Chapter 12:
Chapter 12 - Blood Money
104 Hz
Koji stood over the broken man, chest heaving, fists still trembling. His eyes locked on the photograph.
It was Yumi.
But younger—maybe fifteen. Around the same age Hana had been when she died.
Koji’s breath caught.
The photo wasn’t recent.
Why did he have this?
Koji grabbed the collar of his shirt and yanked him upright, slamming him against the wall again.“Why do you have this?!”
The man coughed, gagged, spit blood to the side.
“What the hell are you planning? How do you know her? What were you going to do to her?!”
Koji drew his fist back, ready to end it—
But a hand caught his wrist.
Firm. Unshaking.
Koji turned.
Kenji.
His eyes were calm, but serious. “Stop. That’s enough.”
“What…?” Koji blinked, stunned. “No. What are you saying?”
Kenji didn’t move.“Let him go.”
Koji’s face twisted. “Are you out of your mind? He killed Hana. You know that. You saw his face in the paper. He was the frog-masked freak!”
Kenji didn’t flinch.“He’s the reason she’s dead!” Koji shouted. “And now Yumi’s next! He had her photo, Kenji. He had it. He’s been stalking her—just like Hana. Why the hell aren’t you mad?! Why are you not doing anything?!”
“I am doing something,” Kenji said quietly.
Before Koji could react, the man moved- not to run, not to fight-He dropped to his knees. Then his hands. Forehead on the ground.His body trembled. His mouth opened in a silent scream.
Koji stepped back.". What is he doing?"
The man's fists pounded his chest weakly, smearing blood into the ground- begging without words.
YEARS AGO – THE MIME’S PAST
He didn’t move. Couldn’t.
A woman stood above him, arms crossed suitcase by her feet.“I don’t even know why I married you,” she hissed. “You’re useless. A man who can’t even talk? Can’t even pay child support? Come see your daughter when you actually contribute something.”
He lifted his head. His mouth moved—shaping words he could never speak.
The woman just scoffed. “Right. I don’t understand you. Never did.”
She grabbed the suitcase and slammed the door behind her.
“I’m taking Yumi,” she muttered. “I’m not raising her in this dump.”And then she was gone.
Silence returned.
He searched for work everywhere. Factories. Stores. Street vendors. No one hired him. Not someone who couldn’t answer questions. Not someone who couldn’t speak.
His bills piled up. Electricity was cut. Water ran dry. And with no money…He couldn’t see Yumi.
Each time he tried to visit, he was turned away.
“Pay your share,” they told him.
He tried again. And again. Until his shoes had holes and his stomach felt like knives.
A tiny store finally gave him a chance. A gruff old owner eyed him up and down.“You don’t talk?”
He shook his head.“Fine. Put this on.” The owner tossed him a cheap plastic frog mask.“You stand outside. Sell this leftover junk. Don’t answer anything, don’t explain anything. Just sell. You do that, I’ll pay you.”
He nodded.
So he wore the mask.
And stood outside.
One day, a girl passed by. Teenager. Bright eyes. A soft, hopeful smile.
Hana.
She looked at the table, picked up a cheap ring, and turned it over in her hands.“Can I buy this?” she asked.
He nodded once.
She handed him the money, and smiled. It was warm. Sincere.
For a second, the world didn’t feel so cruel. She looked just like his daughter .
She walked off, humming.
He stayed there, watching her go.
Then the job ended.
No more work. No more money.
No way to pay rent.
And just like that—he was homeless.
Now he lived beneath a bridge, sleeping on cardboard. Eating from dented cans. Forgotten by the world.
That night, the rain fell hard. A downpour like a waterfall.
He sat hunched, trying to open a can with a rusty knife.
Then—
Footsteps.
A young woman darted under the bridge, shielding herself from the rain.
It was Hana.
She didn’t notice him at first. Then she did—and nodded politely.
He nodded back.
They sat apart. Silent. Waiting out the rain.
Then he saw it.
Her purse.
Heavy. Stuffed with bills. She was from a rich family after all.
He stared.
