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No matter how well someone treated me, there are people I just can’t stand. People whose every action grated on my nerves. People I knew had nothing particularly special inside them, and yet I wanted to slice them open just to check. People whose smug mouths I wanted to rip open just so they would shut the hell up. For this reason or for that reason, or for no reason at all… people I just fucking hated.
That was how Tetsuo had always defined Kaneda.
But that wasn’t the whole truth. There were “good things,” too, and those he had forced himself to erase. Things like friendship. Kinship. Admiration. Especially that last one—admiration. Tetsuo admired Kaneda. He admired him so much it hurt. Enough to make his chest feel tight. Enough to make his stomach twist with jealousy until it boiled over into rage. Kaneda was better at everything. He hated that. He hated how Kaneda, oblivious to how it made him feel, always charged in like some stupid hero, playing the savior. He hated how Kaneda naturally stepped into the role of leader wherever they went, like it was just the way of things. He hated how Kaneda looked at him with pity, as though Tetsuo was something fragile, something broken. He hated Kaneda. I hate shotaro Kaneda. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!
In short, Tetsuo minus admiration equaled hate. If there were times he followed Kaneda without complaint, it wasn’t because of respect. It was because, deep down, there had been a scrap of affection left over—memories of the help Kaneda had given him long ago, a sense of gratitude he could never quite shake, the bond of a childhood spent side by side. And more than anything else, the simple, stubborn affection of an old friend. But none of that mattered anymore. Today was the day Tetsuo had dreamed of for years. The day he had seen over and over in his sleep. The details of the dream changed each time, but the ending never did: he always woke drenched in sweat, chest heaving, some ugly feeling crawling up his spine. He told himself it was only because those perfect moments—the joy of them—were illusions, gone with the dawn. And now, at last, the day had come for real.
The plan wasn’t even elaborate. The preparations were simple: a rag soaked with chloroform. A steel pipe, heavy enough to swing and crack bone. A long rope. A pistol, stolen, just in case. And finally… a very large suitcase. The idea was straightforward: lure Kaneda into a deserted alley. Before he had the chance to raise his guard, clamp the rag over his mouth and nose. If that failed—smash his skull with the pipe. And if, against all odds, Tetsuo himself ended up cornered? Then he would do the one thing he swore not to do: pull the trigger. Kill Kaneda outright. But that wasn’t the ending he wanted. He wouldn’t accept it.
So he called Kaneda out. And Kaneda, true to form, came without hesitation. Not a shred of suspicion. It was almost laughable—though of course, what else could Kaneda do? A friend asked him to meet, and he came. Anything else would have seemed strange. The appointed time was near. Tetsuo checked his equipment one last time and set out, the weight of the steel pipe in his hand grounding him. The cold metal felt good—solid, inevitable.
Kaneda was already waiting. Tetsuo crept up behind him, feet silent, heart hammering. Then he lunged, arm outstretched, rag pressed hard against Kaneda’s face. Kaneda froze, muffled curses spilling against the cloth, and then thrashed violently. His body bucked, elbows driving backward into Tetsuo’s gut, almost knocking the wind from him. Tetsuo staggered, nearly losing his grip, but clung on desperately, legs braced.
Kaneda was stronger than he remembered—stubbornly strong, like wrestling some wild animal. Chloroform should have been enough by now, but he refused to go down. Fists slammed into Tetsuo’s ribs, nails raked across his arms, knees pounded into him until his body screamed with pain. 'Damn it… what are you, a bear?!' He barely held on, fighting through the pain, until at last Kaneda’s body sagged in his arms, going limp.
Tetsuo gasped, lungs burning, and released him. Kaneda collapsed onto the ground like a discarded doll. Was he pretending? Tetsuo crouched, grabbed his head by the hair, and slapped his cheek once, twice. No reaction. His eyes rolled back, his mouth slack. The sight filled Tetsuo with a sudden, irrational rage. He slapped him again. And again. And again. The sound of flesh on flesh cracked through the alley.
“Fuck… fuck… fuck! Who the hell do you think you are? Acting like you’re better than me?!”
Kaneda’s face swelled, the veins in his skin bursting into bruises, blood vessels popping. Even Tetsuo couldn’t explain why he was so furious. He just knew that the rage felt bottomless, unstoppable. He wanted to keep going, to kick him until bones shattered, until nothing was left. But he couldn’t. If Kaneda woke too soon, or worse, died here before the rest was done… no. Not yet.
Grabbing Kaneda by the collar, he began to drag him. He didn’t have the strength to carry him on his back—not with the heavy bag of tools slung there already. And so he dragged him like a sack of dead weight, step after step, the body scraping along the pavement. His arms burned. His legs trembled. Sweat poured down his forehead, stinging his eyes.
At last, after what felt like an eternity, he reached the abandoned building. He let Kaneda’s body drop unceremoniously to the floor and swiped his forehead with the back of his hand, smearing sweat and grime. The bag of tools clattered down the stairwell as he tossed it aside. Its crash echoed through the hollow building. Kaneda still hadn’t moved. Still out cold. Tetsuo bent, hoisted him onto his back at last, and carried him carefully down into the basement. For a fleeting instant, the thought crossed his mind—what if Kaneda suddenly woke now? What if he wrapped his arms around my neck from behind and strangled me? The image almost made him laugh. A ridiculous fantasy. That kind of “cheap drama” didn’t happen in real life.
