Prologue: A Gift

Every time he leaves this place, he is hit with two very distinct feelings. First, a tinge of disappointment that he simply walked out without giving any proper goodbyes. Second, relief. Relief that he is no longer being stared at with all those eyes.

Despite working here for the past year, it is still difficult for him to shake the unease of all those needy customers. One after another, they pile on in, badgering him with inconvenient questions that he can’t even provide an answer to sometimes. Even when he can, they get angry as if he told them a lie. What’s up with that?

The man heaves out a loud groan.

And no matter how long I end up working here, the exhaustion will never get easier. Doesn’t help that I still need to bike home.

Behind him, the jingle of the store's entrance rings out as two people exit.

Ah crap, have I just been standing out here the entire time? Looking over his shoulder, he can see the bright interior of the store through the outside windows.

With his possible embarrassment in mind, he takes his leave. The man may have skipped out on getting his driver's license, but as luck would have it, he landed a job not too far away from his home. To him, it was a sweet deal as it helps keep costs low. No gas payments are taking a sliver of his pay.

As he continues to ride down the road, he feels the hot air pelt his body. Though he could appreciate air conditioning on these summer evenings.

The sound of a beautiful voice rings out into the air, and his phone vibrates in his pocket. Hurriedly coming to a stop, he quickly fishes out his phone and answers the call. Before the man even got out the first word, a strong gust of wind brushes against his body, as a truck speeds right by. There, he remains still atop his bike seat, gazing at the massive vehicle barreling down the road.

Mindlessly, the man speaks, “Hah, missed me.”

“What?”

The woman’s voice had come from the device in his hand. Remembering what he was doing moments ago, he raised the phone to his ear.

“Why’d you call, Mom? Is something the matter?”

“It’s your dad.”

For a moment, suspense creeps into the conversation, as the man’s body begins to flood with worry.

“I’m heading over to see him right now.” She continues.

“Is everything alright?”

“I hope so. The hospital called and asked me if I could come in today. They didn’t really give me many details, but they say your dad is fine.”

Well, that's…good.

With the anticipation gone, He asks her, “Are you waiting for me to get home so we can go?”

“Oh! No, I’m already on my way there. I know how tired you are after work, so I didn’t want to bother you to come. I just wanted to let you know I won’t be there when you get home, and that dinner is in the fridge.”

“...Yeah, alright. I’ll see you when you get back then.”

“Be safe!”

With that last remark, he ends the call. After returning his phone to his pocket, he looks back over to try and spot the truck in the distance.

With trucks like that driving around here, I’ll need a little more than just my mom’s words.

There were no more surprise run-ins with trucks the rest of the way home. Passing the gates, he wheels my bike over to the side of the house and unlocks the front door, finally escaping the heat.

Inside is the same as it’s always been. His family had been the type to keep something of everything. All across the walls and tables were photos hung of various moments he could recall from his past. Starting all the way from his first day of primary school to his day of graduation from university. Wanting to forget certain things had become a luxury for him, as wanting to do so in a house like this was impossible.

Slipping off his shoes, he heads to the kitchen looking to find what his mom had cooked. Sitting on the second level of the refrigerator was a plate of curry. With his eyes settling on the dish before him, the rest of his night was decided. His mother was right, he was tired from work today, so heading off to bed after eating was simply the best course of action.

I guess I’ll ask her how Dad’s doing in the morning then.

* * *

Recently, the man had reunited with an old school friend. It’s not nearly as romantic as it sounds, but the encounter was pleasant regardless. Since their paths had once again crossed, they tried to catch up with one another since they last spoke. It seems that after high school, this friend of his never really seemed to change. She was still the book-reading snob he remembered her for being. More so, it seems that she even made something of herself in her office. For anyone who knew her, this was quite the unexpected turnaround.

With old memories resurfacing, so did old feelings. Unfortunately, that chance had long passed. He has yet to meet her boyfriend, but all that she spoke of him gave the image of a kind person. Still, he dreaded the day he would actually meet the guy, as if seeing him in the flesh would be the final nail in the coffin for him. At least this way, he could pretend the guy didn’t exist.

All this to say, the last time they talked, she had recommended him a book series. Back in high school, he would always try and get her to read what she would call lesser works. Seems like all that effort amounted to something, as now she lent him one of those so-called lesser works to read.

“The Archive of House Gion," he read aloud as he read the title of the book.

He’s never read or heard of this series before, but if she recommended it, maybe it was something half-decent.

His blanket was pulled up snugly, the lamp light was dimmed, and his pillow lay behind him as he sat up in bed. Comfortable, he began to read.

What does power mean to you? Is it a raging fire, kindled by your passion, and fueled by your enemies? Is it the force that beckons all to you, seeking your presence? Or is it the ability to understand truths that none else could hope to?

He pauses, thinking over the opening lines of this story, as if they struck something within him.

Well, if it were me, I’d gladly take all three. With each of those, I’d be everything but weak.

He continued his reading.

To Ars Gion, power was his name. A Gion man was more than just a man, they were change itself given human form. Where he would walk, the world bowed. Yet, though a Gion man, he held none of those qualities. The man could not deter the mind of an infant, and if anyone were to prostrate themselves, it would be him. It was only through his name that he tasted power.

“Mooching off his family fame, huh?”

Ars Gion was no free rider, despite his boon; the man tried to make himself known on his lonesome.

“So what is this then? She described it as some ‘riveting story of love‘, where’s the love?”

Patience is a virtue not known to most men.

“That’s rich coming from a thousand-page novel.”

It is the best of art that takes the longest to take form.

“Yeah, alright, you made that up.”

Not one to listen to wise words is also a feature of ignorant men.

“Hey! That’s uncalled for, I only just opened this book up, who are you to call me that!”

Yes, you just opened this book, and yet you think you have the whole picture. Not even willing to wait for things to start.

“It’s not my fault if you’re shit at writing.”

Hey, that’s unfair, you only just opened this book up, who are you to call me that?

“Alright, you- wait.”

Finally aware that his last of his strength slipping from his hands, the book falls flat upon his bedside.

“When did this become a conversation?”

And then, the man’s eyes closed.