That money…
It was enough.
Enough to pay what he owed. Enough to see Yumi again. Enough to finally hold his daughter.
He hesitated.
But desperation screamed louder than his conscience.
He gripped the knife. Slipped closer.
One hand over her mouth.
The other with the blade near her neck.
Just scare her. Just take the purse. No one gets hurt.
But Hana fought back—harder than he expected.
She screamed against his hand.
He panicked and yanked her back.
His grip slipped.
The knife—
It sank in.
Right into her throat.
She gurgled. Twitched. Her hands scrambled to push him away.
Then stopped.
She collapsed.
The blood soaked her dress. The ground. His hands.
His heart stopped.“No…”
He looked down at the knife, still in his grip.
Then at Hana on the ground suffocating.
His breath hitched. His vision blurred.
He didn’t mean to.
He just wanted to see his daughter again.
He grabbed the purse.
And ran.
Into the rain.
Into the rest of his ruined life.
The rain had stopped after sometime.
But the man didn’t move.
He crouched in the alleyway, soaked, his hands trembling. Blood smeared across his shirt. The purse clutched to his chest.
Blood money.
He didn’t even know where he was going. He just needed to run. To hide.
But before he could move—“Hey!”
Two officers spotted him from across the street, their flashlights cutting through the mist. They approached, slow and cautious.
“Sir. What are you doing there?” one asked, eyes narrowing. “Why are you covered in blood?”
The man didn’t respond. Couldn’t.
Then—a crackle from their radio.“Dispatch to all units: we have a report of a dead teenage girl under a Bridge. Purse stolen. Suspect believed to be male, early 30s, medium build. Arrest on sight.”
The officers looked at each other.
Then at him.
Their hands went to their holsters.“On the ground. Now.”
He didn’t resist.
Couldn’t.
They tackled him. Slammed him into the pavement. Cuffed him while he sobbed silently, unable to scream, unable to explain.
Blood on his face. A photo in his pocket.
And a purse that didn’t belong to him.
SCENE: COURTROOM – MONTHS LATER
The judge looked down on him coldly.
“Ten years,” she said. “For manslaughter and robbery.”
He blinked, eyes wide, trying to protest with gestures—but no one listened.
Not now.
He served seven years.
When he got out, the world had moved on.
But he hadn’t.
The first thing he did was try to find his daughter.
Yumi.
After days of searching, he found out:
His ex-wife was dead.
And Yumi? She was alone now.
No family. Just scraping by.
He wanted to be there.
Wanted to tell her everything.
But what good would that do?
He had nothing to offer. No job. No home. Just a criminal record and broken bones.
He’d only bring her shame.
So instead—he watched from afar.
Every day for a year, he stood at the convenience store, waiting.Watching her grow up.
He tipped her extra each time.
Silent. Distant.
Just enough to make sure she had something to eat. Just enough to keep her going.
She never knew who he was.
To her, he was just another creep.
**SCENE- PRESENT**
The alley was dead silent.
The man still lay flat on the floor, arms outstretched, face wet with blood and tears.
Koji and Kenji stood over him.
Neither spoke.
Until Kenji said, softly, “I found him. Right after he got out of prison.”
Koji looked at him filled with rage in his eyes.
Kenji’s voice was hollow. “At first, I wanted to do exactly what you did. Beat him senseless. Maybe worse. But then I found out the truth.”
He looked at Koji, dead in the eye.
“I couldn’t hate him anymore. Even though I wanted to.”
Koji’s voice cracked. “He killed Hana.”
“I know.”
“Then why?” Koji stepped forward. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?! Why’d you try to stop me from finding him?!”
Kenji didn’t answer.
Koji’s hands shook.
Then his eyes widened. He looked between Kenji and the man still bowing on the floor.“…You knew.”
Kenji didn’t move.“You knew, didn’t you?” Koji’s voice rose. “You knew he was Yumi’s father.”
Kenji didn’t respond.“Kenji!” Koji yelled. “Answer me!”
Kenji’s voice suddenly rose, cracking through the silence like a whip.“Because I knew what a suffering father looked like!”
