Life as a vegetable is very cruel
Right now, I'm paralyzed from my head down to toe . A sharp pain gnaws at my neck , and every time even a single muscle in my body tries to move, the agony multiplies severalfold.
After Hanayama and his men left the house I was in, I was abandoned in the backyard for two full days—until a blond-haired teenage boy found me and took me to the hospital.
Part of me wished I would just rot there, that everything would end quietly.
Another part was terrified that this might be my last chance to return through time.
And if that was the case… then my chance was already down the drain
At least in my previous life, I could move, speak, go to the bathroom on my own— I could even breathe by myself.
Now, I need countless tubes just to perform the most basic functions of life.
I wanted to cry… no, I truly wanted to scream at the top of my lungs.
But the only thing that leaked from my mouth was saliva.
I looked… pitiful.
I really hate being weak
Tears began pouring from my eyes relentlessly.
Five hours later…
Yang's eyes were fixed on the ceiling of the dark room. The heavy scent of bleach and the rhythmic beeping of medical monitors blended together into a suffocating background noise.
He was thinking.
If… I really returned through time, what could I have done to escape that place?
A place surrounded… by an army?
No— not an army. A group of armed men.
Gaaah!
Yang screamed inside his head.
Is my fate to live as a cripple?
Yes. That's all there is to it.
This is my personal hell—and that's why I'm being tortured like this.
He closed his eyes, trying to suppress the tears.
Either way… people who suffer damage to the upper cervical vertebrae sometimes die after a few years.
So all I have to do… is wait and plan until that day comes.
__________________________________________
Two years later…
Well… maybe things didn't go as I planned. Honestly, I no longer even know if I'm alive to begin with.
It felt like I was trapped inside a simulation.
From the very beginning, I had devised a complete escape plan—if I had truly returned. But I… forgot the plan few months ago.
Now, all I do is try to dig through my memory, piece by piece.
________________________________________
One year later…
A boy who looked like a teenager entered my dark room.
His face alone was bright enough to dispel the gloom of the place.
Short blond hair. Blue eyes. And in his right pupil—a shining star. He was tall, wearing a brown jacket. He walked in calmly, a wide smile on his face.
He sat on the chair beside my bed and said:
"It's been a long time since we last met, criminal."
…Can't he see that I'm relieving myself?
The boy lowered his head toward my feet, noticing the tubes carrying a yellowish liquid.
"Oh… did I come at a bad time?"
Very. I would have preferred you not come at all—especially if you're only here to cry over the crimes of the previous owner. I've spoken to you many times in my previous life, and I know exactly how every one of our conversations ends.
At first, you're calm.
Then anger starts to show on your face.
Then you promise that I'll regret what I did.
And every time I ask what happened to make you hate me this much, you respond with nothing but insults.
A perfectly fitting response—for a teenager.
Part of me even thinks that no matter what I did to you… you probably deserved it.
I said that in my mind, as if I were talking to him—the last straw keeping my sanity intact.
"Tsk." The boy clicked his tongue, then left the room.
My eyes followed him as he exited, deliberately leaving the door open.
Damn brat…
What did the original owner of this body actually do?
How did he manage to anger both a yakuza boss and a strange boy like this at the same time?
I'm honestly curious.
Still… I hope there aren't any more people out there who hold a grudge against me.
________________________________________
Two years later…
Another familiar figure came to my room—at midnight.
He stood at the second-floor window. The darkness of the night hid his face, but I recognized him immediately from his short stature and bulky build.
Yanagi Ryuukou
Like that boy, I had met him in my previous life. The only difference was that Yanagi was supposed to be my uncle.
Yanagi traced a circular motion on the window with his finger, then cut out a medium-sized circular piece—as if slicing paper.
Then he dislocated his shoulder bones and slipped through the opening.
"Let's cut to the chase, Yang. Since I owe your father, I'll give you two choices: either I kill you right now—painlessly ,or you live the rest of your life dependent on tubes."
