Stigma — Chapter XII: “Why Now, of All Times!”

Victorian-style English translation (academic quality)

The chill-shadowed corridor swallowed the sound of Masa’s departing footsteps, letting them dissolve into the distant tumult of the outer world.

Behind him remained Eiji—on the verge of collapse. At the edge of his vision lay the object that struck him with cruel clarity:

The luggage Masa was meant to carry—Eiji’s own burden.

And now Masa was cleaving through the crowd outside, running as though to escape the world itself. The stage where he and Eiji were meant to stand together, watching Sakurako perform, was ending behind him. Sakurako—radiant, embodying the future they had once dreamed of—was singing her final song: Hellflower.

A love song of a woman whose longing can never be fulfilled, who still reaches for the man she adores. A song in which she likens her own heart to a blossom that blooms red, yet bears no fruit—an ephemeral, doomed flower.

Her voice continued to echo over the sky of Urawa.

Red ephemeral blossom, where do you bloom? Clutching a love that shall never bear fruit…

Masa ran as though fleeing from the song itself. The white bandage he had only just finished wrapping was stained anew by the blood seeping from his sandal.

His foot throbbed sharply. But far more agonizing was the crushing weight of the reality that had shattered around him.

He ran breathlessly—ran as though hunted. And indeed, Masa was running away.

He had faced most hardships in life head-on. But the sight of Eiji’s cornered, breaking expression—an expression Masa himself had caused—pursued him with a monstrous sense of guilt.

(The future I imagined… was never meant to be this.)

Eiji. I thought we would eat festival food together… Cheer for Sakurako together… Talk about what comes next. Go to the izakaya afterward and discuss today’s stage until dawn.

Eiji. You were supposed to be in my future. Always.

How could it have come to this?

Masa’s heart pounded so violently it felt ready to burst. His breath faltered. The pain in his foot and the pain in his heart blurred together until he could no longer distinguish one from the other.

The plaza before Urawa-Misono Station was overflowing with concertgoers, radiant with lingering excitement. None noticed Masa’s distress. Their lives shone brightly in the heat of the night.

Tears streamed down his cheeks unbidden.

He did not understand why he was crying—not even now. Or rather, he feared that acknowledging the reason would make everything collapse.

Only guilt surged over him like a tidal wave.

With trembling hands, Masa called Eiji.

Ten rings. No answer. Perhaps the phone was buried deep in his bag.

What are you doing? Pick up!

Panicking, Masa called again and again. But Eiji did not respond.

It’s no good. He won’t answer. He must be angry. I must have made him angry back then.

But what else could I have done? He was surrounded by those thugs— forced to sing, forced to play air guitar— mocked so cruelly. I knew why he couldn’t talk back. I had to help him.

Eiji doesn’t stay silent because he’s “kind.” His self-worth is unbearably low. He’s kind, he’s good, he’s smart— he has so many strengths— but he has no confidence at all.

It’s his father. That man destroyed everything.

He only treated Eiji kindly when he scored perfect marks.

When Eiji once scored ninety-five, I told him he was a genius. But he cried. He said his father would scold him, torment him, tell him he was a worthless son. He said he didn’t want to go home—that he was terrified of his own house.

I was stunned. My parents loved me no matter what score I got. I had never imagined such a thing.

So Eiji has never forgiven himself for being imperfect.

And that is why— that is why— I may have hurt him.

A man must settle his own fights. Otherwise he will always be looked down upon— and worse, he will lose himself.

He must have been frustrated. If I helped him, we wouldn’t be equals anymore.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m stupid, and I just wanted— I just wanted to help you.

I wanted to be a cool guy in front of you. But I always end up sloppy. I wanted you to praise me afterward—just a little.

I wanted you to say my singing was amazing, like you always do.

And I wanted to brag to Rui— tell him how I saved you with the power of my voice. Tell him I understood you better than he ever could.

I didn’t want to lose to him. Not him.

Damn it. He still won’t answer. What is he doing?

My phone—damn it, the battery’s dying. Eiji has the mobile charger.

Right… he’s not here. I should have known. I always relied on him. Why? Why won’t you pick up?

Maybe he’s gone home. Yes—I'll go to his place. My foot hurts, I’m exhausted, but that doesn’t matter.

I want to see him. I want to explain. If I do, he’ll understand. It’s thirty minutes away— I can make it.

He’ll forgive me. We can go back to how we were.

And he’ll tell me that look he gave Rui— was just a momentary confusion.

Because— because it’s impossible. A man wanting another man— sure, it happens in the world, but not to us.

Not us. Not him. Not me.

Pick up. Please.

Ah—battery’s dead.

My foot hurts… It hurts so much.

Eiji. Please be there. Please.

I’m begging you.

Ah—finally. I can see it. His apartment.

Masa rang the bell of room 202—where Eiji should have been.

The curtains were drawn. No lights. No movement.

No sign of life.

Three hours passed. Nothing changed.

Why hasn’t he come back? Where is he? What is he doing? Even when I’m this worried— he won’t come. He won’t comfort me.

Masa’s pain grew severe. The thirty-minute walk home took hours, dragging his injured foot. He had no money for a taxi.

His home’s lights came into view. The television he had left on that morning still flickered, broadcasting late-night programs he never usually saw.

Eiji…

Eiji…

In Masa’s dazed mind, his own voice calling Eiji repeated endlessly, and the music echoing within him was Sakurako’s Hellflower.

Red ephemeral blossom, where do you bloom? Clutching a love that shall never bear fruit…

A love that shall never bear fruit.

A love… that shall never…

(I wasn’t needed. Why? What is he doing now? Eiji… Are you— are you with Rui? Is that it? If so… then I never had a place between them. Not even a sliver.)

The smile that encouraged him. The carefully sewn costumes. The salt candy and water with a note that said Don’t lose.

How warm those things had made his heart. How they had kept him facing forward on the street stage.

The recorded guitar track Eiji had made for him— how it steadied his trembling heart.

Because Eiji was there, Masa could stand.

Fatigue and pain blurred Masa’s vision with tears.

I don’t want him taken from me. I don’t want to give him to anyone. I wanted him to cry only in front of me. To rely on me. To break down in front of me. Ah… no. This feeling…

“Why now…! Why now, of all times… What could I possibly do now!”

In the dusk, beneath the streetlamp before his home, Masa stood still, watching his tears fall to the ground, forming small dark stains— and he could do nothing else.

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