The Curtain Falls

“Tomorrow’s going to be another surgery,” the nurse’s voice stated gently. They’d done so much already, but my body was struggling to hold on. Everything around me blurred into a haze, leaving me unable to fully see or understand my surroundings. The only way I knew it was the nurse was her voice—soft and calm, the one I’d grown used to hearing ever since fate strapped me onto this hospital bed and handed me a death sentence.

“Will it help?” my mother’s voice broke through, raw with emotion. Her hand rested lightly on mine, trembling. Was it my dying nerves, or was she trying to be gentle? With my senses dulled, I couldn’t tell.

At ten years old, I was diagnosed with lung cancer—a cruel blow from the world I used to think was fair. For the next six years, my body changed into something unrecognizable, a fragile shadow of the person I once was. My life turned upside down, my days stolen by hospital beds and sterile rooms. Friends from school stopped visiting, one by one, until even their faces faded from my memory. All except for one.

Her name was Saki Otsuji. She visited me every day after school, her crimson eyes always bright, her long red hair tied up with colorful bands. She stayed by my side, even as the world grew darker for both of us.

“…You know, I can bet with you that I’ll outlive you. And when that happens, your future self will have no choice but to think of your current self as a moping idiot. My spirit will haunt you for eternity!”

“…You know something else I believe? When I die, I’ll get reincarnated as the hero of another world. I’ll go on adventures with my party, slice the heads off demons. Sounds neat, doesn’t it?”

That was a year ago—just two months before the accident that took her away. I thought she was just trying to cheer me up, denying the inevitable truth of my condition. I never imagined her words would come true, that she’d leave first, that I’d outlast her in some twisted, ironic way. Though her ghost never visited me even once. Maybe the other thing she said could come true.

Even as the nurse tried to give my parents hope with talk of surgeries, it was obvious—especially to Mother—that I wouldn’t survive long enough to see the next one.

The rhythmic beeping of the life support quickened, frantic and insistent, as my world began to darken. I could barely see the figures moving around me—the nurse rushing to my side, my mother screaming through tears that poured endlessly from her blue eyes, my father holding her back, his face a mask of pain and despair.

They say death isn’t painful, and they’re right. But watching them like that—seeing their anguish as everything faded—brought a pain no scalpel ever could. The world went black, marking the end of Haruto Ishiguro. Or so I thought.

The pain lingered, dull but persistent, as I drowned in an endless black sea. Memories of my life played in an unbroken loop, moments that should have brought comfort but instead left me restless. Sixteen years wasn’t enough to fill a life with meaningful scenes.

Until, suddenly, they stopped.

One memory broke free from the others, vivid and piercing. I saw her again—Saki, her red hair down for once, flowing freely instead of tied up. She always said she preferred it up, but this moment was different.

“You should stop sulking, you know,” she said, her voice light but carrying an edge of concern. Her crimson eyes turned to meet mine, a knowing look flashing across her face. “If we do get reincarnated, we’ll form a party together. I’ll make sure you end up as leader, struggling to keep the rest of us in line. And you know I’ll be the mischievous one. Kay?”

She laughed softly, the sound both teasing and sincere.

If I could see her now, I’m sure she’d say, “I told you so,” in her playful, childlike voice.

But none of that mattered anymore.

I sighed into the void, accepting the nothingness around me. But then, something changed. A small speck of light appeared above me—tiny, insignificant, just like this whole meaningless experience. It grew slowly, its brightness and intensity increasing with every passing moment. Blinding and fierce, the light surrounded me completely, engulfing me in its warmth.