He said it while calmly resetting his dislocated shoulder bones, as if it were nothing more than a routine motion.
"So what will you choose?"
His eyes locked onto Yang's.
Well… finally.
Yang closed his eyes.
That was enough.
Yanagi approached slowly and placed his palm over Yang's face.
Beeeeeeep—
The medical monitor let out a flat, decisive sound, declaring Yang's death.
_________________________/
"Oh… I really did come back."
Yang opened his eyes, then suddenly lifted his body.
"Huh?" The sound escaped him involuntarily.
How? He had believed that being paralyzed from head to toe for five and a half years would leave devastating aftereffects—forgetting how to use muscles, forgetting how to speak.
But none of that happened.
His body responded perfectly. Muscles firm. Breathing steady. Mind strangely clear.
Clearly… he had been wrong.
Does returning restore me to the peak of my physical and mental condition?
Yang didn't answer his own question.
Instead, he leapt from the bed and began searching the room frantically: drawers, liquor boxes scattered everywhere, under the bed, even beneath empty bottles.
"Damn it… nothing? How does a yakuza sleep without a weapon nearby? Was the owner of this body really that naïve? Damn it again."
He sat down on the king-sized bed, clutching his head—then his eyes fell on a broken bottle.
"…Oh. This will do."
He picked it up and carefully snapped off the neck against the edge of the bed, repeating a single phrase in his mind:
This is to ensure my survival.
This is to ensure my survival.
Ignoring the violent knocking and shouting at the door, Yang continued—until—
Bang!
The door burst open.
A man with long black hair stormed in. There was a scar over his right eye, and he wore a black jacket. His face was twisted with hatred.
"You know, you should at least have the decency to respond when someone knocks," he said as he advanced with heavy steps. "Even for trash like you."
This is to ensure my survival.
The man grabbed the back of Yang's neck.
"You should at least—"
Before he could finish, something plunged into his throat.
"I'm sorry," Yang said calmly.
The man collapsed onto his backside, clutching the glass knife lodged in his neck. Sweat poured from his face, blood gushing from his throat just as heavily.
"Now all I have to—"
Before Yang could finish his thought, the man's foot slammed into his stomach, sending him crashing to the floor. Yang gasped for breath, clutching his abdomen.
"What… how?"
The man staggered to his feet and tried to run—but stepped on a box filled with liquor bottles, slipping violently and falling face first making glass blade sank deeper into his throat.
He died instantly.
Whooof…
Yang exhaled in relief.
Outside—
A giant man stood there, wearing white clothes and a small white cap. A scar marked his mouth, a cigarette hanging steadily between his lips.
Hanayama Kaoru.
He was surrounded by his men, all silently waiting for the one who had gone inside to bring Yang out for punishment.
One of them stepped forward cautiously.
"Boss… Shiki's late."
"I can see that," Kaoru replied calmly.
After hesitating, the man asked, "Should I go check?"
Hanayama lowered his gaze at him, then turned his head slightly.
"You two—go with Kizaki."
The two men he pointed at had once belonged to Yang's yakuza family before defecting to Hanayama.
This was their chance to prove their loyalty.
"Yes, sir."
They moved immediately, backs stiff—as if their lives depended on what awaited behind that door.
The moment they reached the doorway, the stench of blood mixed with alcohol struck their noses.
Inside was a scene straight out of a horror film: shattered bottles everywhere, blood splattered across the room, and in the center—a body lying near the bed.
Face-down. Drenched in blood.
Black jacket. Long black hair.
"Shiki!!!"
Kizaki screamed, lifting the man into his arms.
Shiki's face was pale, shards of glass embedded in his skin. His eyes were closed—but his lips trembled weakly.
"Shiki… what happened?!"
"Kizaki… I think Yang escaped…"
One of the traitors said, peering through the shattered window.
Kizaki ignored him completely.
"shiki !! Stay with me ..." he then turned his heat to the two guys "why are you just standing there call an ambulance."
"Huh? Aren't we yaku—"
A sharp glare silenced him instantly.
