I am proud to be an Oni.

Being an Oni is pitiful.

In games of tag, they are always the ones doing the chasing, and sometimes they get washed when they aren't looking. Surely even an Oni wants to be the one running away sometimes, and couldn't they just do their laundry at a laundromat? In recent years, it's either vanishing after being exposed to sunlight or getting their heads lopped off by a Nichirin sword. It's just too pathetic.

The worst part is Setsubun. Being besieged behind a barricade of holly and sardines, only to be sniped with beans—it's no joke. In Hokkaido, they use peanuts instead of beans, which increases the hit rate. It's no joke!

When I worked at the town office, I was once drafted for a local nursery school's Setsubun event. As the Oni, of course.

I covered my whole body in red cloth, wore baggy pants made of black and yellow vinyl tape, and put on a giant Oni mask that looked scary even to adults when seen up close. The way the plastic ribbon hair tickled my neck was annoying.

“We’re telling the children a story about Setsubun, so please bang on the door while we’re doing that. Then, please storm into the classroom.”

The nursery school principal explained this with a smile while handing me a weapon. The weapon I was handed was a club of unknown material that was suspiciously light. Even if it’s for an event, is it really okay to smile while providing a blunt weapon and requesting a terrorist attack? Oh well. Since I was asked, I’ll play an Oni scary enough to make every single child wet themselves. “Every single child” sounds a bit contradictory, doesn't it? Oh well.

After waiting for a while, it was finally my turn.

“Bang, bang, bang! Grrr! It’s an Oni!”

Introducing myself so politely—I’m a surprisingly conscientious Oni, if I do say so myself.

The children scream and scramble to the corners of the classroom. From what I can tell, the girls seem to be enjoying it, while the boys are breaking down in tears from fear. Come on, boys, pull yourselves together.

The children (mostly the crying boys) are throwing peanuts at me with reckless abandon. Even though they’re preschoolers, they’re throwing them with all their might, so it actually hurts. You little brats. Listen, I’ve got a club here, you know!

To intimidate them, I slam the club onto the ground! Along with an especially loud “Aaaah!” soundtrack, the club snapped in two. That was when I realized it was made of a plastic bottle. Is this the end?

However, the sobbing kids didn't care how the club was made; they just kept shooting peanuts at the ogre. I don't know if you guys are super excited, but it really hurts on my end. Also, the plastic ribbon is annoying.

I had come to the same nursery school as Santa Claus just a month or so ago, so what’s with this difference in treatment? Both are just middle-aged men covered in red. Well, I suppose a kind old man who gives out presents is bound to be more popular than a monster who just goes on a rampage.

Since it was getting late, I signaled my surrender, and a negotiation was held to seek coexistence between humans and Oni. Fortunately, I wasn't handed over to the Demon Slayer Corps, and we settled the matter by playing together nicely.

Being an Oni isn't easy, I thought, while secretly enjoying it somewhere in my heart. That’s not to say I’m a sadist, but perhaps it’s because I was able to be a part of the children’s growth.

Whether it's an ogre or Santa Claus, even if the vectors are different, they are both key persons (key ogres) in events that stir up emotions. The greater the emotional range, the stronger the memory becomes.
In fact, I remember my own childhood Setsubun events quite well. I cried like the Hokkaido representative for crying kids, and I was throwing peanuts around wildly, even if my aim was off. After I stopped crying, I loved sitting on my grandfather's lap, cracking open peanut shells, and eating them.

Being a part of someone's memories is a great honor. It means you have become an essential part of that person's life. Even if I am an ogre who is loathed and feared, I am proud to have become a part of those children's memories.

Though, if that crying kid from back then is reading this, it would be quite awkward since it would reveal that Santa Claus and the ogre are the same person.

(The End)

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