My life is a joke, isn't it? That was the first thought that crossed my mind as the school bell rang, signaling the start of yet another miserable day of mine. The sound of it echoed in the halls, marking the beginning of the next. The moment that bell rang, it felt as though it was calling out for me. Not in a way that beckoned with hope or excitement, but with the cold, indifferent tone of something that merely had to be endured.
"Hey!" one of the scumbags called out from the group, their voices carried the same mocking undertone as always. They were waiting for me by the entrance, waiting for their daily dose of amusement. I could hear them, the usual group, their laughter already filling the air before they even spoke to me. It was a routine at this point. Their voices, dripping with sarcasm, were as predictable as the sun rising in the morning. And, like clockwork, I was their target for this morning.
"Trash..." I muttered under my breath, gripping my worn-out backpack tighter. It wasn't just the mocking words. It was everything about them. Their smirks. Their sneers. The way they looked at me like I was less than human. I had become numb to it, but I couldn't help the anger that surged in my chest every time it happened. It was almost like a reflex now, a physical response to being treated like dirt. But I couldn't fight back. Not only because they had the advantage in numbers but if I did try to fight back the bullying would just get worse. I could only endure. So, I kept my head down, said nothing, and just... existed.
"Haru! We needed—"
So, it was extortion today. The most common game they played with me. I didn't even let them finish. I already knew what they wanted. I had known for days, maybe weeks now. They had a pattern. They were consistent in their cruelty, and I had learned to read their intentions before they even opened their mouths.
"I don't have the money. Let me off the hook until I get some." I noticed my own voice was empty, void of any enthusiasm, just like the lives of many others in this place. We were all just surviving. Barely. None of us had any real dreams. Just the aimless existence of trying to make it through another day towards the end of our respective sentences.
They laughed. It wasn't a laugh of joy or camaraderie. It was the laugh of someone who took pleasure in the suffering of others. It felt like they were marking their territory, proving their dominance over me, over everyone who were outcasts. They had no reason to be kind. Why would they be? I was nothing more than a dog for their cruel little game.
I had no friends in this place. That automatically made me one of the easiest targets. A loner. A nobody. Someone who could be picked on without any consequence. I wasn't a threat. I wasn't someone worth noticing, except when they wanted something. I had no value in their eyes, no worth at all. They didn't need to fear me. They could take anything from me. My dignity. My belongings. My happiness. Anything. And it wouldn't matter.
It wasn't just the beatings. No, the physical pain was almost secondary. It was the thefts. My books, my wallet, my pen case, even my lunch—nothing was safe. Money extortion was just a common occurrence for an outcast like me. It was routine. Every day, I would lose something. But what was the point of getting angry over it? What could I do? I was alone. No one would step in to help. Not in here. Not in this hellhole where power and money dictated everything between the syudents. In a juvenile correction center like this, where bullying was outright ignored by the so-called authorities, I had long since learned that resistance was futile. It was a waste of energy. There was no one to turn to. I had no allies.
One of them raised their fist, probably the ringleader. The one who orchestrated everything. He had a certain confidence about him, a kind of swagger that told you he knew he was untouchable. I braced myself, anticipating the impact. The familiar sensation of pain was on its way, and it was something I had grown used to. His fist swung toward me, but as it came, I made a slight movement, redirecting it just enough so that it wouldn't hit my nose. Instead, it connected with my cheek.
"Ahhh!" I groaned, exaggerating the sound, making sure to act like he had landed a clean hit. It was the only way I knew how to survive. If I pretended to be weaker, to be more vulnerable, it would make them feel more powerful. And that was fine. It didn't matter. Because in the end, nothing they did would ever change who I was. It wouldn't change the fact that I was stuck here.
"Take that! Friends should help each other!" The leader of the group sneered before they all walked away laughing. Friends? What a joke. I didn't know what friendship was anymore. I had been abandoned by everyone. Even the ones who were supposed to care about me.
After school, I went straight to my side hustle—odd jobs for the teachers. But not the kind of jobs you'd expect.
"Trash..." I mumbled again as I smuggled a package into a teacher's office.