Down in the dark, wide basement, Tetsuo cleared aside scraps of metal, plastic, wood, and trash with his boot. Then he dumped Kaneda onto the floor and pulled out the rope. One by one, he bound his wrists and ankles, tight enough that escape would be impossible. And then… he waited.
-
The basement of the abandoned building was wide enough that even with two people inside, there was still plenty of space. Tetsuo kicked aside scraps of plastic, rusted metal, nails, and torn sheets of vinyl scattered across the floor, then laid Kaneda down. From his bag, he pulled out the rope he had prepared and bound Kaneda’s wrists and ankles tightly. Hours dragged by. Kaneda didn’t stir, and Tetsuo’s patience was beginning to fray—until finally, the chloroform seemed to wear off. Kaneda let out a dry cough and slowly came to. He looked like he was trying to push himself up, but the ropes were far too tight to ever break free. Eyes darting in confusion, he scanned the room, only to finally notice Tetsuo. The shock froze his face.
“Tetsuo?”
Kaneda’s voice held no fear. No betrayal. Tetsuo thought: what, he doesn’t realize I’m the one who dragged him here? No—that couldn’t be. He must be stalling, acting calm, maybe planning to negotiate. Or he’ll grin, pretend it’s all a joke, maybe even threaten me. Too bad for him. I’ve got no intention of talking anymore. Without answering, he picked up the steel pipe. The end scraped along the floor with an ugly screech.
“Hey, Tetsuo… this is a joke, right?”
“Does this look like a fucking joke to you?”
“Heh. Sure, whatever you say.”
Kaneda gave a short, derisive laugh and snapped his head to the side. Even now, tied up on the floor, he was still looking down on him. Tetsuo felt his head throb with rage. The disgust rose like bile in his throat, like his guts would rip themselves out if he didn’t let it out. He could kill him right now. No—he wanted to kill him.
Of course, killing Kaneda wouldn’t erase Tetsuo’s inferiority. It wouldn’t grant him Kaneda’s talent, his courage, his light. The gifts he envied so much would never become his. He knew that all too well—bitterly, painfully well. But at least Kaneda would be gone. At least he’d vanish from his sight forever. He refused to consider anything else. No “what ifs.” No positive feelings. No other paths. This was the way it was always going to be. Shima Tetsuo—I—was nothing more than a small, pathetic human being.
Kaneda spat blood onto the floor and then turned his head back toward Tetsuo.
“Couple things I wanna say.”
“Shut it. I’ve got no interest in chatting with you.”
“Didn’t ask for permission, you jerk.”
Ha! Tetsuo barked a bitter laugh. Fine. Let’s hear it. Whatever he said, he was going to die right after anyway. Tetsuo jerked his chin in a mocking invitation.
“You think this changes anything?”
Yeah. I know.
“You kill me, you’re still you. The same Tetsuo who cries at the drop of a hat, who can’t survive unless I show up to bail him out.”
I know that already.
“But something will change.”
Don’t say it.
“It’s this…”
“Shut the fuck up!”
“No one’s gonna come save you anymore. Not ever again.”
…
“One question, then. Why go this far?”
That one he could answer without hesitation.
“Because I hate you.”
You get that, Kaneda?
“I hate you. I hate you so much I can’t stand it. I hate that stupid grin you always wear like life’s just a big joke. I hate that you ride better, think faster, fight harder—every damn thing, you’re above me. I hate that you’ve got real comrades who’ll put their backs to yours. I hate how no matter what hits you, you get up again like it’s nothing. I hate how you live without shame, without fear, just as you are. I hate that no one ever looks down on you. I hate that wherever you go, you smash through obstacles and somehow end up on top. I hate that people actually admire you. I hate that you’re never tied down, that you’re always free, that you’ve got that look like you could head anywhere. I hate that you act like some savior, some hero. I hate that you treat me like I’m pitiful. I hate your pity. I hate that you come to save me. I hate everything about you. I hate that you’re the leader. I hate your bike. I hate your arrogant face. I hate your loud voice. I hate your gang. I hate Yamagata. I hate Kai. And I hate myself too. I hate it all. Kaneda, Shotaro Kaneda! I fucking hate you!!”
So you—die cursing me, knowing how damn annoying I always found you, how much I hated you until it drove me insane…
Tetsuo didn’t remember what Kaneda said after that, or what face he made. He only remembered the pipe smashing down on Kaneda’s skull, the blood splattering onto his shoes, the bones crunching under each blow. Arms and legs, joints pulverized until bones tore through flesh. The screams—familiar voice, unfamiliar words: “It hurts…” “Stop…” Too familiar, maybe. And then silence. The end of his ordeal.
…Hot.
Tetsuo looked down at the wreck of a body. Blood was pouring everywhere. He grabbed a rag and wiped it away. One wrist bent backward, barely hanging on by torn shreds of flesh. He stuffed the corpse into the suitcase. The broken bones made it easier than expected. He zipped it shut.
When he stood it upright, something inside twitched. Tetsuo snarled and kicked the suitcase. It twitched again. He kicked it harder. Again and again, until the leather tore open, until blood seeped through the zipper and dripped onto his other shoe.
When the twitching stopped—when he decided it had stopped—he finally stopped. He grabbed the handle and dragged the suitcase along. The wheels clattered against the ground. His footsteps were lighter now, though the weight was the same.
Everything was easier. Just having something to rely on was enough.
He hummed to himself. The suitcase jolted once more. But it didn’t matter anymore. Things that move will always shake eventually. And what was inside was only a corpse.
That was enough. More than enough. Perfectly enough.