What makes people stray from their paths, I wonder? What causes lives to be completely "turned upside down"? Would it be common sense to say that any trivial, foolish, or meaningless event could have the power to alter the course of someone's life? If so, then what could a truly impactful moment even cause?
Like a butterfly effect, even the smallest action can make a big difference in your life.
It's terrifying how sudden events can simply change the way you see the world. And when you least expect it, when you are at your most vulnerable, the impact will be much stronger than previously anticipated. Sometimes, such impacts can lead to traumatic events and scars that will never heal.
At the end of the day, the life of every person on this planet is like a ticking time bomb—we just don't know exactly when it will go off.
I say this because I fear that my own bomb is about to explode, ever since the disaster that happened not so long ago.
Lost in thought, an aura of uncertainty and insecurity surrounds me.
March 9th, 2024—today, I have an important appointment: to visit an old friend. I sit on the blue armchair in the hospital lobby, observing the nearly empty hallway. The air carries a faint smell of disinfectant and stale coffee. A few meters away, the receptionist, dressed in white, stands up with a restrained smile.
"Please wait just a moment, until the patient is ready for your visit," her gentle voice conceals the rush to organize everything.
"Yes… I'll wait, thank you," I reply, trying to shake off the apprehension that insists on clinging to me.
I seek comfort in the view outside the window: buildings and houses in pale tones, and the vastness of the sea reflecting the cold, late-winter sun. I hold good memories of this place, mostly because of who I'm about to see, but I can't help recalling the fire that consumed my old school.
It was on March 2nd, 2024—exactly one week ago. Well… not exactly, it was dark at the time, around 8 p.m.
I found myself before a spectacle of scarlet-red flames, dancing like a field of roses in chaos. The heat invaded the streets, reducing any chance of snowfall, and I could only watch, powerless, hoping it would end while relying on others to contain the fury of the fire. The smell of smoke still feels embedded in my nostrils, like a physical memory.
That school was a part of me—its hallways, my routine, my few friends. Watching it burn was like seeing fragments of my own identity reduced to ashes.
Not just me, of course—many others were deeply affected, both physically and psychologically. It was clear that, around me, there were others suffering just the same…
"Ayato Unten," distracted by the events of that day, a sound calling my name takes me slightly by surprise—it's the calm and sweet voice of the nurse that catches my attention. "He's ready to receive visitors now. Come, I'll guide you to his room."
"Ah… thank you very much," I reply, even though I already know the way by heart, having visited him so many times.
With each step we take through these morbid hallways, a growing pain in my chest intensifies. The strong smell of medicine and the sound of people coughing only add to my discomfort with the situation.
Still, I keep coming here, every day, as if it were an undesirable routine.
This time, though, it's different—the news I received was exactly what I had hoped for.
"Y–you don't need to be like that, Unten, I know everything will work out in the end, and he'll recover well. We just need to wait," the young woman says, having noticed my slightly downcast expression, and seeming to feel sorry for me. "After all, we're doing everything we can with this procedure."
I sigh, nodding slightly, though it's only now that I truly begin to believe her words. With each step, the rhythmic sound of our shoes echoes against the cold tiled walls. We pass partially open doors, where heart monitors beep and muffled voices of doctors can be heard.
"Ah, by the way, here we are," the nurse shows me the room once more, in her usual cheerful tone.
She enters first, quickly checking that everything is in order for the visit.
"Mr. Nagumo, I'm here to visit you once again," she calls his attention.
"...."
The awkward silence makes me question whether Mr. Nagumo is truly okay.
The room is white, just like the rest of the hospital. There's a small television on the wall, a little table with a vase of white flowers, and a heater that's almost always on.
The further I walk into the room, the more a strange mixture of joy and pity fills my body, as if it were my first time coming here.
Beside the small table, I see the bed where Mr. Nagumo lies. His medium-length beard and white hair emphasize his age—around 65, I would guess, never bothered to ask him.
"Hi… Mr. Nagumo, how are you? Are you recovering well?" I speak in a rather restrained voice.
Mr. Nagumo's eyes, however, widen the moment he sees me.
"Ayato Unten is here to see you too," the nurse adds.
It seems the hospital didn't tell him I'd be visiting today.
"Ah, hi Ayato. I'm glad you came to visit," he sighs with relief upon seeing me, trying to sit up to greet me, even though he's not yet in condition for such a movement. "My back's a little sore, but I think I'm doing well enough… haha."
Mr. Nagumo is alive, and his breathing is stable—but more importantly, he's awake.
My face is probably forming a faint smile of satisfaction, rare as it is for me.
However, his eyes betray something more. There's a deep tension there—almost panic.
Could it be from the disaster, like some kind of trauma? No… maybe that's an exaggeration.
"You were in a coma for several days. I imagine it must've been difficult to regain consciousness," I comment, standing by his side with my hands in the pockets of my hoodie.
"Haha… the doctors told me the same thing… but what really matters is that everyone who was in that place is safe."
Others were saved thanks to his bravery and determination, that's true—but he always worries more about others than himself. Because of that, he suffered the consequences. He was too reckless.
That said, it's a noble trait to have, and I respect him deeply for it.
"So… are you satisfied with having risked yourself for the sake of others?"
"I always have been, and I always will be," he affirms with absolute certainty, looking confidently at me.
I still can't understand it… why try to save other people? I've always seen it as a double-edged sword, and Mr. Nagumo being hospitalized is proof of that.
"Ayato… I know you resent what happened, but the true joy of helping others is knowing that those who care about them will be just as grateful," he says, as if he had read my mind. "It's something genuinely beautiful—to see everyone you reached out to smiling with gratitude."
"...."
His words are quite gorgeous, but I won't easily give up my point of view.
Then his face grows a bit more serious than it already was, as if he remembered something troubling.
"And that's why—because I know there are still people who need saving—that my work isn't over yet…"
I look at him in confusion, wondering what he meant by that.
"Do you have something to tell me, Mr. Nagumo?"
In the end, I figured it would be simpler and more effective to ask him directly about what's going on.
"Haha… you've always been a remarkably perceptive boy."
Not only did I sense it from his expression, but also from the fact that he didn't respond to the nurse when we first entered. It seemed he was waiting for someone specific—me, in this case—and had been slightly disappointed just before he saw me.
He then turns his head toward the nurse, trying to appear calm and composed.
"Now, young lady, could you give us a moment? I'd like to speak with him alone."
"No problem, excuse me."
She quickly says goodbye and closes the door, giving us more privacy.
"Ayato, I'm afraid you should lock the door," Mr. Nagumo says, as serious as he can.
I get up and obey, locking the door and pulling the curtains closed. The air grows heavy. The sound of the heater now seems like a distant hum, as if the entire room had been cut off from the world.
I might have a slight idea of what he's about to say, but I choose to stay quiet, trying to understand the context of the situation.
Mr. Nagumo sighs and speaks to me, eyes lowered.
"...It's about the fire. There's something behind it," his statement echoes through the silence.
That was to be expected—everything was too strange…
My first thought was that Mr. Nagumo might have valuable information I could use. And my second thought was that finding order in the chaos—an explanation for such an extraordinary disaster—would be exciting, something to ease my loss.
My heart races, but I remain calm, ready to absorb every word.
"I'm listening," I say, prepared for whatever comes next.