_____________________
Shiki was wheeled out on a stretcher. Hanayama and his men stood outside, Kaoru at the front.
Kaoru placed a hand on Shiki's shoulder, making him wheeze beneath the oxygen mask.
"Don't worry. You're safe now."
He gestured for the doctors to load him into the ambulance.
"First Ichiban, then Kazuma, and now Shiki? That guy's really bold," one man muttered.
The reply came immediately.
"Bold? Ptoo." The man spat. "That's not courage—it's closer to arrogance. That kid really thinks he untouchable. But there's one thing I don't get… how did he know we were coming?"
As soon as he finished, all eyes turned toward the two traitors.
They stepped back, faces drained of color, hands raised defensively.
"C-calm down, s-sir—there's a misunder—"
"There is no misunderstanding."
The interruption was cold and final.
"A traitor dog will always be a traitor dog."
He pulled out a small knife and tossed it at their feet.
"Take turns committing seppuku."
"Seppuku?!"
They screamed in unison, tears streaming, sweat pouring.
"Pathetic cowards," he spat.
"Oi…" another man whispered, nudging him with his elbow.
"What?!" he snapped.
The man gestured toward Hanayama.
His expression was dark, smoke forming the shape of a skull behind him.
"while I agree that a traitor will always remain a traitor but your claim lacks precision…"
He paused, taking a drag from his cigarette.
"If Yang had really been warned—even a day in advance—he wouldn't have waited to kill just one of us. I've met Yang before. The idea that he knew the timing, stayed behind just to kill one of my men as a message or threat… is completely unbelievable."
Then—
"Boooss!!!"
A scream echoed from inside the house.
Everyone rushed in.
Inside Yang's room, Kizaki stood frozen at the edge of the room, trembling, pointing at something under the bed
They walked to where he was pointing.
There—
A naked corpse.
Its face completely skinned off.
The sight froze them in place. As if by instinct, they all turned toward Kaoru.
Hanayama stood silently looking down at the corpse
But his face—
It was boiling with rage. Veins bulging. His expression stretched to its limit.
_________________________
Inside the ambulance—
The doctor spoke into his phone, panic clear in his voice.
"Sir, I'm currently transporting a yakuza member to the hospital. May I—"
"What yakuza?" a quiet voice asked
.
"Huh? Hanayama… I think."
A brief silence.
"Then make sure he receives the best care possible. One mistake—and we're all finished."
Behind the doctor, Shiki's body—no, Yang's—began to rise.
Yang reached up and removed Shiki's face
___________________________________
Twenty minutes later—
The ambulance stopped on a deserted road in the forest.
The rear doors opened. Yang dragged the doctor's corpse out and laid it on the roadside.
Then he pulled the driver from the front—his neck purple from strangulation, choked from behind with a sheet—and placed him beside the doc
Yang exhaled deeply, staring at the sky.
"So… I really did it, huh? Killed a doctor—of all people."
He looked down at the driver. Eyes wide. Frozen in terror.
Yang knelt and gently closed them.
"Sorry."
Ring… ring… ring…
A phone rang inside the ambulance.
Yang picked it up.
"Yang…"
A calm voice came through.
Yang's eyes widened briefly, then darkened.
"Yo, General… good to hear your voice."
"I can't say the same about you."
"Hehehe."
Yang laughed—but it vanished instantly.
"Yang… come back."
Hanayama ordered coldly
"Why? So you can rip off my hands?"
Silence.
"If you return now, I promise I'll take only your hands in exchange for killing two of my family. I won't punish you for killing Shiki…"
Then, lower—
"But if you choose the second option… I'll find you. And I'll tear your head off."
"Good luck."
Yang ended the call and threw the phone away.
He glanced at the corpses behind him, then walked into the forest, clutching his abdomen in pain.
That bastard… Shiki.
I think he broke one of my ribs.
Good luck?
My ass.
I barely endured a single hit from one of his goons.
If I don't become stronger—truly stronger—then what he said will become an unavoidable reality.