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At first
At first, she’s like a breath of fresh air. She makes me whole, I would do anything and everything for her. My dear wife, my one true escape from my family, but more importantly, my saviour. She’s an angel, that beautiful charm she’s got, her voice that I wish I could play on repeat forever, the short hair and stature she's got that makes me almost scared of breaking her, yet her vicious personality and banter that knocks me into sense. She’s plenty strong.
We get married. I take her name, finally leaving that insufferable clan. Being a Fushiguro means being hers, though she stole me long before we wed.
She makes me unbelievably happy. I never would’ve thought I was capable of being this sappy or mushy with someone. Happiness has and always been a foreign emotion to me. I am a sack of shit, one that doesn’t and doesn’t believe he deserves such happiness.
But she makes me want to be good, makes me change because I want to give her everything I have and so much more. I change so I can give more to her, show her how much she means to me through my actions.
My wife.
Then
Then she gets pregnant. She’s gorgeous pregnant. It’s as if she finally revealed her halo and wings, and she glows so pretty with that baby belly. I can’t believe such an angel loves me.
She gives birth. Once I get a hold of the kid, his chubby face and surprisingly full head of hair resembles his mother. That cry that leaves his contorted face aches me, and I’m certain that he is a blessing bestowed upon me by my precious angel.
But
But angels fall. With her, all my joy, all my love, went with her too.
Megumi
Megumi is the kid’s name. He’s precious. So I try to raise him, I try to think of what she would want me to do , try to tell myself she’s leaving it in my hands.
It doesn’t work. It's so hard, but I don't give up on him just yet.
Marriage
I marry another woman. It’s not the same. I’m still, and have long been unhappy. It does not fill the hole in my heart.
No, 'hole' is too insignificant.
It does not fill the gaping empty space torn from me.
Children
My second wife has a daughter. Tsumiki. She and Megumi seem to get along well. I can’t find it in me to really care for the boy anymore. He’s starting to look awfully familiar. He’s got her eyes. My hair.
But it’s painful to think about. So I brush it away, letting it grow dust at the back of my mind and focus on my work.
Zenin
No. Just, no. I can’t believe myself right now.
But it’s only logical. I don’t take care of the kid. I’ve gotten messy, not to mention having anything you really care about while working as a hitman isn’t ideal. And I can’t do that to her. I can’t get what’s left of her killed, too. So I meet up with the bastard, and the mere sight of him makes me pull out a pack. I light up the cigarette, taking a long drag before we speak.
Wealth
10 million yen. That’s what I said I’d sell Megumi to the clan for if he inherited their technique. They would treat him right. Would treat him better. Better than they treated me, but most of all, better than I could ever treat him now.
I think she’s worth much more than 10 million. She’s priceless. So, in turn, Megumi should be priceless. But what point is there to raise a child who will end up resenting me for being a shitty dad? A man who can’t even function without his wife.
So this is good. This is the best option.
The best.
Guns
Guns are simple. They get the job done, quite an easy no-brainer when considering a weapon. If you aim right, they can kill quickly.
I’ve done everything right for this job. I’ve worn down the Gojo kid, and I’ve got everyone else right where I want them.
So I fire.
Empty space
It goes well. I leave, thinking about the generous cash payment I’m about to receive, when I’m stopped.
It’s hard to remember how I got here, but there’s a sharp pain where my torso used to be.
And as I quickly, quickly lose consciousness, I recognise that this doesn’t feel any different to me.
Getting my guts literally ripped off–it doesn’t hurt any more than losing her. It’s deja vu, almost.
Just almost, because there is a hint of anticipation. Excitement.
I will meet her again.
Fushiguro
I don’t remember much this time either, but something clicks and I feel almost alive again. Because I see her, I’ve found her eyes, and they look back at me.
It takes a second to kick in, that this isn’t exactly her. It’s my son. My son. My son. My son. I have to repeat it in my mind, the thought a cold refresher.
It floods back to me, the fatherly instinct, if I can even call it that.
He holds his hands up in a battle stance, face and body bloodied. I only have enough space in my mind to think--
“What’s your name?”
He looks at me, confused. “...? Fushiguro.”
I can feel myself relax. A feeling that I haven’t really experienced for a long time. “Not Zenin, huh?”
I don’t even need to think. My hand shoves the weapon in my head. “Good for you.”
At last
At last, I smile.