The Last Bargain

Chapter XVI: The Consequence Of The Future

Raito Kasetsu had always known when people were lying. From the time he was a child, his ability had been a constant companion, a strange and inexplicable sense that allowed him to see the truth behind people's words. At first, it seemed like a blessing. He knew when his friends were pretending, when adults promised things they had no intention of keeping, and even when his mother said she was fine, though her eyes told a different story.

But as Raito grew older, his gift became more of a burden. It was like a door he could not close, a window through which he saw too much. He learned that almost everyone lied, in ways big and small, for reasons noble and cruel. Even the people he cared about couldn't help themselves. His mother, his teachers, his clan members—they all spoke in half-truths, words wrapped in deception.

Everyone, that is, except his father: Takahiro Kasetsu.

Takahiro was a different kind of man. He was stern and quiet, a figure who seemed larger than life in Raito's young eyes. He had been a soldier once, a leader who commanded respect without raising his voice. To Raito, his father was a beacon of truth in a world filled with shadows. Unlike everyone else, Takahiro never lied. His words were always clear, his intentions straightforward, his promises kept.

Whenever Raito's ability showed him the darkness in others, he would turn to his father, who would tell him stories of honor, courage, and the importance of believing in people, despite their flaws.

"People are complicated, Raito," his father would say, his voice deep and steady. "They lie because they're afraid, or because they want to protect themselves or others. But that doesn't mean you should give up on them. You have to trust in the future, son. Trust that people can change, that they can be better."

"But how can I trust when all I see are lies?" Raito would ask, frustration boiling in his young heart.

His father would smile softly, his eyes filled with a quiet wisdom. "Because you don't trust the present, Raito. You trust the future. You believe in what people could become, not what they are now. You see the world as it is, but you must also see it as it could be."

For years, those words had been Raito's anchor. Whenever he felt overwhelmed by the falsehoods around him, he would remember what his father had said—Believe in the future. He clung to that idea like a lifeline, trusting that there was a path forward, that people could grow beyond their mistakes and become something greater.

But everything changed the day his father died.

It was a spring morning, and the cherry blossoms had just begun to bloom, filling the air with a sweet, delicate fragrance. The Kasetsu clan had received reports of a skirmish near the borders of their territory—a rogue group of bandits attacking travelers, sowing chaos. Takahiro, ever the protector, had decided to lead a small force to deal with them.

Raito, just twelve years old at the time, had begged his father to stay. "It's too dangerous," he pleaded. "Let someone else go. The bandits are vicious—they'll do anything to win."

But Takahiro had knelt down and looked Raito in the eyes. "Raito," he said gently, "sometimes you have to face danger to protect those you love. We can't live in fear of what might happen. We have to trust that we're doing the right thing."

"But what if it goes wrong?" Raito insisted, his heart pounding with dread.

Takahiro placed a hand on his shoulder, his grip firm but comforting. "Then we learn and keep moving forward," he replied. "You have to trust in the future, Raito. That's how we make the world better."

Raito wanted to believe him. He wanted to hold on to his father's faith, his unshakable belief in a brighter tomorrow. Against his instincts, which whispered that something wasn't right, he chose to trust in his father's wisdom. He forced himself to silence the part of him that saw danger everywhere, that sensed the flicker of deceit even in the calmest of waters.

But hours later, a messenger returned to the Kasetsu estate with terrible news. The bandits had been waiting in ambush. They were not the ragtag group everyone had thought them to be; they were a well-organized mercenary force, armed and prepared. Takahiro and his men had walked right into a trap.

Takahiro had fought bravely, they said, trying to protect his comrades, to buy them time to retreat. But in the chaos of battle, he had been struck down. When the reinforcements finally arrived, it was too late. Takahiro's body lay among the fallen, his hand still gripping his sword, his eyes open to the sky, lifeless and cold.

Raito had stood by his father's grave that day, his heart shattered, his world turned upside down. He looked at the earth that covered his father's body, his mind replaying the last words they had spoken. Trust in the future. The words felt like ashes in his mouth.

"You lied to me," Raito whispered, his voice breaking, tears streaming down his face. "You told me to believe, but this is what believing gets us. This is what happens when you trust that things will get better."

He had felt the world shift around him, the weight of his ability settling like a stone in his chest. His father—the one person who had always been honest with him, who had told him to believe—was gone, taken by a cruel, senseless fate. Raito couldn't shake the feeling that it was his fault, that if he had just listened to his instincts, if he had convinced his father to stay, things might have been different.

From that day forward, Raito stopped believing in the future. He stopped pretending that things would improve, that people could change. His ability, once a tool to navigate the world, became a constant reminder of its darkness. He saw every lie, every deceit, and he knew that his father had been wrong. The future wasn't a place of hope. It was a lie people told themselves to make the present bearable.

Raito became colder, more distant. He shut himself off from others, from the possibility of connection, because every bond seemed to be built on a foundation of falsehoods. He no longer believed in promises or dreams or possibilities. He saw the world as it was—broken, cynical, hopeless—and refused to let himself be deceived again.

But even now, he could still hear his father's voice in his mind, urging him to trust, to hope. And he hated that voice because it reminded him of what he had lost. It reminded him of the pain, the emptiness, the unbearable reality that there was no one left to trust, nothing left to believe in.

Standing before Yomi in the heart of the temple, Raito felt that old conflict ignite once more. The god's words echoed the thoughts that had haunted him since his father's death. Humanity is a race of liars, Yomi had said. You know this to be true...

Yomi's logic struck a chord deep within him. Raito's hand quivered at his side, hovering over the hilt of his blade. His father's death had been a turning point—a moment when he chose to see the world for what it was, to abandon the false comfort of hope.

Maybe Yomi is right, he thought. Maybe the future is just another lie, like all the others...

Zento's voice cut through his thoughts, urgent and filled with a desperate sincerity. "Raito, don't listen to this," Zento pleaded. "You've seen the worst in people, but you've also seen the best. We can still change things. You don't have to give in to this."

Raito's hand trembled, his breath catching in his throat. His father's face flashed in his mind—his calm eyes, his steady voice. He felt the pull of Yomi's logic, the cold allure of surrendering to the idea that nothing could change, that everything was meaningless.

But then, he remembered something else his father had said: You don't trust the present, Raito. You trust the future.

His heart ached with the conflict. Yomi's eyes bore into him, waiting for his decision. The chamber seemed to hold its breath, the air thick with expectation.

Raito's hand hovered between drawing his blade or letting it fall. His face was tight with anguish, his mind teetering on the edge.

What do I do? he thought. What do I believe in?

The choice was his. And in that instant, everything seemed to hang in the balance.