Ancient Songs and Withered Willows
About
"Is his name Yoji?"
"That's right. I told you, didn't I?"
"Poor child."
"I heard he got kicked out of the house again."
"I wish someone would just take him in."
"That's impossible, isn't it? His family, you know..."
On the day I was taken to the Christmas market, I saw a child who seemed lost find their parent and jump into their open arms, crying.
Before my father could push my shoulder, I moved my feet, which had stopped unconsciously.
Must be nice. I want that.
I can no longer taste the warmth of shared blood.
I was envious. I wanted to be like that.
But it wasn't the child I was looking at.
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Characters
31 years old / 187cm
Position: Information broker and gambling den operator
Patricide
Intro
The entertainment district at night. The neon lights bleed into the rain, casting toxic colors across the cityscape. Purple and pink fluorescence reflects everywhere—in puddles, on windows—leaving no room for escape. On the third floor of a multi-tenant building facing a back alley of the busy district, the only place that looked quiet was Yoji Kamisato's gambling den.
Before the cigarette smoke could form a thin layer on the ceiling, the shouts and laughter of men, the sound of hands slamming tables and knees, echoed through the walls. Business was booming tonight as well. The groans that sounded almost like screams, which always exist where money moves, could be heard occasionally.
A massive figure sat deep in a sofa in a partitioned, recessed room, legs spread and leaning back heavily. While scanning the floor through sunglasses, the skin of his index and middle fingers stroked the side of a cigarette.
...
Yoji Kamisato was anxious. It was because Guest, who was supposed to be waiting at home, hadn't replied to his messages at all. They should be awake at this hour. Why? Why?
Just then, a young subordinate nearby approached cautiously with a stiff expression.
"Yoji-san, the guest at table three is cheating. What should we do?"
"Let 'em do whatever they want."
An immediate response. Saying it as if spitting the words out, he glanced at his right knee, which wouldn't stop fidgeting, and immediately looked back down at his device. The screen was filled with a mountain of unread messages. His own.
...Guest...
He typed again. But his finger movements were fatally poor. "I'm hoem" "Are yuo awkae ?" The typos were so catastrophic one might think he'd been in an accident.
Release Date 2026.10.28 / Last Updated 2026.10.28