Koji flinched.
“I knew what he did to Hana was unforgivable. I’m not saying it wasn’t. But guess what—if I’d just pedaled faster that day... if that goddamn rain didn’t start pouring, she wouldn’t have even been under that bridge.”
His fists clenched. His voice shook.“You think I don’t live with that guilt? Every single day?”
Koji looked down, throat tight. “It wasn’t your fault but he.”
But Kenji cut him off.
“No. You don’t get it. That man… yeah, he was desperate. He wanted money to see his daughter again. And something to eat. But things spiraled, and he panicked. We can’t change what happened. Not even if we want to. You think Hana would want to see you in the state you are in right now. You think this is what she wants.”
Koji was silent for a long moment. Then softly, “Yumi…”
He turned to Kenji. “You tried to get me and Yumi together. Was that on purpose?”
Kenji snapped. “Don’t say that. It got nothing to do with him being Yumi's father.”
His voice cracked again—angrier this time, but more wounded than anything else.
“I just thought you two could understand each other. You both carry the same kind of scars. That’s all. Don’t twist it.”
Koji took a deep breath.“…I get it.”
He looked down at the man still lying there in the alley. He still couldn’t bring himself to forgive. His jaw was clenched. His fingers curled.
But he couldn’t do it.
Not anymore.
His voice was low, almost broken. “Just… get out of here.”
Kenji blinked. “You’re letting him go?”
“I was going to kill him,” Koji admitted. “I really was.”
He looked at the photo again.
“But he’s Yumi’s father. Her whole life, she’s felt like she had no one… but she does. And I’m not going to be the one who takes that away from her.”
Behind them in the corner some one heard the whole thing.
Yumi.
Her hand covered her mouth.
Tears streaming silently.
She had followed them. Heard everything.
And now, trembling, she turned and walked away into the dark.
Koji and Kenji walked side by side under the pale glow of streetlamps, the night quiet except for their footsteps echoing off the empty sidewalks.
Koji finally broke the silence.“…I’m sorry. I didn’t know you carried guilt over Hana all this time.”
Kenji didn’t look at him. Just kept walking.“You said it yourself,” he muttered. “We’re all guilty of something.”
Koji nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat.
Then Kenji glanced over. "Koji listen… I need a favor.”
Koji blinked. “What is it?”
Kenji slowed slightly. His voice was low.
“Don’t tell Yumi about her father.”
Koji frowned. “Why not?”
Kenji sighed. “You saw the state he’s in. That man can’t even keep himself alive. If Yumi finds out… of course she’ll try to help his father. That’s just who she is. But she can’t even take care of herself right now. She’d only suffer more.”
He paused, then added, “It’s better she doesn’t know. Just trust me on this.”
Koji hesitated.“…Alright,” he said finally. “I won’t. Don’t worry.”
The guilt from all these years still sat on his chest. But now, something in him felt a little lighter.
Not healed. But quieter.
They reached Koji’s apartment. The dim hallway light flickered above them. Kenji dropped the last of Koji's moving boxes by the door.
Koji glanced at the door to Yumi’s room, still slightly ajar.
He didn’t say anything.
Just walked to his own room.
Kenji didn’t follow. He just gave a small nod, turned, and walked off into the night—carrying the last of the boxes back to Koji's home to drop the box.
After sometime, across town, Kenji stepped into Koji's place, arms full with the last of the moving boxes. He dropped them with a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping.
He sat down.
Then he saw it.
Sitting on the table.
Slightly opened. Unmoving.
The letter.
Hana’s letter.
He stared at it for a long time.
He didn’t want to read it.
He really didn’t.
But the guilt—the weight of it—was too much. It clawed at his ribs, twisted his stomach.
He reached out.
Tore it open.
The envelope fell to the floor.
His eyes scanned the words.
And then—his expression changed.
From weariness to disbelief.
From disbelief to cold, rising fury.
His hands clenched the paper, knuckles whitening.
He stood up suddenly—chair scraping across the floor.
