Watching the ant battle in his sandy arena taught Taiko more than any textbook could. Two principles crystallized in his mind.
First: the masses act out of a collective, desperate fear of the strongest. A common, overwhelming enemy is the only thing that forces cohesion upon inferior individuals. He noticed that ants who had witnessed the "gladiator" in action fled at the mere sight of him, while those who hadn't died in their ignorance—a perfect display of survivorship bias.
Second: everything, eventually, is crushed by a higher power. To these ants, Taiko was that power—an invisible, divine force. Yet they were too lowly to even perceive his nature. They couldn't even see themselves as ants; they simply were.
— Perhaps that is the only thing that distinguishes them from humans,— he mused, casting a disdainful glance at the other children in the hospital yard.
He had observed their casual cruelties, the way they preyed on the weak. Even when they were silent, Taiko felt he could read their inner natures like an open book.
— And here they come to break my silence,— he hissed under his breath.
A group was heading his way. No matter how much he tried to blend into the shadows, they were perennially drawn to him, like moths to a flame.
— Taiko-o! Hi! I brought new friends! Want to meet them?
It was the girl who always smelled faintly of bacon. She had been pestering him since his first day. Taiko hadn't even bothered to remember her name; he had no room for useless data. Standing up from the shade, he ignored the children, his eyes drifting instead to the cars in the nearby parking lot.
— This is Yushiro, Megumi, and...
— I'm not interested,— Taiko said quietly.
— What are you, some kind of nerd?— Yushiro, a boy with spiky, unkempt hair, sneered at the book in Taiko's hands.
— Why call him a nerd just for reading?— the bacon-girl defended.
— Reading is boring,— another child chimed in.
— It's not boring! You learn big words. Like... uh... Dinosaurs!
Taiko didn't wait for the argument to conclude. He turned and slipped into the forest, hoping the dense undergrowth would swallow their voices and spare him their idiocy.
— Taiko, wait! Now look what you did, Yushiro! You offended him!
— Ow, ow, ow!— Yushiro yelped as the girl grabbed him by the ear in a vice-like grip. —Let go!
— You're going to apologize right now. Move!
Deep in the forest, the children's initial confidence began to evaporate. They didn't know it yet, but this woods would become the forge for two of the world's most dangerous villains—a catalyst of trauma and spite.
— Maybe we should go back? —Megumi whispered, trembling.
— Taiko ran so far...
— Maybe he's just tricking us, —Yushiro muttered.
A rustle in the bushes cut their conversation short.
— Waaaa!— Megumi shrieked.
— Taiko? Is that you?!
— Quiet! What if it's a wolf?
Taiko had reached the Great Tree—the one guarded by the hive at its summit. The thought of unfulfilled revenge gnawed at him. To his surprise, he wasn't as winded as he expected. The memory of the sting, the sharp, pulsating violation of his skin, fueled a malicious smile. He had a plan. A villain's plan.
He needed to climb. This tree was an outlier—taller, with bark so thick and rugged it looked like armor. His first few attempts were failures; his small hands slipped against the massive trunk. But Taiko knew that human potential, under the right pressure, could transcend the ordinary.
Climbing this ancient oak was a task far beyond his current strength. The lowest branches were tantalizingly out of reach. He realized he was holding back because he was afraid of the fall.
— Fear is a limiter,— he whispered.
He forced his muscles into a state of high tension—forearms, biceps, shoulders. He dug his fingers into the ridges of the bark, utilizing the natural, powerful grip strength inherent in children. He braced his feet against the trunk, his body stretching like a taut steel cable. Pain flared in his muscles almost instantly, a burning heat that signaled his limits.
Moving inch by agonizing inch, he finally lunged for the first sturdy branch. He swung his leg over, hauling his small frame up. He exhaled, a wave of blissful relaxation washing over him as his muscles throbbed with heat. Looking down, the height made his stomach flip. For a second, his limbs felt like cotton, and the world swayed.
He looked up. The hive hung at the tip of the highest branch, ten meters above. The route mapped itself out in his mind.
The ascent became a trance. Branch after branch. He refused to look down, knowing that a single glance at the abyss would mean failure—and failure meant death. His stamina was flagging. By the penultimate branch, the pain in his limbs felt like thorny vines wrapping around his bones.
The wasps were everywhere now, their buzzing a low-frequency warning. Taiko froze as he reached the thin edge of the branch. The wood creaked ominously beneath his weight. If he moved further, the branch would snap, sending him plunging to the forest floor.
The wasps didn't attack yet, but the fear of a repeat of that white-hot pain was paralyzing. However, the sound of the children approaching from below reached his ears. The fear of his plan failing, of all his effort going to waste, eclipsed his fear of the fall.
He looked at the hive one last time. Only then did he notice something wriggling deep within the papery structure. Something far too large, and far too rhythmic, to be a common wasp.