The farther Seiji ran, the harder it poured.
He ran this way and that down narrow alleys, searching for the dogs that had turned into sunekosuri and the guy they were chasing. From overhead, he would have looked like a rat in a maze.
He managed to run at full speed only at the beginning, then he promptly got winded. His vision rocked with every step he took. His strength was so tapped out that his knees had gone watery.
He ran and ran, but the next thing he knew, he was basically just walking. Somewhere in there, his breath had turned white. There was sleet mingled with the rain, and he felt like he might freeze to death on his feet.
He started to suspect it might all be pointless. It had been presumptuous of him to try to affect somebody else’s life in the first place.
He couldn’t do a thing, but there was no need to. Trying to save someone was out of the question. That was how he’d lived all this time.
“But…,” Seiji muttered. He shook his head like a dog, clearing off the rain. Shiroshi would stop them for sure.
The moment he thought that, Odoro’s sharp remark echoed in his ears.
“You two are most definitely the heretics here.”
He was probably right. Still, Shiroshi wasn’t wrong, either. Odoro weighed the gravity of the crime, then handed down a suitable punishment. In contrast, Shiroshi tried to understand the person who’d committed the crime.
The sinner and the one sinned against.
Both were human. Hopelessly human, as far as Shiroshi was concerned.
They were wounded, deceived, and harmed.
They also inflicted wounds, deceived others, and did harm.
As victims, they prayed that criminals would be punished.
As criminals, they hoped for a chance to atone.
That was how humans were.
What if someone killed me?
What if I killed someone else?
Whichever way that balance tilted, that was the judgment Shiroshi handed down.
In that moment, something occurred to Seiji. He almost wished it hadn’t.
You know, I’m not actually sure Shiroshi is cut out to be the Demon King.
Come to think of it… No, he didn’t even need to think about it.
Shiroshi knew people too well.
Even if he managed to win the throne…wouldn’t the only thing waiting for him there be unimaginable loneliness? He’d be the only one with a human heart, surrounded by supernatural attendants.
All alone.
Maybe that was why Shiroshi was so half-hearted about judging sinners: because he didn’t want to live like that.
Even if it was the one and only way to win his freedom.
Does that mean Shiroshi doesn’t know how he should live, either?
Abruptly, Seiji heard a siren. A streak of red lanced across his vision, and then a red-and-white vehicle turned the corner.
An ambulance.
A chill ran down Seiji’s spine, and his blood froze. His legs threatened to start shaking, but he kept them under control and walked around the corner, a little unsteadily.
The siren had already been turned off, but its red light was still flashing. A crowd of rubberneckers with umbrellas had gathered around the ambulance.
Someone on a stretcher was being loaded into the back.
An arm hung limply over the side, so incredibly pale that the sight burned itself onto Seiji’s retinas. It could have belonged to a bloodless corpse.
No, don’t tell me…
Staggering, Seiji went closer. Then he noticed a big pit in the road up ahead—a construction site.
He also saw the puddle of blood at the bottom of the pit and a sneaker with a hole in its heel. It had probably fallen off when they were lifting the guy out.
Oh, I see. So he died.
The air seemed too thin, and the strength went out of Seiji’s legs. He felt as if he might tumble into that hole, and his feet clung to the pavement as if they’d grown roots. He couldn’t move.
A sense of futility washed over him, and Seiji found himself repeating one phrase, over and over.
I was too late.
I was too late again.