Silent Violence

A sharp electronic sound popped, and the train slid into the platform.

Another day, another crowded train.
The sighs of commuters and the sound of rustling clothes make the air heavy.
Akito was sucked into the train car as if pushed by the momentum of the crowd.

After getting off the train, Akito headed to the university.

A little late, the moment he pushed open the heavy auditorium door—he froze.

Silence.
In a space that should be filled with the murmurs of hundreds of people and the sound of pages turning, there was not a single sound.
He couldn't even hear the professor clearing his throat.
Akito hurriedly touched his ears, thinking he had forgotten to take off his earphones.

His fingertips touched bare skin.
He wasn't wearing any.

(What is this...?)
Like a thief in the night, he headed toward a seat in the back, taking the utmost care not to make a sound.
The students around him didn't move a muscle, just staring at a single point.
The silence felt like it was crushing his eardrums from the inside.
It was suffocating. The back of his chest felt like it was burning.
“...Someone.”
The moment he squeezed out a raspy voice, sound rushed in all at once like a broken dam.

A nearby student dropped a pen, and the professor's microphone let out a harsh burst of noise.

“...What was that just now?”

Akito wiped the sweat from his forehead and tried to steady his ragged breathing.

After the lecture, he stopped by a cafe near the university for a change of pace.

The bell above the door rang with a light chime.
But that was all that echoed.

The customers in the shop were all frozen like stone statues in front of their amber-colored coffee.
There wasn't even the sound of a cup touching a saucer.
Akito gave up on his order and bolted from the shop.

He headed straight back to his apartment.

The moment he closed the door, sound vanished from the world.

The silence was so profound that it felt as if the onomatopoeia for 'hush' was carved into the air.

The PC fan that was always humming was also silent.
There was no sound of cars driving outside, nor the sounds of his neighbor's daily life.
This was no longer a 'state,' but a 'violence.'
The silence was so intense that the back of his ears ached sharply.
“...Give me a break already!”

Unable to bear it any longer, Akito bolted from his house.

He headed to a long-established champon noodle shop near the station.

The shop was full.
But here, too, an 'abnormality' reigned.

The customers at the counter, the families at the tables—
Not one person said "delicious," and there was no sound of slurping noodles.
Only the steam rose up in perfect silence.

A bowl of champon was placed in front of Akito.

With trembling hands, he snapped his wooden chopsticks apart.
The sharp sound echoed through the shop like a gunshot in a cathedral.

In an instant, everyone's gaze turned toward Akito.
It wasn't condemnation.
It was just a cold, mechanical curiosity toward the one who had broken the silence.

(...Alright, here goes.)

Akito steeled himself and leaned over the bowl.

Then, he slurped the noodles with all his might.
Inhaling as much air as he possibly could.

—Slurp! Slurrrrrp!!
The sound of chewing, the sound of swallowing soup.

And then, he let out a heavy, ragged breath. "Phew!"

The sound he created tore through the monster known as "silence."
The surrounding customers, one by one, lifted their heads as if waking from a trance.
Before long, the man next to him gulped down his soup.
From a distant table, a child's voice rang out: "Hot!"

The "noise" of everyday life was slowly returning to the shop.

Drenched in sweat, Akito drank the soup down to the very last drop.

He placed the bowl on the counter and let out a deep breath.

"...Ah, this is it. This is how it should be."

"Thank you very much."
The shopkeeper said it with a slightly embarrassed, yet clear voice.

That piercing silence was nowhere to be found anymore.

Silent Violence

With a sharp electronic pop, the train glided into the station.

Another day, another packed train. The air was thick with the sighs of commuters and the rustle of clothing. Akito was swept inside, carried by the sheer momentum of the crowd.

After getting off the train, Akito headed to his university.

The moment he pushed open the heavy lecture hall doors—running slightly late—he froze.

It was silent. The space, which should have been overflowing with the chatter of hundreds and the turning of pages, was devoid of any sound. He couldn't even hear the professor clearing his throat. Panicked, Akito touched his ears, thinking he had forgotten to take off his earbuds.

His fingertips met bare skin. He wasn't wearing them.

(What is this...?) He crept toward a seat in the back row, careful not to make a sound, like a thief in the night. The students around him were motionless, staring fixedly at a single point. The silence pressed against his eardrums from the inside. He felt stifled. Breathing became difficult, and a searing heat spread through his chest.

"...Someone," he managed to wheeze.

The moment that raspy voice escaped him, the noise came rushing back like a collapsing dam. A student nearby dropped her pen, and the professor’s microphone crackled with static.

"...What was that just now?"

Akito wiped the sweat from his forehead, trying to steady his ragged breathing.

After the lecture, he stopped by a cafe near the campus for a change of pace.

The bell above the door gave a light cling. But that was the only sound that resonated.

Every customer inside sat frozen like a stone statue before their amber coffee. Not even the sound of a cup touching a saucer could be heard. Akito gave up on ordering and fled the shop.

He retreated to his apartment.

The moment he shut the door, sound vanished from the world.

The room was so utterly still you could almost see the Japanese onomatopoeia for silence, "Shin," etched into the air.

The PC fan, which usually hummed loudly, was silent. No sound of cars passing outside, no signs of life from the neighbors. This void was no longer just a state of being—it was violence. The silence was so intense it caused a sharp, piercing pain deep in his ears.

"Oh, for heaven's sake!"

Unable to take it anymore, Akito bolted out of the house.

He headed for an old, established Champon restaurant near the station.

The place was full. Yet, even here was ruled by this "abnormality."

Customers at the counter, families at the tables—everyone was silently shoveling heaps of vegetables into their mouths. No one said, "This is delicious," and not a single soul made a sound slurping their noodles. Only the steam rose from the bowls in perfect silence.

A bowl of Champon was placed in front of Akito.

With trembling hands, he snapped his disposable wooden chopsticks. The sharp crack echoed through the restaurant like a gunshot in a cathedral.

In an instant, all eyes were on him. There was no reproach—only a cold, mechanical curiosity toward the one who had disturbed the silence.

(Fine. Let's do this.)

Akito steeled himself and leaned over his bowl.

Then, he slurped the noodles with everything he had, drawing in as much air as possible.

—Slurp! Sluuuuuurp!!

The aggressive sound of chewing, the gulping of the soup.

A heavy, ragged exhale: "Phew!"

The sounds he created tore through the monster known as silence. One by one, the surrounding customers looked up as if waking from a trance. Eventually, the man next to him audibly swallowed a mouthful of soup. From a distant table, a child cried out, "Hot!"

The "noise" of daily life began to bleed back into the room.

Drenched in sweat, Akito finished the very last drop of soup.

He set the bowl down on the counter and let out a deep breath.

"...Ah, yeah. This is the one."

"Thank you very much," the shop owner said—a bit shyly, but in a clear, steady voice.

The piercing silence was nowhere to be found.

Thank you for sticking with me until the end.

"To ensure articles reach readers all over the world! Starting May 27th, we are launching automatic multilingual support."
Inspired by this note announcement, I asked Gemini to translate this into English.

I'm nervous to see if the nuances of the Japanese will come across to people overseas.