The samurai warrior had descended all the way into madness, slashing at the ghosts of those he had slain in a burning oiran brothel somewhere in Kyoto. How far could one go down the rabbit hole before madness devoured them completely? The samurai carved through the shadows of the spirits on the paper walls with his katana, a blade said to hold the soul of a warrior. He had killed both the guilty and the innocent. The clan didn’t appreciate the chaos. Bad for business. The problem? Even a hundred men weren’t enough to stop him.

He cut through them like they were nothing. One after the other, they fell. Eventually, one brave soul managed to land a blow, plunging a sword into the samurai’s shoulder. No pain. Just a devilish grin and the glint of hellfire in his black eyes. Blood poured from the wound, running down his arm and along his blade. The samurai flung some of his own demonic blood onto his attacker, and the man’s screams filled the room as it burned like fire in his eyes. The samurai raised his katana and...

"Yuki-chan, happy birthday!"

I sighed. "Thanks, Grandma."

"Come to the kitchen, dear. Breakfast is ready."

Sighing again, I grabbed the remote and paused my favorite black-and-white movie from the 1960s. I’d already watched it dozens of times, usually in the morning before school or late at night when nightmares about my life kept me awake.

How I wished I could be that samurai. Sure, he lost his soul, but in exchange, he gained unimaginable power. No one at school would dare bully me then. No one would pull pranks on me or corner me in the bathroom just to beat me up.

Who am I?

My name is Takuya Nakamura, and today I turned seventeen. I’m half-Japanese, half-Korean. Most importantly: Yuki-chan is what only my grandmother is allowed to call me. No one else. And for those of you who don’t know what it means? Don’t bother looking it up. Just don’t.

I put the remote back on the couch and shouted loud enough for the neighbors upstairs and downstairs to hear me—but not loud enough for Grandma, who was standing just outside my door. I opened it, and when I saw her warm, gentle smile, I couldn’t help but smile back. "Here I am," I said.

Yumi folded her age-spotted hands in front of her apron and nodded, smiling. "Good morning to you too," she replied, clearly misunderstanding me.

It was just before seven-thirty, and soft early-spring sunlight streamed through the kitchen window. Guilt hit me like a truck when I saw the breakfast table. We were poor (terribly poor) but from the looks of the spread Grandma had prepared for my birthday, you’d think we were part of the city’s elite.

Breakfast was laid out on a low wooden table, an artful feast arranged in bowls and porcelain plates. A steaming bowl of glossy white rice. A small plate of kimchi, with its chili, garlic, and ginger marinade giving off a sweet and spicy aroma. Next to the rice were a bowl of clear broth and a mild seaweed soup. And there were side dishes... so many side dishes... like fried anchovies, marinated spinach with sesame oil and garlic, and Korean-style omelets.

The worst part?

I couldn’t eat a bite.

Mornings always made me sick to my stomach, especially when I thought about what new torment my bullies at school had planned for me that day.

I forced a smile.

Not every story has to start with action, I guess. Some start like mine. A little slice of peace before the storm. Why did I choose to start my story on this day? Because it’s my birthday? Nah, that’s just a coincidence. I started here because this was the day I died for the first time.

But I didn’t know that yet as I sat at the breakfast table.

Sure, every morning before high school, I braced myself for the possibility of coming home with a black eye, a broken jaw, or a missing tooth (or a shaved head, like six weeks ago). But I’d never actually considered the idea of dying.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

Grandma and I ate in quiet harmony, enjoying the feast she’d prepared. I was grateful for the silence because it meant she wouldn’t ask any questions that might expose me for what I was: a pathetic liar. Yeah. I wasn’t just a coward and a weakling... I was a liar too. And I had a feeling you couldn’t really be one without the other.

I told Grandma everything was fine at school.

I told her I planned to go to college after high school to become a doctor. Or a teacher.

But the truth was, I hated school. And the thought of being stuck with my classmates for even more years at college filled me with panic. And fear. And rage.

"This is delicious, Grandma," I said as cheerfully as I could, tucking some dry rice into my cheek like a squirrel. My mouth was so dry it felt like sandpaper.