Then he bolted.
Out the door.
Running.
Not toward home.
Toward Koji.
It was Yumi.
But younger—maybe fifteen. Around the same age Hana had been when she died.
Koji’s breath caught.
The photo wasn’t recent.
Why did he have this?
Koji grabbed the collar of his shirt and yanked him upright, slamming him against the wall again.“Why do you have this?!”
The man coughed, gagged, spit blood to the side.
“What the hell are you planning? How do you know her? What were you going to do to her?!”
Koji drew his fist back, ready to end it—
But a hand caught his wrist.
Firm. Unshaking.
Koji turned.
Kenji.
His eyes were calm, but serious. “Stop. That’s enough.”
“What…?” Koji blinked, stunned. “No. What are you saying?”
Kenji didn’t move.“Let him go.”
Koji’s face twisted. “Are you out of your mind? He killed Hana. You know that. You saw his face in the paper. He was the frog-masked freak!”
Kenji didn’t flinch.“He’s the reason she’s dead!” Koji shouted. “And now Yumi’s next! He had her photo, Kenji. He had it. He’s been stalking her—just like Hana. Why the hell aren’t you mad?! Why are you not doing anything?!”
“I am doing something,” Kenji said quietly.
Before Koji could react, the man moved- not to run, not to fight-He dropped to his knees. Then his hands. Forehead on the ground.His body trembled. His mouth opened in a silent scream.
Koji stepped back.". What is he doing?"
The man's fists pounded his chest weakly, smearing blood into the ground- begging without words.
YEARS AGO – THE MIME’S PAST
He didn’t move. Couldn’t.
A woman stood above him, arms crossed suitcase by her feet.“I don’t even know why I married you,” she hissed. “You’re useless. A man who can’t even talk? Can’t even pay child support? Come see your daughter when you actually contribute something.”
He lifted his head. His mouth moved—shaping words he could never speak.
The woman just scoffed. “Right. I don’t understand you. Never did.”
She grabbed the suitcase and slammed the door behind her.
“I’m taking Yumi,” she muttered. “I’m not raising her in this dump.”And then she was gone.
Silence returned.
He searched for work everywhere. Factories. Stores. Street vendors. No one hired him. Not someone who couldn’t answer questions. Not someone who couldn’t speak.
His bills piled up. Electricity was cut. Water ran dry. And with no money…He couldn’t see Yumi.
Each time he tried to visit, he was turned away.
“Pay your share,” they told him.
He tried again. And again. Until his shoes had holes and his stomach felt like knives.
A tiny store finally gave him a chance. A gruff old owner eyed him up and down.“You don’t talk?”
He shook his head.“Fine. Put this on.” The owner tossed him a cheap plastic frog mask.“You stand outside. Sell this leftover junk. Don’t answer anything, don’t explain anything. Just sell. You do that, I’ll pay you.”
He nodded.
So he wore the mask.
And stood outside.
One day, a girl passed by. Teenager. Bright eyes. A soft, hopeful smile.
Hana.
She looked at the table, picked up a cheap ring, and turned it over in her hands.“Can I buy this?” she asked.
He nodded once.
She handed him the money, and smiled. It was warm. Sincere.
For a second, the world didn’t feel so cruel. She looked just like his daughter .
She walked off, humming.
He stayed there, watching her go.
Then the job ended.
No more work. No more money.
No way to pay rent.
And just like that—he was homeless.
Now he lived beneath a bridge, sleeping on cardboard. Eating from dented cans. Forgotten by the world.
That night, the rain fell hard. A downpour like a waterfall.
He sat hunched, trying to open a can with a rusty knife.
Then—
Footsteps.
A young woman darted under the bridge, shielding herself from the rain.
It was Hana.
She didn’t notice him at first. Then she did—and nodded politely.
He nodded back.
They sat apart. Silent. Waiting out the rain.
Then he saw it.
Her purse.
Heavy. Stuffed with bills. She was from a rich family after all.
He stared.
That money…
It was enough.
Enough to pay what he owed. Enough to see Yumi again. Enough to finally hold his daughter.
