The train started up again after having stopped for the third time. They were getting close. Kazi seemed to have a good understanding of where they were. The previous two stations were at Tokyo and Sendai. After one last stop, he said they would arrive at their destination. The raccoon that was their driver begrudgingly agreed with his estimation.

The sights were intriguing. Rather than modern, they felt something straight out of a samurai movie, old yet traditional. Then there was the train service. Surprisingly, the raccoons worked better than most humans. They were weirdly real. Honest. Paul enjoyed the refreshing change of personality.

Sitting at the window seat, a girl by his side, looking at his cards and concentrating. Concentrating as if he cared. Concentrating as if he wanted to do this. Because he did. Paul was officially invested in this stupid game.

“Go Fish,” said Kazi.

Paul drew another card. Three aces, one jack. He just needed one more to form a book.

It was Sun-young’s turn. She looked between Hugo, Ksenia, then Paul. Then she stared at her own row: Kazi and William. Poker faces everywhere. Her brow twitched and Paul swore he swore her dark brown eyes become grey.

“Ksenia,” Sun-young called out, “do you have…kings?” A beat. A sigh. A reluctant hand over. Sun-young’s turn continued. “Aces?”

Another sigh and she handed over her remaining cards. “Rigged,” Ksenia muttered.

William groaned. “Not you too.”

The game was intense. Sun-young and Kazi led the game, although the gap was wide between the two. Kazi had always remained two books ahead of Sun-young. In the end, thirty minutes later, she failed to close the gap and got second place.

As for Paul, he had tied with William for third. Hugo and Ksenia failed to get even a single book. Books meant gaining four of the same card face. Put simply, they had terrible intuition and gambling skills.

Ksenia had been rooting for him and he often felt she purposely picked cards for him to help him eliminate what cards a particular person didn’t have.

Abruptly, Sun-young stood up and muttered, “I’m going to the bathroom.”

The scene as she left to go to the bathroom brought pause. Everybody stared at her, slightly hunched over, her arm on her stomach.

Ksenia put her cards down and casted Kazi and William suspicious looks. “Is it just me or has she not been feeling well?”

“Just a stomach ache,” said Kazi. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Oh, so that’s why she was holding her stomach. A massive shit.” Ksenia nodded. “I get it. I sometimes hold back till it's bursting too.”

“Are you sure she’s okay?” Paul asked. The way she twisted and turned was not normal, even for—as Ksenia eloquently put it—a massive shit.

“We usually have a healer with us,” Kazi admitted. “Without her, she seems to be doing a little worse.”

John appeared, standing at the side of the table, a brow raised. “I saw Ms. Sun-young jogging to the restroom, sweating profusely. Is she okay?”

“Just a massive shit,” Ksenia answered. The elderly man opened his mouth in surprise.

“Ah. I see…” John cleared his throat. “May I join this time?”

“Go ahead,” said Ksenia. “We need to topple King Kazi. I hope with all your experience you can lend us a hand.”

John chuckled and took Sun-young’s seat. “I’ll do my best.”

“Paul,” Ksenia called out, nudging him on the shoulder. “Let’s do this.”

In the hour they played, they got very close. Alas, victory lay with Kazi regardless of what they did. Sun-young came by halfway through and opted to sit at another table because she wasn’t feeling well.

Another hour passed and another set of rounds ended. Paul let out a sigh. “So close, just one book away…”

Paul and John ended up being key players. Coordinating through subtle means, they forced Kazi to take a back foot. However, victory would never lend itself to them. The will of the cards and the goddess of victory aided Kazi whether he wanted to or not.

“Paul,” Kazi began, laughing after the collective sigh of defeat shared between everyone, “you have a mean poker face.”

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“It’s natural,” he replied, somewhat shy.

“You’re always like this, huh?” His heart stopped. Kazi beamed at him, like a guiding torch. “Well, you better go into the casino soon because they would definitely appreciate you.”

Those words. Those damn words. He remembered the first time someone uttered them. He remembered the second time someone uttered them. Both times, he lost himself. Both times, he grabbed a knife and went for the kill.

***

Gate 3—the forest in rural Japan. Trees that grew upside down. He hated the scent of nature and he hated his blistered hands. He couldn’t stop or complain because he was a man and a man was supposed to do his damn job.

Alex was with him. Alex, a strong man in chainmail, who spoke his mind without restraint. Alex, with a quiff that was the same as his brother’s and an arrogant smile that mirrored his dad’s. Alex, who was everything he wasn’t.

Chopping wood with him should have been a quiet endeavour where Paul kept to himself. As expected, when it came to people like Alex, life was never that simple.

Thwack! Seeing the result of his first swing, Alex smiled and turned over to him. "So, Paul, what did you do before this?"

Paul didn’t glance his way. He didn’t need to look to know his cut was less off. “Truck driving.”

Alex blinked. “That sucks. I know those kinds of jobs are lonely. I was an engineer, so I can’t really relate, haha.”

His heart pounded. Paul knew his place, so he didn’t contest his words.

