— THE BOY WHO SHOULD HAVE DIED
The rain had begun before dawn.
Not a wild storm, not a gentle drizzle — just a steady fall of cold, heavy drops, the kind that sink into clothes, skin, and bone.
Li Kyo sat on the old wooden bench outside their home, watching the rain carve silver lines through the dim morning fog.
He sat silently. Breathing silently. Existing silently.
Just like he had learned to do all these years.
The world around him moved — leaves trembled, droplets hit the roof, the wind carried a low hum — but inside him, nothing moved. Nothing healed. Nothing changed.
He was eighteen now. Taller. Stronger. Sharper.
But inside, he was still the trembling boy who pulled his dying brother out of the rubble.
Still the boy who failed.
Still the boy who kept waking up from the same nightmare — only to realize it wasn't a dream.
---
THE WEIGHT HE COULDN'T ESCAPE
People said time healed.
Li Kyo knew better.
Time didn't heal.
It only made him better at hiding the wounds.
Every morning he told himself he would end it today.
Every night he slept alive again.
Because of one person.
Because of Rima Kyo, his mother.
The only thread keeping him tied to the world.
She never talked much about the explosion.
Never blamed him.
Never cried in front of him.
But when she thought he was asleep, he sometimes heard her.
A soft, shaking grief muffled under her pillow.
Those sounds kept him alive.
Not hope.
Not strength.
Just responsibility — a chain heavier than iron.
"If I die… she'll die too."
That was enough to keep his heart beating against his will.
---
THE WORLD OF SEEKERS
Inside the house, on his small desk, a stack of old books waited.
Books about ruins.
Lost civilizations.
Forgotten rituals.
Strange symbols drawn by hands centuries old.
Li Kyo had spent years studying them quietly.
Not because he wanted to be a scholar.
Not because he cared about history.
But because of one line he once found scribbled inside an ancient diary:
"Souls never vanish.
Only misplaced."
The moment he read it…
His chest tightened.
His hands shook.
Something impossible, something forbidden, something desperate sparked inside him:
Maybe Sin Kyo wasn't gone.
Maybe his soul was somewhere.
Maybe… he could bring him back.
From that day on, he became something new —
A Khoji, a Seeker of forgotten truths.
He traveled to abandoned temples.
He sneaked into old archives.
He read languages no one remembered.
He followed every rumor, every myth, every impossible whisper.
But all he had were fragments.
A symbol here.
A prophecy there.
A half-burnt page describing a ritual incomplete.
And worse —
Someone else was collecting clues too.
Someone faster.
Someone always ahead.
Someone who seemed to know exactly where Li Kyo would go next.
---
THE SHADOW
Three nights ago, he saw him.
A figure standing on the opposite rooftop.
Tall.
Still.
Almost part of the darkness itself.
He didn't move.
Didn't speak.
Didn't hide.
Just watched.
Watched Li Kyo with a stillness that chilled him in a way even nightmares hadn't.
And then — like fog blown by the wind — he was gone.
Li Kyo couldn't explain why, but something in his bones whispered:
He has been watching since the beginning.
Since the first explosion.
Since Sin Kyo.
Since everything.
But why?
---
THE DAY IT HAPPENED AGAIN
"Li Kyo," a soft voice called.
The door slid open.
Rima Kyo stepped out into the rain, holding an old umbrella that had lost one of its ribs. Her hair was tied loosely, strands slipping over her tired eyes.
For a moment, Li Kyo's chest tightened.
Not out of love.
Not out of comfort.
But fear.
Fear that one day he would lose her too.
He forced a small smile — the same empty one he used every day.
"Morning, Mom."
She looked at him, as if trying to read the storm inside him.
She never could.
No one could.
"Breakfast is ready," she said softly.
"Okay. I'll come."
She nodded, turned back toward the door—
BOOM!!!!!
The world erupted.
Again.
The ground heaved under him.
Walls cracked open like paper.
Smoke swallowed the sky.
Li Kyo's ears screamed.
His heartbeat staggered.
His vision shook violently.
He didn't feel the rain anymore.
He didn't feel the cold.
He felt only one thing —
Fear.
Not of dying.
But of losing her.
"Mom! MOM!!!"
His own voice echoed through the collapsing debris as he sprinted through the explosion's dust cloud.
His legs moved on their own.
His mind didn't think.
His body remembered.
Remembered crawling through rubble as a child.
Remembered blood and screams.
Remembered Sin Kyo's tiny hand slipping from his.
Not again.
Not again.
NOT AGAIN—
He reached the ruins of what had been their doorway.
And there—
under broken wood, shattered glass, and swirling smoke…
Rima Kyo lay crushed beneath a fallen beam.
Her breath was thin — like the last flicker of a dying candle.
"Mom… Mom, look at me—please, look at me!"
Her eyelids trembled.
Slowly, painfully, they lifted.
She smiled.
A soft, gentle smile.
Just like Sin Kyo's.
A smile that shattered him.
"Li…
don't… follow… the truth…" she whispered, each word a struggle.
"It will destroy… you…"
And then…
Her hand slipped from his.
Her breath faded.
Her smile froze forever.
Time stopped.
Sound stopped.
World stopped.
Li Kyo didn't scream.
He couldn't.
His grief had gone beyond tears —
into something silent, dark, and immeasurable.
---
A PAIR OF EYES IN THE SMOKE
As the last flames flickered…
As the dust settled…
As Li Kyo held the cold hands of the last person he had left…
Someone watched.
From the top of a distant building —
half-hidden by smoke and shadow.
A man.
Still.
Unmoving.
Silent.
His eyes glowed faintly.
Not with warmth.
Not with pity.
Not with hatred.
But with knowledge.
He watched until the last spark died.
Then turned away.
Not leaving.
Not running.
Only walking.
As if everything — every death, every tragedy, every explosion —
had unfolded exactly as he expected.
Exactly as he wanted.
And Li Kyo…
broken, bleeding, empty…
had no idea how close the truth already was.
Because the truth…
was watching him.
---
If you want, I can now write:
----
Writing this chapter of "Why Smile?", I kept thinking about the weight we all carry quietly—those small, unseen burdens that shape us more than the big, obvious tragedies.
Li Kyo's story is about survival, yes, but not the kind that shows on the outside. It's about living while pieces of yourself are left behind, about the silent promises we keep to those we love, and the invisible watchers that seem to be part of our fate.
Sometimes, the hardest moments are not the ones that break us with noise, but the ones that whisper. And yet, even in whispers, the world moves. People move. Hearts move.
As a writer, I want you to feel that quiet weight with him, the calm after a storm that isn't really over, the numbness that teaches us more than pain ever could.
And remember… the story doesn't end here. Not really.
It's only just beginning.
— Ajiro Shin