Chapter 6: Ch 6 - The Smile Of Death
Rain fell in heavy sheets, turning the night into a tangible veil of cold. The streetlights below cast fractured reflections on the slick pavement. Standing on the rooftop of his crumbling apartment building, Keita Sumeragi let the rain wash over him, each raindrop a tiny needle against his skin. His clothes clung to his body, soaked through, but he barely noticed. In his chest, there was no warmth left to feel anything beyond the dull ache of despair.
Keita's eyes were unfocused, fixed on nothing. Above, the sky was a roiling mass of gunmetal clouds, mirroring the storm inside him. He raised one trembling hand to his face, touching the cheek streaked with tears, rain, and ink. He could taste old ramen broth on his lips, feel the sting of nicotine in his lungs. Everything felt numb and alive all at once.
He took a breath—deep, raspy—and closed his eyes.
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He remembered the editor's voice as if it were a physical presence:
> "Your work was too depressing. We need something more... marketable."
That phrase had echoed in his mind for days. He could hear it just as clearly now, layered over the patter of rain: a sneer of contempt, a final verdict on his artistic worth. The corporal felt like it had lodged itself in his brain, pulsing with every heartbeat.
Then, his ex-wife's voice, cold and accusing:
> "I married a man, not a coward hiding behind pretty pictures. You're worthless."
He could still see her eyes—flat, distant—as she took their daughter away. He could feel the weight of the child in his arms then, so small and helpless; now, it was a phantom weight, gone forever.
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