The Signal Fire of Revenge Had Been Lit

♪Adagio (10 hours earlier)♪

In a gazebo in a park where carefully tended lily-of-the-valley flowers bloomed in profusion, a boy and I sat together on a bench.

His face looked familiar. He resembled Poet-kun exactly as if he had simply grown up, with those cool-looking eyes beneath rabbit ears.

“Hey, big sister. I want to kiss you.”

“You can’t. I’m an old man. And even if I were a woman, I’d be an old lady.”

I was startled by my own voice. It was clear and transparent, like glass.

But Adagio had aged together with Allegro. The years had passed in prison, and he was now thirty-five. No matter how you looked at it, he was in no position to seduce someone so young.

“No. You’re my big sister. The one I’ve been in love with for so many years.”

As he said that, he took my hand and pulled it toward himself. Our fingers intertwined like lovers’. These white, beautiful fingers—were they really my body?

The vines creeping into my vision looked like a metaphor for my own self being entangled and bound.

“You can’t. I’m not worthy of being loved by you.”

“I’m the one who decides who I love.”

His gallant face drew closer. His beautiful lips were right before mine.

“No, you can’t—! You can’t let someone like me become happy!”

I jolted awake with a start and found myself staring at a bleak wall. The usual men’s prison cell.

I glanced down at my crotch and saw coarse stubble.

Ugh... that was because I’d had such an embarrassing dream.

To be thrilled by a dream like that... maybe I was a shameful man.

Morning.

Ah, morning.

The primary personality, Allegro, spoke to me.

We had a weird dream, huh.

Y-yeah. About a rabbit...

A rabbit? That’s strange. I...

Allegro stopped himself mid-sentence. Hadn’t he seen the same dream? I felt a faint sense of unease.

More importantly, today’s your parole day.

Yeah. It’s been a long time.

Even in prison, Allegro had never lost his seriousness. In order to behave like a model prisoner, he rarely handed control over to me. That alone showed how desperately he had longed to get out.

In order to obtain that right, Allegro had repeated insincere words of remorse for a crime he had never committed. The humiliation of that was almost unbearable to imagine.

He was fond of novels set in the Spring and Autumn period of another-world China, the ones that had inspired the old phrase lying on brushwood and tasting gall—a saying that embodied relentless resolve for revenge. Even I, his other personality, had no way of knowing just how deep that darkness inside him really went.

We spent the morning stretching and taking it easy. After lunch, we sorted out our belongings, and when we stepped out of the gray building, a gentle-looking man about ten years older than us was waiting there.

“I’m Buon, your probation officer. You’ll be living with me during your parole, so nice to meet you. Well, from what I’ve heard, maybe you did do some bad things—but I think someone like you can turn your life around.”

His words were full of kindness.

But I knew very well how deeply those words must have wounded Allegro. After all, he was innocent.

Sometimes the cruelest words come from people who mean well.

“Thank you very much. I’ll do my best to become a decent member of society.”

Those were not Allegro’s true feelings. I could tell painfully well from the way both his voice and his fist trembled at the same time.

The road was rich with nature, but empty of people. Long grass grew wild at the roadside. The locals probably didn’t want to make a habit of strolling near the prison. A residential area could be seen in the distance, but no one ever seemed to pass along this path.

Once we turned a corner and the prison guards disappeared from sight, Allegro checked to make sure there was no one around.

What are you trying to do?!

I’m taking my life back!

With a spell, he summoned a trumpet out of thin air. He was probably about to use a spell that would rob the man in front of him of consciousness.

I struggled desperately to seize back control of our awareness.

Not happening. My life is mine. Not yours.

He played Beethoven’s Fate, and the man before us crumpled to his knees.

“Y-you finally got back out into the world... and now you’re going to lose everyone’s trust all over again...”

Buon collapsed face-down on the ground and lost consciousness.

Inside, I resisted with all my strength.

W-what are you doing?!

I’m going to have my revenge. On society. And on the people who framed me. For that, I’ll use whatever means I have to.

But you were innocent! If you do this, you’ll become a real criminal!

Society already sees me as one. Once your honor has been damaged, it doesn’t matter if it gets damaged further.

Then he continued the piece lightly, almost gracefully.

This tune is the Prelude of Death. Anyone who hears it falls into a coma, like they’ve taken sleeping pills. Then they suffer slowly, and in a month, they die.

That’s murder! Stop! Don’t pile more crimes onto yourself!

Shut up! Acting all righteous, pretending to understand me! Self-righteous do-gooders like you are the ones I can’t stand the most!

All I could do was scream inside his mind. He had locked me out from moving our limbs, like a puppet with its strings cut. I could do nothing but watch.