He hesitated.
But desperation screamed louder than his conscience.
He gripped the knife. Slipped closer.
One hand over her mouth.
The other with the blade near her neck.
Just scare her. Just take the purse. No one gets hurt.
But Hana fought back—harder than he expected.
She screamed against his hand.
He panicked and yanked her back.
His grip slipped.
The knife—
It sank in.
Right into her throat.
She gurgled. Twitched. Her hands scrambled to push him away.
Then stopped.
She collapsed.
The blood soaked her dress. The ground. His hands.
His heart stopped.“No…”
He looked down at the knife, still in his grip.
Then at Hana on the ground suffocating.
His breath hitched. His vision blurred.
He didn’t mean to.
He just wanted to see his daughter again.
He grabbed the purse.
And ran.
Into the rain.
Into the rest of his ruined life.
The rain had stopped after sometime.
But the man didn’t move.
He crouched in the alleyway, soaked, his hands trembling. Blood smeared across his shirt. The purse clutched to his chest.
Blood money.
He didn’t even know where he was going. He just needed to run. To hide.
But before he could move—“Hey!”
Two officers spotted him from across the street, their flashlights cutting through the mist. They approached, slow and cautious.
“Sir. What are you doing there?” one asked, eyes narrowing. “Why are you covered in blood?”
The man didn’t respond. Couldn’t.
Then—a crackle from their radio.“Dispatch to all units: we have a report of a dead teenage girl under a Bridge. Purse stolen. Suspect believed to be male, early 30s, medium build. Arrest on sight.”
The officers looked at each other.
Then at him.
Their hands went to their holsters.“On the ground. Now.”
He didn’t resist.
Couldn’t.
They tackled him. Slammed him into the pavement. Cuffed him while he sobbed silently, unable to scream, unable to explain.
Blood on his face. A photo in his pocket.
And a purse that didn’t belong to him.
SCENE: COURTROOM – MONTHS LATER
The judge looked down on him coldly.
“Ten years,” she said. “For manslaughter and robbery.”
He blinked, eyes wide, trying to protest with gestures—but no one listened.
Not now.
He served seven years.
When he got out, the world had moved on.
But he hadn’t.
The first thing he did was try to find his daughter.
Yumi.
After days of searching, he found out:
His ex-wife was dead.
And Yumi? She was alone now.
No family. Just scraping by.
He wanted to be there.
Wanted to tell her everything.
But what good would that do?
He had nothing to offer. No job. No home. Just a criminal record and broken bones.
He’d only bring her shame.
So instead—he watched from afar.
Every day for a year, he stood at the convenience store, waiting.Watching her grow up.
He tipped her extra each time.
Silent. Distant.
Just enough to make sure she had something to eat. Just enough to keep her going.
She never knew who he was.
To her, he was just another creep.
**SCENE- PRESENT**
The alley was dead silent.
The man still lay flat on the floor, arms outstretched, face wet with blood and tears.
Koji and Kenji stood over him.
Neither spoke.
Until Kenji said, softly, “I found him. Right after he got out of prison.”
Koji looked at him filled with rage in his eyes.
Kenji’s voice was hollow. “At first, I wanted to do exactly what you did. Beat him senseless. Maybe worse. But then I found out the truth.”
He looked at Koji, dead in the eye.
“I couldn’t hate him anymore. Even though I wanted to.”
Koji’s voice cracked. “He killed Hana.”
“I know.”
“Then why?” Koji stepped forward. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?! Why’d you try to stop me from finding him?!”
Kenji didn’t answer.
Koji’s hands shook.
Then his eyes widened. He looked between Kenji and the man still bowing on the floor.“…You knew.”
Kenji didn’t move.“You knew, didn’t you?” Koji’s voice rose. “You knew he was Yumi’s father.”
Kenji didn’t respond.“Kenji!” Koji yelled. “Answer me!”
Kenji’s voice suddenly rose, cracking through the silence like a whip.“Because I knew what a suffering father looked like!”
Koji flinched.
