Volume 0
The Innate Puppeteer
Chapter 3: The Monster That Should Have Been Buried
By that point, my associate and I had already finished examining the journals left behind by the Grey Triad.
The records answered some questions.
Unfortunately, they created even more.
The next logical step was obvious.
If we wanted to understand how the first domino became a chain reaction, we needed to understand the man who inherited Eiji Fushimiya's ideals.
And so, after some effort, I arranged a meeting with Taro Fushimiya.
I would have preferred not to.
There are certain people whose names are attached to too many disasters.
Taro was one of them.
I asked my associate to leave us alone.
Reluctantly, he agreed.
Once we were alone, I asked Taro a simple question.
"How did it begin?"
For several moments he remained silent.
Then he finally answered.
And so this story was told to me.
---
It was the year 2004.
Taro Fushimiya was sixteen years old.
He was sitting in the passenger seat of his father's car as they drove home from a funeral.
The funeral of Eiji Fushimiya.
The founder of an idea.
The creator of a question.
A question that should have remained unanswered.
Rain lightly tapped against the windows.
Neither father nor son spoke for several minutes.
Eventually Taro broke the silence.
"Do you think Grandma will be okay?"
His father kept his eyes on the road.
"People grieve differently."
Taro looked out the window.
"She didn't say a single word."
"No."
"Not even once."
His father nodded.
"Your grandfather is gone, but I think his ideals survived."
Taro looked down.
For as long as he could remember, Eiji's dream had fascinated him.
A dream most people would have called impossible.
Or dangerous.
"Do you think Grandpa was right?"
His father glanced at him briefly.
"About what?"
"About changing humanity."
The older man thought for a moment.
Then nodded.
"I think he genuinely believed he was helping people."
Taro fell silent.
A few moments later another question entered his mind.
"Who were those two men at the funeral?"
His father raised an eyebrow.
"The ones speaking with Grandma."
"Oh."
His father immediately understood.
"I've only seen them once or twice."
"You know them?"
"I know enough."
Taro waited.
"One was Chimpei."
Taro recognized the name immediately.
His grandfather had spoken about Chimpei countless times.
Sometimes as a rival.
Sometimes as a brother.
Often as both.
"And the other?"
His father hesitated.
"The other was Kyou."
Taro frowned.
The name sounded vaguely familiar.
His father continued.
"Though your grandfather usually called him something else."
"What?"
For a moment his father seemed ready to answer.
Then—
A massive explosion shook the street.
The conversation ended instantly.
Both of them looked forward.
A car had erupted into flames.
People screamed.
Several vehicles swerved.
Taro's eyes widened.
Then he heard someone shout.
"There's still a child inside!"
The words reached him before reason did.
The moment he heard them, he opened the car door.
His father shouted after him.
"TARO!"
But he was already running.
The vehicle was nearly engulfed.
Heat blasted against his face.
The metal groaned.
The windows had shattered.
Inside—
A boy.
Taro forced the door open.
Grabbed him.
Pulled him out.
And ran.
Behind him his father screamed.
"RUN! IT'S GOING TO—"
The explosion swallowed the rest.
Fire erupted behind them.
The shockwave nearly knocked him off his feet.
When the smoke cleared, the car was destroyed.
Everyone else inside was dead.
Everyone except the boy.
Little did Taro realize that the child he had just saved would one day alter countless lives.
Including his own.
---
Several weeks later.
The boy had been placed in an orphanage.
Most people would have forgotten the incident.
Taro didn't.
Something about it bothered him.
The explosion felt wrong.
Too precise.
Too deliberate.
Through favors and persistence, he eventually gained access to what remained of the vehicle.
He spent days studying it.
Searching.
Analyzing.
Looking for anything unusual.
Eventually he found it.
Small fingerprints.
Far too small to belong to an adult.
Taro stared at them.
The pieces slowly began connecting.
His father entered the room.
"Find anything?"
Taro didn't answer immediately.
Instead he asked a question.
"How old was the boy?"
His father looked surprised.
"The survivor?"
"Yes."
"Ten."
Taro stood.
"And his name?"
"Toshiro."
Taro grabbed his coat.
His father frowned.
"Where are you going?"