"Thank you so much!" I added. "You didn’t have to go through all this trouble!"

"What’s that?"

"YOU DIDN’T HAVE TO DO THAT!"

"You’re chasing the hat?"

"NO, THANKS, GRANDMA! JUST THANKS!"

She smiled. "Family means everything to me. And you, Yuki-chan... you’re my family. All that’s left."

I scooped up more rice and kimchi, chewing the first bite slowly as I looked at my grandmother, warmth spreading through my chest. As spotless and pristine as the breakfast table was, so was Yumi herself. Even at nearly ninety years old, she looked full of life. For my birthday, she’d put on her colorful kimono, a treasured heirloom she clung to. Her gray hair was tied neatly into a careful bun, and she kept touching it every few moments to check if her kanzashi were still in place. Kanzashi are not chopsticks, by the way!

"You know, Yuki-chan," she began, her voice soft but firm, "the world has never been in order. It’s always been about carving out a little island of peace in a broken world, holding on to whatever happiness you can. My parents made it through the war. Through famine. Through sickness and death. And we’ll get through this disaster, too."

For a moment, I thought she was talking about high school. My stomach clenched. Then she gestured toward the window with her chopsticks, and I realized she meant them. The mysterious cracks that had been forming all over the world for the past five years. We call them the Abysses. Monsters pour out of them, threatening to destroy the world. And brave heroes (or sometimes just greedy hunters) stand against the apocalypse that no one knows how to stop.

"The most important thing in times like these," my grandmother continued, "is to stay sensible. A day will come when humanity will find a way to seal these horrible Abysses once and for all. And then everything will return to how it used to be. Maybe even better. Maybe humanity will finally learn to work together."

Yeah. Maybe. But probably not. I hadn’t seen any signs of unity. Not at school, at least.

"For you, Yuki-chan, the most important thing is to finish school and go to college. Become a doctor. Help those in need."

I swallowed dryly, but the lump in my throat refused to budge. I met my grandmother’s gaze and nodded seriously, but inside, I felt like ice was crawling up my spine. Thunderclouds gathered over what had started as a perfect morning. What kind of grandson was I? Would she understand that I was doing all of this out of love for her?

Yumi Nakamura was a proud woman who valued education above all else. Born just before the end of World War II, she had grown up in post-war Japan, a time ravaged by hunger, disease, and devastation. The economic situation was dire, and she’d told me countless stories about how families struggled in the aftermath of the war. Her father, my great-grandfather, had died in the war, leaving her mother to work tirelessly to keep the family afloat. In our family, it had always been the women working while the men died. That was the common thread in the Nakamura history. And those experiences had shaped her unwavering belief that education and discipline were the keys to a better life.

And what was I, her idiot grandson, doing?

Throwing those values right out the window.

Because the truth was, I wanted to drop out of school and become a monster hunter. I wanted to be strong and brave, to carve out a name for myself as a hero. That dream called to me far more than some boring high school diploma ever could.

I had sworn to myself that as a monster hunter, I’d make enough money to buy us a house. My grandmother had always dreamed of having a home of her own, away from this miserable apartment block in Jungnang-gu.

But I couldn’t tell her that.

The shock alone might send her to the grave.

And Yumi was the only person I had left, after my... Well, that’s a story for another time.

I glanced at the clock on the wall. Crap. It was late. I stuffed a few fried anchovies into my mouth and washed them down with green tea that was still way too hot. For a moment, I froze, my stomach churning violently. I felt like I was going to puke.

"What are you waiting for, Yuki-chan? I can see you’re not hungry. And you don’t need to sit there watching an old lady eat. School is waiting for you. Your friends. Go on now."

I forced a smile, stood up, slipped on my house slippers, and gave my grandmother a quick, dry kiss on the forehead.

"Love you," I said in Japanese, and as I stood in the doorway to the hall, I glanced back at her. She was kneeling in front of the low table, her posture straight, silently eating the breakfast she had so lovingly prepared for her grandson. I turned and left. Instead of heading to school, I made a quick stop in the bathroom to throw up. God, I felt miserable.

I wished I could be someone else.

Someone who had their life together. Someone strong and brave.

I’d pay any price for that.

Any price.