“I knew what he did to Hana was unforgivable. I’m not saying it wasn’t. But guess what—if I’d just pedaled faster that day... if that goddamn rain didn’t start pouring, she wouldn’t have even been under that bridge.”
His fists clenched. His voice shook.“You think I don’t live with that guilt? Every single day?”
Koji looked down, throat tight. “It wasn’t your fault but he.”
But Kenji cut him off.
“No. You don’t get it. That man… yeah, he was desperate. He wanted money to see his daughter again. And something to eat. But things spiraled, and he panicked. We can’t change what happened. Not even if we want to. You think Hana would want to see you in the state you are in right now. You think this is what she wants.”
Koji was silent for a long moment. Then softly, “Yumi…”
He turned to Kenji. “You tried to get me and Yumi together. Was that on purpose?”
Kenji snapped. “Don’t say that. It got nothing to do with him being Yumi's father.”
His voice cracked again—angrier this time, but more wounded than anything else.
“I just thought you two could understand each other. You both carry the same kind of scars. That’s all. Don’t twist it.”
Koji took a deep breath.“…I get it.”
He looked down at the man still lying there in the alley. He still couldn’t bring himself to forgive. His jaw was clenched. His fingers curled.
But he couldn’t do it.
Not anymore.
His voice was low, almost broken. “Just… get out of here.”
Kenji blinked. “You’re letting him go?”
“I was going to kill him,” Koji admitted. “I really was.”
He looked at the photo again.
“But he’s Yumi’s father. Her whole life, she’s felt like she had no one… but she does. And I’m not going to be the one who takes that away from her.”
Behind them in the corner some one heard the whole thing.
Yumi.
Her hand covered her mouth.
Tears streaming silently.
She had followed them. Heard everything.
And now, trembling, she turned and walked away into the dark.
Koji and Kenji walked side by side under the pale glow of streetlamps, the night quiet except for their footsteps echoing off the empty sidewalks.
Koji finally broke the silence.“…I’m sorry. I didn’t know you carried guilt over Hana all this time.”
Kenji didn’t look at him. Just kept walking.“You said it yourself,” he muttered. “We’re all guilty of something.”
Koji nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat.
Then Kenji glanced over. "Koji listen… I need a favor.”
Koji blinked. “What is it?”
Kenji slowed slightly. His voice was low.
“Don’t tell Yumi about her father.”
Koji frowned. “Why not?”
Kenji sighed. “You saw the state he’s in. That man can’t even keep himself alive. If Yumi finds out… of course she’ll try to help his father. That’s just who she is. But she can’t even take care of herself right now. She’d only suffer more.”
He paused, then added, “It’s better she doesn’t know. Just trust me on this.”
Koji hesitated.“…Alright,” he said finally. “I won’t. Don’t worry.”
The guilt from all these years still sat on his chest. But now, something in him felt a little lighter.
Not healed. But quieter.
They reached Koji’s apartment. The dim hallway light flickered above them. Kenji dropped the last of Koji's moving boxes by the door.
Koji glanced at the door to Yumi’s room, still slightly ajar.
He didn’t say anything.
Just walked to his own room.
Kenji didn’t follow. He just gave a small nod, turned, and walked off into the night—carrying the last of the boxes back to Koji's home to drop the box.
After sometime, across town, Kenji stepped into Koji's place, arms full with the last of the moving boxes. He dropped them with a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping.
He sat down.
Then he saw it.
Sitting on the table.
Slightly opened. Unmoving.
The letter.
Hana’s letter.
He stared at it for a long time.
He didn’t want to read it.
He really didn’t.
But the guilt—the weight of it—was too much. It clawed at his ribs, twisted his stomach.
He reached out.
Tore it open.
The envelope fell to the floor.
His eyes scanned the words.
And then—his expression changed.
From weariness to disbelief.
From disbelief to cold, rising fury.
His hands clenched the paper, knuckles whitening.
He stood up suddenly—chair scraping across the floor.
Then he bolted.
Out the door.
Running.
Not toward home.
Toward Koji.
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