Prolog

Cold mud soaked onto his knees, slowly sinking deeper.

Cold flesh in his grip. Heavy. Lifeless. Still.

Raindrops ran down his face.

Or was it sweat? Blood? He couldn’t tell anymore.

Above him, the helicopter thundered. It pounded like a mechanical heart that wasn’t his.

Voices reached him through the radio, distorted, words drowning in static. None of it reached him.

He knelt motionless, the body in his hands. Nothing else. No clear thoughts, just a storm of emotions.

Then a hand touched his shoulder.

He turned.

“We're here. You're safe now.”

Safe?

Is this the price for it?

Prolog

The cruelest lie is believing that the truth is simple.

People cling to clear images. Black and white, right and wrong. But truth isn’t fixed. What is true today can be false tomorrow.

It’s the fear of uncertainty, when suddenly everything becomes a matter of perspective. So, we lie, not always to deceive, but to protect or endure the truth. Like a father telling his child the world is fair.

But what exactly is a lie? Not just untruth, it’s an intent. Some want to gain, others to protect themselves, and some to preserve peace.

The line between truth and untruth is deeply blurred. Still, children are taught that lying is bad. Maybe we mean: It’s inconvenient.

A new life. A new lie. Same as always.

"Takeshi Katou, …huh?"

Takeshi sat in a small train compartment. Old-fashioned. A sting of dust in the air. A poster of a “new” TV show. It had aired a year ago, but the poster of the show hadn’t been swapped out until now.

A few seats away from him sat a young schoolgirl, scrolling through her phone. He recognized the switch from a social media app to Line. Answering some messages expressionless.

Looking like a statue but spamming laughing emojis… ridiculous.

His gaze shifted to another passenger a few seats down. It was a middle-aged man with a short, graying haircut and a trace of stubble. Posture slumped, arms resting on his lap, eyes closed. If you listened closely, you could hear the faint sound of snoring.

Wrinkled slacks, white shirt, and a loosely worn tie. Takeshi assumed he worked in an office. A commuter, most likely. Someone who spends more time on trains than at home. The man’s head gently bobbed with the rhythm of the train.

Somehow, the sight reminded him of studying for an exam. In his hand was a file, or better, a dossier.

It was his own, or at least what they decided to be his own.

"Takeshi Katou, born August 5, 1995, in Tokyo, 182 cm, only child. Mother is a housewife, and father works at a small software company. My hobbies are archery and photography. I'm moving to Gero to pursue landscape photography. I'm a social studies teacher at the local high school," he murmured quietly.

As he skimmed through his file, his brow furrowed as his eyes lingered on a particular line. A lot of information was provided, including his entire childhood, summarized in short sentences. Precise and detailed. A whole human reduced on a piece of paper.

"At least the birth date is true..."

His gaze drifted out the window as the steady rattling of the Takayama line had a calming effect as the rice fields passed by. The setting sun reflected in the gentle waves of the Hida. After a short moment, the silence was interrupted by an announcement.

"Next stop: Hida-Hagiwara. Doors open on the right."

The train slowed down and came to a stop with a slight jolt and a quiet hiss. Takeshi stepped onto the platform. A light spring breeze greeted him. The wind was cool, but the sun provided a pleasant warmth. The station felt outdated but still charming. He threw his backpack over his shoulder and moved slowly toward the exit. Walking again toward the sun, Takeshi glanced at his watch.

He scanned the area.

Open field. No Cover. No hiding possible. Three possible angles of attack. Bad spot for a fight. Noted.

In the end, he found what he was looking for: a black Nissan Crown Comfort. Takeshi approached without haste. Brief eye contact was enough for the taxi driver to automatically open the door. Takeshi briefly wrinkled his nose as he sat on the back seat; the dust tickled his nose.

"Good evening, Sir. Where can I take you?" asked the driver.

Takeshi took out a piece of paper from the inside pocket of his coat and handed it to the driver.

"To this address, please," he commented.

"Ah, that's not far from here." The car began to move. "What brings you to our little town?"

Takeshi noticed the driver pursing his lips. Maybe he had hoped for a longer drive to make more money, but not even a second and returned to normal. It seemed business must be slow lately.

"I'm taking a little vacation...or something like that," Takeshi replied, leaving the last part unspoken.