“I’ve been thinking,” Alex said, “magic exists. Couldn’t these trees come and attack us?”

“I don’t know.”

“What if they’re alive?” Alex chuckled. “Ever think about what stories these trees might tell if they could talk? Maybe they could go from our enemies to allies."

“Maybe.”

Thwack! Thwack! Nothing but the sound of chopping wood between them.

“You’re a part of the Knifeman class. Have you ever used knives in real life or something?” Alex let out a chuckle before joking, “You kinda look like a serial killer.”

‘Shut up. Please, just shut up.’ Paul’s arm swung at the tree trunk and this time he didn’t fully answer.

“Mm.”

Alex sighed and stopped swinging his axe. "You know, it wouldn't hurt to share a little. We're out here together, after all."

“Mhm.” His stomach did flips. Wrong thing to say. “I-I guess.”

“Jesus, dude.” Alex clicked his tongue. "You're always like this, huh?"

“You’re always like this, huh?”

“You’re always like this, huh?”

“You’re always like this, huh?”

“You’realwayslikethishuh?You’realwayslikethishuh?You’realwayslikethishuh?You’realwayslikethishuh?You’realwayslikethishuh?”

The accusation hung in the air. That day, in that moment, something ignited in him. He remembered the godly man that had killed. He remembered the ease and confidence and joy that he saw in his movements. That very same joy caused his fingers to twitch.

A twitch. He wanted more than that. He longed to experience true, euphoric joy. He longed to feel satisfaction from something, anything! Driving trucks, being beaten by life over and over again, he wanted more! He had to have more, now that he was dead!

A spark deep in his bruised soul had festered from the pits of loneliness. “You’re always like this…?” he muttered, slowly turning like an owl. “I’m always like this? Yeah! I have!”

He hurled the axe at Alex. He missed his neck by a narrow inch and, eyes ablaze with anger, Paul lunged at him.

His knife equipped, Alex’s eyes widened, the fear of God put into his soul, and he summoned his spear. He thrusted his knife hard and sliced his cheek.

Blood was drawn and he didn’t care. He kept swinging. He kept attacking.

‘Just die, die, die!’

That expression. That look of fear. Everyone had it. Why? Why!?

“You’re always like this, huh?”

“DIE ALREADY!”

"I don't—" Another strike, another miss. "—understand, man! I thought we were cool!"

Bam, bam! Two blocks from Alex's spear and a reflexive counter that struck Paul in the stomach. His flesh tore apart. His rage turned the world red.

He stepped back, panting, and witnessed Alex's hesitation. That look in his eye where he thought he had gotten the better of him.

'Static Swipe.'

His knives crackled and slashed at Alex. The spear failed to protect him. Alex failed to accurately assess his strength. He failed to see who Paul truly was. His blue eyes went wide in terror and blood slipped from his lips, dripping to the ground deafeningly.

"What…?"

"Static Swipe," Paul proclaimed. His confidence grew. His blood thirst was quenched. "You should have given it your all before I—"

The right side of his world went black.

The dark monster had arrived and from then on his world had become hell.

***

There was a murmur and he returned to a blurry world. Wide eyes stared at him.

“Are you…okay?” Ksenia touched his shoulder. “You’re…crying.”

‘Crying…?’

This relief, this easing of the shoulders…those came from his tears? All his life, he put on a blank face. For his dad, for his brother, for his mom. Beside him, Ksenia continued to touch him in concern. In front of him lay the sun.

“So that’s what these are. I don’t remember the last time I cried.” Paul smiled and wiped them off. “Sorry. I’ll go wash my face.”

Everybody watched him stand up. They didn’t know what to say. By chance, John lit up and said, “Ah, Ms. Sun-young is in the restroom again. You should go to the one at the very back of the train. It is between the middle-class and the storage compartments. You will see it.”

John’s words were a distant set of instructions. Paul got up and shuffled over. Before he left, Ksenia grabbed him by the wrist. Her fingers were rough. Strong, in other words.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Ksenia asked.

“I’m fine. I was just…” Paul’s smile grew. Her hand loosened. “I just…I’m okay, really.”

He slipped from her grasp, despite not wanting to, and went away. He took his time walking. From the corner of his eye, the green scenery brought comfort.

As John mentioned, there was a bathroom far, far back. Through the dining compartment and the three middle-class compartments, he arrived. The lock to the bathroom was broken. Paul wasn’t too concerned, his mind in a drift.

He turned on the sink and washed his hands. This gate, full of friends and love, drained him more than all the previous gates combined. The scars on his chest ached.

‘I’m glad I came though. I’m glad I met Kazi. I’m glad I met Ksenia.’

He was a wannabe killer. A loser. A freak. His name didn’t matter, whether it was Paul or something else. The nature of a person did not change from the spelling of a name.

But maybe, just maybe, a freak like him deserved some happiness.

Behind him, there was a creek.

“Hm?”

Paul turned and saw a man in a white mask. A second passed, his heart raced, and a knife plunged into his heart.