A classic bottle of shochu. Bought from a "friend" outside and sold to either students or teachers, whoever was willing to pay. It wasn't much, but each job earned me about 40 yen. I usually did three or four deliveries a day. The money was never enough, but it could be used for purchasing contraband. I could get my hands on shivs, picks, whatever was necessary to protect myself. But I didn't really think about the future anymore. Survival in here required unconventional methods, and I had learned that lesson the hard way.
After my last delivery, I slipped back into my room, avoiding the guards as usual. They were lazy, barely paying attention to the students. I had gotten good at sneaking around, moving like a shadow through the halls. It was a skill I had honed out of necessity. I had learned how to blend in, how to disappear in plain sight. The system here was broken. The guards didn't care. The teachers turned a blind eye. And the students? They were just trying to get by, each in their own twisted way.
The next morning, I made my usual call home. The one I had been dreading for days.
"Haru, you worthless little brat. Are you just rotting away in that place?" My mother's sharp voice cut through the line like a blade.
I remained silent, gripping the phone tighter.
"Your father abandoned us! Left us in this hellhole-like world alone, and you—you're just as pathetic! Can't even take care of your own damn mother!"
I clenched my fist, feeling the familiar anger rise inside me. The same words. Always the same. The same anger. The same disgust. She had never been the warm, caring mother I needed. Her words were sharp, always cutting me deeper than she realized. It wasn't just her anger—it was the frustration, the disappointment. I had let her down, and she had let me down in return.
But I always expected a relief call just after my mother's rant.
"Meiko..." I whispered, almost as if her name alone could heal me.
Meiko was the only person who ever made me feel like I wasn't alone. She was the only one who didn't judge me, who didn't see me as the criminal like I am. She called me sometimes, just to check in. And every time, I could hear the warmth in her voice, the kind of warmth I hadn't felt in years. Before everything had fallen apart, before my father had disappeared, we were happy. Or at least, I think we were. Our families were close. She and I... we were close.
I loved her. And I knew without an ounce of doubt she loved me too.
But when my father vanished without a trace, our lives spiraled into chaos. My mother's heart problems surfaced. She had a hole in her heart. Bills piled up as she was now unfit to work. We barely had enough to survive.
Even if I had no need to pay for the surgeries and for the hospital stay. Just expenses like food and other basic necessities for both me and my mother were hard for me to handle. I had to drop out of school. I had to work.
But no one would hire a kid like me. Desperation led to choices I never ever wanted to make.
Pickpocketing. Scamming. Smuggling. Anything to keep us afloat, I did.
At first, the things I stole were just small things. Food, supplies, and the like. But then, things escalated. One bad decision led to another until I found myself caught.
The moment I was sentenced, Meiko's family cut ties with mine.
She was taken away from me.
"Haru, you haven't called me in a long time," she said, her voice carrying warmth that I no longer deserved.
"Well, I thought it was your time to call me," I replied, forcing a smirk she couldn't see.
Honestly, how could someone like her exist? She was like a beacon of light in my very dark world.
"I wanted to ask you about your mother..."
That was the only thing she could ever say to ruin my mood. The only topic I never wanted to discuss. The mother who crumbled under pressure, indirectly forcing her own son to steal just so she could live another day.
Whenever Meiko brought it up, I changed the subject. And she never pushed me for an answer.
But then, the calls stopped. It has been a month, I think. Keeping track of time is hard in here.
I assume her parents must have found out.
Days blurred together. Every morning, I woke up to the same bleak routine. The same meaningless existence. The same suffocating loneliness.
And then one day, I found myself standing on the rooftop, staring down at the cold hard gray-color tiled ground below.
The wind howled around me, carrying whispers of memories long gone. The smell of ink and paper. The endless nights my father spent drawing, pouring his soul into pages that no one would ever read except me came to my memory.
A mangaka. A dreamer. A man who disappeared without a trace.
I thought about his favorite manga genre. He used to love creating mangas about people dying and being reincarnated. Ultimately turning around their life for the better.
Reborn in a new world. A fresh start.
That would truly be a blessing if that held any truth to it. I let out a bitter laugh.
"Well, let's check if it's true, shall we?"