"In the past, only hikers came here. You hardly noticed them. They'd vanish into the mountains in the morning and gather outside the hotels in the evening. Today...it's all city folks with expensive cameras and phones. They no longer have any sense of nature or the lives of the people here. But I digress. I can certainly recommend some sights! First..."

The taxi driver listed several tourist attractions, like the dam or hiking trails. He talked almost like an advertising spokesman. Takeshi now understood why there was a tourist information office. There was more to see here than he thought. It seems Gero is famous for its Onsen.

So talkative...does he ever stop?

Takeshi listened only half-heartedly, resting his head on his hand, staring out the window.

After about ten minutes, the taxi stopped. Takeshi got out, finally free from the driver's chatter. He stood still, facing his new home.

It was western-style. It had a garage and a small gravel-covered front yard. A side annex with large, mirrored windows. Takeshi noticed you couldn't see through any of the windows from outside. The front door had no keyhole but a fingerprint scanner instead.

He pressed his thumb against the door handle. With a soft click, the door unlocked.

Of course, they already registered my fingerprint...what else did I expect?

As soon as he stepped inside, he noticed the striking smell of fresh paint. The house was spacious. The entrance area led to a long hallway of dark wood, branching off to several rooms. The ceiling lights turned on automatically as he entered.

Hm, apparently, money wasn't an issue.

Takeshi had never been a fan of luxury. Well, it wasn't exactly luxurious or extravagant. But it did stand out.

His feet carried him into the living room, where a small letter lay next to a large package on the table in front of a spacious leather sofa.

He picked up the letter and opened it. The paper was high-quality. Sealed with wax.

“The package contains everything you might need. Should anything be missing, dial the number on the enclosed phone. We hope for your safe return.”

Huh. Must be the documents for my new life.

No other words were written in the letter.

Only the seal stood out to Takeshi immediately. A pheasant above a world map, with the words:

“Defense Intelligence Headquarters Japan.”

He folded the letter and put it back on the table.

Then he turned back to the package, opened it, and looked inside.

A new ID card. A passport. A membership card for the local archery club. A résumé, school records, and certificates. All issued under the name Takeshi Katou.

Buried under those documents was a small black case. It was a gun. A SFP9 to be precise, along with four spare magazines and a generous supply of ammunition. A cleaning kit was included as well.

His eyes widened and he hesitated for a moment until he remembered one basic rule.

When you become a civilian, they give you a gun. To protect yourself if the past comes back.

A new life. A new name. A new identity.

All interchangeable.

Everything was a lie.

He knew the risks that came with his former duties, but this felt more like a warning than just caution.

For a few moments, Takeshi simply stared at the pistol. It looked too natural in his hands like it never left. The warmth of his fingers was neutralized by the cold steel. His eyes wavered. Just for a second.

Then his hand moved. Magazine in. Slide racked. Before he even realized it. The familiar sound of a round chambering clicked into place.

His movements were flawless and fluid.

The pace. The precision. The result of constant harsh training. Even among the best soldiers, he stood out.

He rose, lifted the weapon and aimed at nothing but at the opposite wall.

Then…

Violent trembling. A racing pulse. Sweat was forming on his brow.

His breathing quickened, uneven, like a boxer who got punched in the throat.

He tried to calm himself, but his body wouldn’t listen.

Slowly, he lowered the gun and placed it back into the case.

Takeshi dropped onto the couch, still breathing heavily.

Unsure of how long he sat there, at some point, his pulse stopped and his breathing returned to normal.

“My entire life… will be a lie now,” he whispered.

“Not for the first time.”

He wanted to distract himself from those thoughts and decided to take a look around the house.

Seven rooms in total. He even had a training room and was particularly taken with the large kitchen. He enjoyed cooking, but never saw the need to do it.

Fatigue overcame him. He trudged up the stairs toward the bedroom. He opened the wardrobe and found several high-quality suits, mostly black and neatly arranged as requested in advance. Black was a color. Even if some claimed it wasn’t.

He liked the simplicity and the versatility.

The wardrobe closed, and he dropped onto his bed. It creaked a little under his weight.

His thoughts drifted to the day ahead. Tomorrow, he would start his new job. His new life. But more importantly…

Teaching a class for the first time.

It didn’t bother him. He had given speeches in front of others before. But never before students.

This world was new to him.

Before his thoughts could spiral, a wave of exhaustion caught up with him.

His sleep was rarely good. And this night was no exception.

Tomorrow, it would begin.