"To the orphanage."
---
The moment he arrived, something felt wrong.
Staff members were rushing through hallways.
Several looked panicked.
Taro approached the front desk.
"I'm looking for a boy named Toshiro."
The receptionist stared at him.
"You know him?"
"Where is he?"
The woman hesitated.
Then answered.
"He escaped."
Taro froze.
"What?"
"He disappeared this morning."
For a moment he simply stood there.
Then he turned and ran.
He didn't know why.
Not exactly.
Only that instinct was pulling him somewhere.
The same instinct that had sent him toward the burning car.
Eventually he arrived at a tall building overlooking the city.
Without hesitation he climbed to the roof.
And there—
He found him.
Toshiro stood on the railing.
One step away from death.
The wind howled around him.
Yet the boy remained perfectly calm.
As if he were standing on solid ground.
"TOSHIRO!"
The boy turned.
No fear.
No surprise.
Nothing.
Only curiosity.
In one hand he held a blindfold.
He tossed it toward Taro.
"Let's play a game."
Taro caught it.
"...What?"
"Marco Polo."
The answer was so absurd that Taro almost laughed.
Toshiro continued.
"I'll stand here."
The boy gestured toward the railing.
"You follow my voice."
Taro stared at him.
Any normal child would have been terrified.
This one looked bored.
Then something unexpected happened.
Taro smiled.
Not because he found the situation funny.
But because he had finally found something interesting.
"Fine."
Taro stepped onto the railing.
"Let's play."
Toshiro placed the blindfold over his eyes.
"Marco."
Taro stepped forward.
"Polo."
The game continued.
One step.
Another.
Then another.
Until suddenly—
Toshiro slipped.
For the first time his balance broke.
His body tilted backwards.
Gravity took hold.
And before he could fall—
Taro grabbed him.
Toshiro blinked.
Confused.
The boy looked at him.
"You cheated."
Taro laughed quietly.
"No."
He pulled him back onto the roof.
"There's no such thing as cheating in a dirty world."
The two sat in silence.
Then Taro finally asked the question that had brought him there.
"You sabotaged the car, didn't you?"
Toshiro's expression didn't change.
Not even slightly.
"Why does it matter?"
"Answer me."
The boy looked toward the skyline.
For a while he said nothing.
Then—
"What would change if I did?"
Taro studied him carefully.
Most people would have seen a disturbed child.
A monster.
A victim.
A criminal.
Taro saw something else.
Potential.
The same thing Eiji had spent his entire life searching for.
"What did you gain from it?"
Toshiro's answer came immediately.
"Nothing."
For the first time, Taro believed him.
And somehow that answer disturbed him more than any lie could have.
Because if Toshiro truly gained nothing...
Then he had done it for a reason far darker than revenge.
Taro turned away.
His thoughts racing.
Maybe this boy was dangerous.
Maybe he was broken.
Maybe he should have been left buried beneath the wreckage of that car.
Instead—
Taro found himself wondering something else entirely.
What could someone like this become?
And more importantly—
Could he be useful?
That was the moment Taro Fushimiya made his first mistake.
And history would spend decades paying for it.
---
Volume 0
The Innate Puppeteer
Chapter 4: The Deterministic Liberator and the Nihilistic Monster
The story should have ended there.
At least, that is what I thought.
A boy was saved.
A tragedy occurred.
The responsible party was discovered.
Most stories would have stopped there.
This one didn't.
Taro fell silent.
For a while neither of us spoke.
Then he looked at me and said,
"You know, I never took you for the type to investigate old history."
I remained quiet.
He continued.
"People usually only care about the future."
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"So what changed?"
I thought about the question.
Or perhaps I thought about the people who had forced me to ask it.
Eventually I answered.
"Perspective."
Taro laughed.
A small laugh.
The kind that carried more curiosity than amusement.
"Perspective?"
"Some important people showed me that there are more ways to view the world than I originally believed."
Taro smirked.
"So you've become a humanist."
The attempt was obvious.
Even now he was trying to provoke a reaction.
Trying to see whether I would defend myself.
Trying to see whether I had changed.
Unfortunately for him, my expression rarely changes.
"No."
The answer came immediately.
