Side Story: The Contradictory Existence
THIS is a story from before Selena Violette was reborn as Selena—from when she was nameless and known only by the number 9956.
“What’s wrong, kid? Hurry up, get to your feet.”
“Urgh.”
You make it sound easy. Even if I wanted to stand, there’s no strength left in my legs.
In front of me was my teacher with a wooden club in his hand. I had a dagger. No matter how many times I faced off against him, he always struck me down with that club. My arms and legs were numb from being beaten so much.
He came up to me while I was still unable to stand, with no expression on his face as he raised his club.
BAM!
This goddammed old man!
I woke to the crackle and pop of kindling and saw my teacher reading a book in front of a fire. I was on the ground, a bandage wrapped around my head, where my teacher struck me before I lost consciousness. Not only there, though. Each spot where the club hit me had been carefully treated.
“Hurry up and eat something if you’re awake,” he said and held out a bowl containing a jelly-like mystery food.
What in the world do you cook, and how, to produce a purple liquid like that?
“Eat, then we’re back to training.”
I scarfed down the contents of the bowl.
“Taste good?”
“It’s disgusting.”
“Ah.”
The training following that was merciless as always.
“Kid, you gotta keep standing up, no matter how much it hurts. No matter how close you are to your limits. You gotta stand all on your own. You gotta keep fighting because the moment you can’t, you die.”
He kept telling me to stand and keep fighting. It was like he was telling me to survive. It wasn’t the kind of thing a man who picked me up off the streets and forced me to walk the criminal path of assassination should say. Why did he want me to live anyway?
“……”
Looks like I passed out again. Don’t you think you’re beating people’s heads in a crazy amount? I wish he’d go a bit easy.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Burning things.”
“Burning what?”
“My student’s belongings.”
“Why?”
“They died.”
Oh. Getting rid of what you don’t need anymore, I thought.
“It’s not like that,” he said as if he read my mind. “When assassins die, their bodies are just disposed of. I figure I could at least give them a sort of funeral so their soul can rejoin the cycle of reincarnation properly. And I pray they find peace in their next life.”
He stared at the burning objects as they turned to ash.
“We must keep living. Just because we were born, we must keep living. All of us, all creatures. But there’s no future in the slums. Learning assassination to help you find work increases your chances of survival by a bit, maybe, but I don’t know if it’s right. Assassination is all I can do; that’s why I give others that same method. If I knew any other way, if I’d been part of proper society, I could’ve put all of you on a better path. I’m sorry.”
I didn’t understand what he was trying to say, but I could see he had regrets about something. About putting me, putting us, on an assassin’s path.
“You regret teaching me because I’m doing so bad?” I asked.
“No, that’s not it.” He smiled sadly. I didn’t know if I had talent for this or not, but at least it wasn’t my progress that was upsetting him.
“What are you upset about then?”
“……”
“You just said you don’t know if it’s right, but what even is ‘right?’ Why do people have to live their lives ‘right?’ Who gets to decide what’s right? And if we’re not living the right way, does that mean it’s wrong for us to live? Does that mean assassins can’t live?”
He didn’t say anything.
“Assassins exist because they’re needed. Because people use them. So, why are you saying they, we, are wrong? Do you mean if they’re wrong, they have to be eliminated? That logic sounds good, but it’s stupid. You said before we need to keep on living. You said that. So, don’t go looking for what’s ‘right.’ The world’s not a nice place. It’s not going to let you live exactly how you want to. It doesn’t give you options. You just do what you can to survive.”
“No one’s more suited for being an assassin than you. I hope the day never comes when you understand what I really mean, what those words mean. Cause, if you do, you’ll experience hell, just like me. But enough of this idle chit-chat. Let’s get back to training.”
His training was just as merciless after that as if the man he’d just shown me had been an illusion. And, like always, he knocked me unconscious, chucked me on the ground, and started training me again when I woke up, which continued until he knocked me out again. And repeat.
Those days went on for a year until I was finally granted my first mission by the organization.
“Kid, just so you know, sixty percent of assassins die on their first mission,” said my teacher.
“Surprisingly high,” I said.
“That’s just how different a real fight is from training. People first understand what it means to kill a person when that person is right in front of them.”
“Huh?” I looked at him in confusion.
“Think you might be the only exception to that, though,” he said with a wry smile. “You’d already killed several people before I picked you up, so, I guess you might be all right. But as an assassin, you’ll have to infiltrate places. When you do, you’ll come into contact with people, maybe a few, maybe a lot. Killing someone you spoke to before has some similarities to killing someone you’ve never met, but it’s also a completely different beast. Talking even once to someone forges a connection with that person. They can be a mess, those connections. Especially for people like us. That might be our arch nemesis.”
Like always, my teacher was saying things I didn’t understand, and he kept talking even though he knew I didn’t understand. It was like he wanted me to understand while also telling me he didn’t want me to understand.
He was a contradiction.
“Take this,” he said.
“This’s a pretty beat-up weapon.”
“Yeah. Cause I used it while I was still working. The blade’s sharper than anything, though, since I take care of it every day. It might protect you. If you’re successful in your mission, the organization will give you a number. That’ll be your name from then on.”
“All right.”
“And kid…”
“Yeah?”
“Come back alive. Don’t die.”
“…All right.”
What did he mean by that? “Come back alive?” I didn’t understand why he was so desperate for me to survive.
I did have the vague thought as I set off for my mission that if I did die, he’d end up burning my things, filled with regret like that one time.