"𝑾𝒉𝒊𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑴𝒊𝒓𝒂𝒈𝒆"

╴𝑫𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅╶

dread
verb
anticipate with great apprehension or fear.
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It had been four days since Takahiro's last trip to the store, and since then, he had sneezed four more times. A flicker of worry crossed his mind, was he coming down with something? Yet, he reminded himself that when he truly got sick, his body would enter a state of shutdown, leaving him incapacitated. No, he reassured himself, he was just fine.

He grabbed his messenger bag and slung it over his shoulder before stepping out of his house. The morning air felt crisp and fresh as he quickly locked the door behind him. Today, he felt a strange urgency despite having thirty minutes to spare and only a ten-minute walk ahead. That left him with twenty minutes of potentially tedious waiting, a thought that did not sit well with him. So, he decided to take his time on the walk, letting the rhythm of his steps calm his racing thoughts.

As he approached the strikingly artistic building that housed his workplace, he noticed a car parked nearby with a man leaning casually against it. Takahiro paused, curiosity piquing within him. Who could be visiting this early in the morning?

“Mr. Mikio?” called the man, straightening up his posture as he called Takahiro's name. Takahiro felt a jolt of surprise, not only did this stranger know who he was, but he seemed to be there specifically for him.

“Yes?” Takahiro responded, raising an eyebrow. The man was dressed sharply in a suit. Wasn't that a bit too formal for a morning visit at an art building of all things? What was this about?

“I apologize for my informality,” The man replied, bowing slightly. “I'm Mr. Fujisawa. Today is your trip to Nagoya for the art discussion, correct? Your boss, Mr. Kyouka, sent me to pick you up.”

Takahiro's heart raced as he processed the information. “Wait, that's today?” He exclaimed, a sense of panic washing over him. He could have sworn it was scheduled for next week. “We need to go, Mr. Fujisawa!”

Fujisawa chuckled softly, opening the back door of the sleek black car. Takahiro bowed repeatedly, his head spinning with a mix of anxiety and embarrassment, his vision blurring slightly from the quick movements. As he climbed into the back seat, he felt a wave of urgency wash over him, how had he miscalculated the timing of such an important event?

As Fujisawa settled into the driver's seat, Takahiro leaned his head against the cool window, allowing his mind to wander amidst the flurry of emotions. The strap of his bag slid down his shoulder, his hair falling into his eyes. He tried to gather his thoughts, grappling with the realization that he had nearly overlooked a significant event. Could time really have flown by so quickly?

He sighed, hoping that the trip would be brief-just enough to gather his thoughts.

He closed his eyes and waited patiently, trying to calm the swarming thoughts in his mind. However, the longer his eyes remained shut, the more it felt as if the car ride was stretching on. Surely they had been traveling for more than the twenty minutes it would typically take to reach Nagoya. The rhythmic hum of the engine was oddly comforting, but it also made him increasingly aware of the time slipping away.

Eventually, he cracked his eyes open, squinting against the bright light filtering through the window. To his bewilderment, he recognized the road outside. It was all too familiar, yet something felt off. Confusion washed over him as he tried to piece together what was happening. Perhaps the lingering effects of sleep were clouding his judgment. But as his gaze fell on the street sign ahead, clarity struck like a bolt of lightning.

Jolting upright in his seat, his panic raised. The realization sent his heart racing. They were far from their intended destination, and a sense of urgency gripped him. What had happened? Did Fujisawa take a wrong turn? He glanced at the driver, who remained composed, seemingly unfazed.

“Excuse me, this isn't Nagoya...”

Music played softly in the background as Takahiro sat in the car, his gaze fixed on the rearview mirror.

“About that, Mr. Mikio…” The driver said, pulling off his mask. Takahiro's confusion deepened as he tried to process this unexpected revelation. Suddenly, realization dawned, the driver looked oddly familiar. It struck him like a lightning bolt.

“Ijichi?” He gasped, his heart sinking. He had heard whispers about them wanting him back, but he never imagined it would come to this. A cold wave of dread washed over him as he thought of Jujutsu High—the building, the faces of those he had spent his teenage years with. Memories flooded his mind, each one a reminder of why he left in the first place. It was unfair for them to drag him back against his will.

“Ijichi, stop the car! I’m not going back,” He demanded, his voice rising with urgency. The playful, easygoing demeanor he had moments ago vanished, replaced by a steely determination. This was a line he wasn’t willing to cross.

“I apologize, Mikio,” Ijichi said, his tone laced with regret. “I have orders to follow.” He had known for a long time how Takahiro felt about returning, but he was just a pawn in a much larger game. “You may leave if they allow you to after the discussion…”

“What discussion?” Takahiro interrupted, his arms crossed defiantly over his chest. “Ijichi, this is unjust and goes against my wishes. Who’s behind this? Was it Yaga?”

“I’m afraid I can’t give any details. They insisted it was urgent, so please just bear with me for today.” Ijichi’s expression was a mix of empathy and frustration, reflecting the weight of the situation.

Takahiro sighed heavily, attempting to calm the storm brewing within him. He knew this wasn’t Ijichi’s fault, he was merely an assistant caught in a web of decisions made by others. Still, anger bubbled beneath the surface, directed at the higher-ups who had orchestrated this unwelcome return.

It felt profoundly unfair. The very same people who had taken away his best friend—the ones who had kept him from spending the holidays with him—were now pulling him back into a life he had fought to escape. They were the reason he felt so lost, so disconnected from everything he had once known. No matter how they framed it, he knew they were a significant part of why his best friend was no longer there.

That realization was why he had left. Takahiro had needed to distance himself from the suffocating orders and the cold lack of empathy that permeated the organization. He never wanted to become like them—emotionless and rigid, prioritizing duty over connection. He had to escape before he succumbed to their ways.

He took a deep breath, reminding himself that lashing out wouldn’t change anything. Ijichi was just the messenger, after all. “I apologize, Ijichi. This place… it brings back dreadful memories,” He said, his voice softening. He understood that his anger, though justified, didn’t excuse his outburst and could've gone differently.

Could've gone differently? That question haunted him daily, echoing in his mind like a relentless drumbeat. Every day, every interaction, every choice could have unfolded in countless ways, and yet here he was, grappling with a reality that felt imposed upon him. He understood that growth often stemmed from confronting mistakes and hardships, yet the weight of “what if” lingered uncomfortably in the back of his mind.

“I understand. I truly regret having to be the one to do this to you, but I hope you can find a way to settle it,” Ijichi replied, a note of sincerity in his voice.

‘Oh, I will.’ Takahiro thought.

He leaned back in his seat, watching as the familiar buildings flashed by. Each structure sparked memories—some joyful, others painful—that filled him with a sense of longing and dread. He wasn’t exaggerating when he claimed the place felt dreadful to him.

He had always believed that a wound couldn’t heal until the source of the pain was removed. Yet there was a bitter truth he couldn’t escape: at some point, you had to confront that pain again. Healing required acknowledgment, and facing that reality was something he was not ready to do.

As the car parked, signifying the journey had ended, Takahiro steeled himself for the inevitable confrontation that awaited him.

♡