiden's color drained; the impact had taken a toll. Gritting her teeth, she said through clenched jaw, "Sachiko! You must run!"
Against a creature of legend, ordinary people could render only limited aid.
The group answered without hesitation—there was no noble ''we live or die together'' sentiment here. Survival instincts kicked in, and they turned tail and fled.
They sprinted as though chased by death itself, each step a frantic burst; parents wished for more legs, some cursed their own feet for not being faster. In the pandemonium each person ran with an animal's single-minded urgency, vanishing into the night like smoke.
Hirata Sachiko bit her lip and called, "Be careful!"
She too began to run.
But she had not gone far before her heel caught on a stone. "Aiya!" With a cry she fell to the ground, her forehead striking the path and blooming a fresh, angry red.
Kouya glanced up and could not help a rueful expression.
Who else would fall but her?
Those seven-centimeter heels—what a brave, foolish choice for running!
If you were going to run, at least slip the heels off first, you idiot.
"Still not running? Sitting there hatching eggs?" Kouya barked.
Hirata Sachiko sat amid the gravel, tears and rain on her cheeks. Pain and humiliation mingled in her voice. "I-I sprained my ankle. It hurts..."
You've got to be kidding—truly useless! In a horror movie, you'd be the first to go!