"If anything, people like you enlightened me."
That seemed to surprise him.
I continued.
"Responsibility."
I almost laughed at the word.
"It always comes back to responsibility."
Taro said nothing.
"So now I know what mine is."
The room fell silent.
I stood.
"If that's all, I'll leave."
Taro's grin widened.
"No."
He leaned back slightly.
"You came here for answers."
His gaze sharpened.
"So I'll finish the story."
And so he continued.
---
According to Taro, the rooftop conversation lasted much longer than either of them expected.
The wind howled around them.
The city stretched endlessly beneath their feet.
Neither seemed interested in leaving.
Taro looked toward the skyline and asked,
"What do you think of Japan?"
Toshiro looked unimpressed.
"What about it?"
"The country."
"The people."
"The future."
Toshiro shrugged.
"It doesn't matter."
His answer was immediate.
"Humanity destroys itself eventually."
Taro studied him.
"And if it doesn't?"
Toshiro's expression remained unreadable.
"It will."
The confidence behind those words was unsettling.
Not because he sounded angry.
Not because he sounded emotional.
But because he sounded certain.
"As long as humans exist, they'll eventually destroy everything they build."
Taro crossed his arms.
"What if we could stop that?"
Toshiro actually looked at him then.
For the first time.
Not as someone speaking.
But as someone worth examining.
"Impossible."
"Why?"
"Because humanity is the problem."
The answer came without hesitation.
"If you want to stop humanity from destroying itself, you'd have to destroy humanity."
Silence followed.
Taro wasn't offended.
If anything, he seemed fascinated.
Toshiro noticed.
The boy tilted his head.
Something about Taro confused him.
Most people would've dismissed him.
Most people would've called him insane.
Taro was listening.
Genuinely listening.
"Why?"
Toshiro finally asked.
Taro raised an eyebrow.
"Why what?"
"Why are you so obsessed with fixing people?"
The question lingered in the air.
For several moments Taro simply stared at the city.
Then he answered.
"Because freedom doesn't exist."
Toshiro remained silent.
Taro continued.
"People call it freedom."
"They celebrate it."
"They worship it."
"But it's nothing more than a comfortable illusion."
His voice grew firmer.
"Everyone is controlled by something."
"Money."
"Status."
"Fear."
"Comfort."
"Expectations."
"It doesn't matter what form it takes."
"They call it choice."
"I call it a cage."
The wind pushed against them.
Neither moved.
Taro's eyes remained fixed on the horizon.
"People are born."
"They follow a script."
"They grow up."
"They work."
"They fall in love."
"They grow old."
"They die."
"A few years later nobody remembers them."
For the first time, genuine frustration entered his voice.
"And somehow we're supposed to accept that."
Toshiro watched him carefully.
Taro wasn't speaking like a politician.
Or a revolutionary.
He sounded offended.
As though reality itself had insulted him.
"So I'm going to destroy that script."
Taro looked directly at him.
"And create something better."
Toshiro stared at him.
Most people would've laughed.
He didn't.
Because Taro genuinely believed it.
"What do I gain?"
The question was simple.
Taro's answer was equally simple.
"Possibility."
Toshiro remained unconvinced.
"What if we fail?"
Taro smiled.
Not confidently.
Not arrogantly.
Just honestly.
"Then we fail."
The answer surprised Toshiro.
Taro continued.
"If humanity destroys itself anyway, then at least I can die knowing I tried."
For the first time that day, Toshiro looked uncertain.
Only for a moment.
But Taro noticed.
And so did I.
Because that uncertainty was important.
It was the first crack.
The first sign that someone had finally given the boy something he lacked.
Not affection.
Not pity.
Purpose.
Taro looked at him and asked,
"What's your full name?"
The boy was quiet for several seconds.
Then he answered.
"Toshiro."
A pause.
"Toshiro Sobu."
And that was how it began.
Not with a conspiracy.
Not with an organization.
Not with an experiment.
But with a conversation.
One believed humanity could be liberated from its chains.
The other believed humanity was beyond saving.
One chased possibility.
The other accepted meaninglessness.
The deterministic liberator.
And the nihilistic monster.
History would remember both.
For all the wrong reasons....