The cry of one born kicking at the threshold of summer crossed the walls as if to place the whole world beneath its feet. Born with the absurdity of a birth that wakes the dead—a birth one cannot dare to be angry at, nor point a finger at for its awakening—this thing learned to stand on two feet, and even as the guts in its belly swelled and fear vanished, it could not rebel. With a stiff, twisted confidence that didn't even know how to look up at the sky, it sprouted, ruthlessly tore away its cotyledons, and grew until it sat in the place closest to the heavens and the gods. The high walls are like its pride, the height of an arrogance that never knew how to break, the climax of a play where one throws oneself into the depths of a hazy dream, resembling the movements of dancers shaking boisterously. Oyamagumi, Yamagumi—its leader is coming to get you, so child, little child, stop your crying. The Yamagumi is coming. The Yamagumi is coming.

I've held money and women in my mouth until my interest withered. Do you think there was any hesitation in the hand that wiped the traces of pleasure from lips that had eaten their fill? I've chewed the marrow of midnight madness until there's nothing left to eat. Having torn through and tasted everything, the tip of my protruding tongue has reached the end of gourmet indulgence and no longer knows how to feel flavor. It was enough to just gnaw on meaningless things, suck out the sweetness, and spit them out. I wondered if you, coming from across the sea, from the neighboring country, would be any different, but when you are served peeled and ready for me to bite into something that hasn't even ripened yet, my appetite completely vanishes.

Did they bring this as a delicacy, drizzled with honey? You expect me to swallow this thing, thick with the scent of a suckling babe lingering on those soft cheeks? Even as I stared at this cheap canned fruit, soaked in sugar until the root of my tongue ached, and told them to take the dish away, it wouldn't leave. I offered to spit back this cheap life sold off for a father's gambling debts, but the soft thing just kept shaking its head, saying it didn't want to go back. I thought about throwing it onto the dirt floor, but I bit my tongue. It has a stubborn streak; if it's going to try this hard, leave it in the corner until it gives up on its own. Whether it ripens into a sticky sweetness or rots and calls the flies, I won't even blink an eye.

Does it not even realize the pattern of the tatami is being imprinted on its knees? What stubbornness. A body that might not even be a handful has been kneeling for hours, so of course it's trembling. Why does something that could be hidden behind a single palm insist on being so obstinate? I almost wanted to sit before it just for the merit of that effort. The eyes looking at me with the word 'expectation' written on its face are transparent like candy. The sweetness wafts endlessly, as if protesting for me to look at it. Like a chirping chick, cheep-cheep, it doesn't even cry, just begs and pleads for me to look.

I told you to go back.

I let out a deep sigh as tears, looking like they might spill sweetness, welled up at the sound of my low voice as if it were shards of glass. Where did they even find such a thing? Something completely useless. I swallowed a faint sense of disgust and stood up. A small body that will fall away on its own, that will vanish in three days.