Chapter 11:
The Weight of the Truth
Story of My Life: Revenge or Love?
The rain finally stopped, but the silence in the room felt heavier than any storm.
Shiromi stared at the image on the laptop.The grainy footage flickered slightly, but the silver watch gleamed—clear, unmistakable.
Her father wore that watch every day.Every birthday.Every family photo.Even on the night he—
She took a slow, shaky breath.
Hayato watched her carefully. “Shiromi… are you okay?”
“No,” she whispered.
Her legs weakened, and she sank onto the edge of the bed. The memories—warm dinners, her father’s laugh, the way he carried her brother on his shoulders—all tangled painfully with the image in front of her.
"Was he there willingly?""Was he forced?""Or… was he part of the deal?"
Hayato sat beside her but kept a respectful distance.“You don’t know for sure it’s him. The image is blurred.”
“But the watch isn’t,” she murmured. “That model was limited. My father loved rare things…”
Hayato hesitated, then spoke softly:“There were three suspects connected to the warehouse incident. The report said one of them helped set the location. If that man was your father… maybe he didn’t know it would turn into a massacre.”
His voice was gentle, but the words cut deep.
“So you’re telling me he was involved but innocent?” she said bitterly. “That sounds like wishful thinking.”
Hayato lowered his gaze. “I’m not asking you to believe it. I’m asking you not to destroy yourself before you know the truth.”
She swallowed hard. “If my father really helped cause that night… then what have I been training for? Who am I supposed to hate?”
Hayato looked at her with a quiet sorrow.“Hate won’t give you answers. But we can find them—together.”
She didn’t reply.
Her knuckles turned white as she clutched the blanket.Every part of her felt twisted—anger, fear, betrayal, grief, and the worst emotion of all: doubt.
For years, revenge gave her purpose.Now the ground beneath her wasn’t just cracking—it was collapsing.
Hayato reached out slowly, resting a hand on her shoulder—a silent reassurance.She didn’t push it away.
Not this time.
Before either of them spoke again, the laptop pinged once more.Another encrypted file appeared.
This time, it wasn’t an image.
It was a voice recording.
Hayato clicked it. A man’s voice—distorted but recognizable—spoke through the speakers:
“If you’re hearing this… the truth is already coming for you. Do not trust anyone from the original three families. Not even yourselves.”
White noise followed.Then another line:
“The one who survived is the most dangerous.”
The recording ended.
Hayato stiffened. “The one who survived…? That could mean—”
Shiromi’s breath caught.Her tragedy had one survivor.Hayato’s tragedy had one too.
Which one did the message mean?
Or… was there someone else entirely?
Shiromi stared at the image on the laptop.The grainy footage flickered slightly, but the silver watch gleamed—clear, unmistakable.
Her father wore that watch every day.Every birthday.Every family photo.Even on the night he—
She took a slow, shaky breath.
Hayato watched her carefully. “Shiromi… are you okay?”
“No,” she whispered.
Her legs weakened, and she sank onto the edge of the bed. The memories—warm dinners, her father’s laugh, the way he carried her brother on his shoulders—all tangled painfully with the image in front of her.
"Was he there willingly?""Was he forced?""Or… was he part of the deal?"
Hayato sat beside her but kept a respectful distance.“You don’t know for sure it’s him. The image is blurred.”
“But the watch isn’t,” she murmured. “That model was limited. My father loved rare things…”
Hayato hesitated, then spoke softly:“There were three suspects connected to the warehouse incident. The report said one of them helped set the location. If that man was your father… maybe he didn’t know it would turn into a massacre.”
His voice was gentle, but the words cut deep.
“So you’re telling me he was involved but innocent?” she said bitterly. “That sounds like wishful thinking.”
Hayato lowered his gaze. “I’m not asking you to believe it. I’m asking you not to destroy yourself before you know the truth.”
She swallowed hard. “If my father really helped cause that night… then what have I been training for? Who am I supposed to hate?”
Hayato looked at her with a quiet sorrow.“Hate won’t give you answers. But we can find them—together.”
She didn’t reply.
Her knuckles turned white as she clutched the blanket.Every part of her felt twisted—anger, fear, betrayal, grief, and the worst emotion of all: doubt.
For years, revenge gave her purpose.Now the ground beneath her wasn’t just cracking—it was collapsing.
Hayato reached out slowly, resting a hand on her shoulder—a silent reassurance.She didn’t push it away.
Not this time.
Before either of them spoke again, the laptop pinged once more.Another encrypted file appeared.
This time, it wasn’t an image.
It was a voice recording.
Hayato clicked it. A man’s voice—distorted but recognizable—spoke through the speakers:
“If you’re hearing this… the truth is already coming for you. Do not trust anyone from the original three families. Not even yourselves.”
White noise followed.Then another line:
“The one who survived is the most dangerous.”
The recording ended.
Hayato stiffened. “The one who survived…? That could mean—”
Shiromi’s breath caught.Her tragedy had one survivor.Hayato’s tragedy had one too.
Which one did the message mean?
Or… was there someone else entirely?
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