I began on the battlefield.
There I was, engulfed in darkness, squared off alone against a single enemy. It was some sort of creature that looked like a mass of black fog.
“Wh-What the hell did you just do?!” it shrieked. “Your own hopes and despair killed your spirit dead! I saw it happen!”
In spite of how suddenly I’d been thrust into the situation, I had a fairly solid grasp of my circumstances. To begin with, I knew that the creature before me was my enemy. It prided itself on its psychological attacks, and had tried to crush my spirit.
And, somehow, I knew that I was a Hero. I couldn’t remember my own name, but that fact and the awareness that I had to defeat the enemy before me were burned into my consciousness. I also knew that I’d lost my memories, and that I myself had been the one to erase them.
In that moment, though, I held no interest in analyzing any of those facts. Before anything else, I had to kill my enemy.
It barely took an instant. My body moved on its own as I dispassionately brought down my sword, channeling magical power through it and eradicating the fog-like creature with a single blow.
The darkness that surrounded me dispersed, and a trio of people rushed over to me. They were all shouting—“Kunughi” this, “Koh” that. I just stared blankly at them until a suspicious-looking, armor-clad man among them asked me, “What?”
“Who are you people?” I replied. They seemed disturbed by that question, but after spending a moment deliberating among themselves, they started to explain.
Supposedly, my name was Kunughi Koh. Two years before I lost my memories, I’d been summoned to another world and became a Hero. These people were my party—the trusty comrades who accompanied and supported me on my journey.
Among the personal effects they gave me (all of which were mine to begin with, it seemed) was an old, dirty notebook. “Kunugi Kou” was written on its cover in Japanese—that’s how I learned how my own name was spelled. None of the others could read it or write the language, but I could read it effortlessly, and figured I could probably write it as well. That made it easy to believe that I had indeed come from another world. As for why I hadn’t forgotten how to read Japanese, honestly, I didn’t really worry about it. I could still think, I could still speak, and I still had all the common knowledge that I needed to get by, so I wasn’t especially inconvenienced at all.
The notebook turned out to be my diary.
I was able to discern that the world I was in was “my” own personal hell. The kingdom I found myself in took my parents hostage, and I had no choice but to obey their every command. I was essentially tortured in the name of “getting used to pain” and learning the skills that I’d need to fight. My status as the Hero granted me a measure of divine protection that kept me from dying, and they exploited that fact by performing all sorts of experiments on me as well. The whole journal was a seemingly never-ending collection of grudges and anguish along those lines.
The only thing that kept me from running away in spite of it all was the hope that someday I’d be able to return to my former world. That world was a peaceful, blissful place, and I was dedicated to making it back with my parents in tow. Apparently, that’s why I consented to fight as a Hero. I’d written it over and over and over again, almost like I was trying to place a curse upon myself.
That would explain the “hopes and despair” that the fog-creature talked about. With my memories gone and my mind more or less empty, I could think of it all from an outsider’s perspective. Most likely, I forced myself to fixate on getting home in order to keep myself sane. It was pretty clear that I’d been maintaining that balance by a hair’s breadth, and when I encountered a foe that used those dreams and nightmares against me, I deliberately let go of them in an instant. Maybe I’d been looking for an excuse to give up on it all in the first place.
Even knowing all of that on an intellectual level, though, none of it felt real. It felt like it happened to some stranger, not me. And besides, no matter how I thought or felt about it, it wouldn’t relieve me of my duty as a Hero. If I stayed a Hero, I could probably save my so-called parents. I could return to the old world I didn’t even remember anymore. I could protect Alexion, Elena, and Brad, the companions who explained how I lost my memory.
So I fought. I fought on behalf of the kingdom that was trying to squeeze me dry. Alexion and Elena would worry about me, and Brad would occasionally look like he pitied me, but I didn’t give a damn. I was a Hero, and I had a duty to slay my enemies—in the end, that was all I had left. It’s possible that my divine protection was why that one memory remained, even while all the rest of them were wiped away.
Though I’d forgotten all about the hellish training they put me through, I retained every skill I’d learned through muscle memory. My body moved with a mind of its own, slaying my foes of its own volition. I didn’t have to think about anything else. All I had to do was swing my sword over and over.
A year later, I met a boy named Balrog. Not long after, I met his sister, Rei. Meeting them let me understand hope once more, and losing them let me understand despair.
❤ ❤ ❤ ❤ ❤
That world is long behind me. These days, I do my best to look back on it as little as possible, letting my life drip down the drain in the world I was born into. I found a boy who somehow resembled the friend I’d lost, and foisted all sorts of expectations upon him, declaring him the protagonist, and myself a supporting character. I rationalized everything around me as if we were actors on a stage, and in doing so barely managed to keep myself together as I carried out my unsightly existence.
And even though I tried, I couldn’t outrun my past. It was never long before something happened that reminded me of a simple fact:
“The crimes you’ve committed are unforgivable. You can never escape them. You will never be able to make anyone happy.”
I’m scared. I’m scared of remembering everything that happened in that other world, I’m scared of facing my past, and I’m scared of living on without remembering as well.
But a small, stupid part of me still can’t help but think that someday, I might be happy. That a day might come when I’ll be absolved of my sins and be forgiven. Foolish though they are, I can’t keep those thoughts from rising up in my mind time after time, and they’re eating away at me.
That’s why I lost it all again. I met a girl who reminded me inescapably of her, the girl who loved me in spite of everything. And, in all my selfishness, I hurt her. I sullied her.
Just let it end, dammit. Let it all come crashing down as soon as possible. Let the greedy, stupid, pathetic coward that I am be broken and done with.