Zenitsu Agatsuma could hear it.
He could hear the subtle clack of the Hanafuda cards, the rustle of the card hidden in the old man's sock, the grinding of the ruffian's teeth on the right... These sounds painted a vivid picture in his ears.
"Alright, everyone," Zenitsu said, slapping his cards on the table with a mix of arrogance and triumph. "I win again! I'll be taking these!" He reached for the pile of copper and silver coins.
This was his seventh win in a row. The old man across from him slammed the table. "You brat! You're cheating! No one wins seven times in a row!"
The ruffian on the right lunged, his massive fist aimed at Zenitsu's head. "I'll kill you, kid! Give me back my money!"
"WAAAAAAHHHH HELP MEEEE!" Zenitsu shrieked, but his body moved like an eel, ducking and weaving. The fist grazed only a few hairs on the back of his head.
Zenitsu scrambled toward the door, not forgetting to scoop up his winnings. Amidst a cacophony of curses and heavy footsteps, he managed to squeeze through the creaky door of the gambling den.
The black-haired boy leaned against a cold wall, gasping for breath as he patted his bulging pockets. Zenitsu Agatsuma always won. Hanafuda, Sugoroku... he loved these games because he could hear them. He could hear the unique vibration of the cards and the trajectory of the dice in the cup.
These ears, capable of catching almost any sound, were his only talent in this chaotic world—a compensation from the heavens for the parents he never knew.
Because of his ears, he could hear the secret rustle of a card being palmed, the exact hand his opponent held, and the clumsy, opening-filled trajectory of a desperate ruffian's strike.
And, of course, he could hear it now—standing across from him was a young girl named Chiyo. He could hear her heartbeat, which had accelerated into a ragged rhythm because she was lying, and the minute, unnatural tension in her muscles and joints born of nerves.
Chiyo kept her head lowered, twisting the sleeve of her faded kimono. She put on a shy, reserved expression, her voice barely a whisper: "Zenitsu-kun... I really want to go for a walk with you... but, but my family is so strict, and my mother... I don't want to cause you any trouble..."
She spoke a fraction faster than usual, the end of her sentence carrying a faint, imperceptible tremor. Then, as if to change the subject, her eyes flickered toward him and away again, her tone turning wistful. "Oh, by the way, I saw a new dress at 'Echigo-ya' on the corner. It was pink, with lace... so beautiful..." Her fingers unconsciously rubbed the rough fabric of her sleeve.
Zenitsu knew. He knew that every night, Chiyo walked with light, expectant steps toward the other side of town. He could hear the click-clack of her heels on the stone path when she wore the new clothes he had saved up to buy her, or the cheap but shiny jewelry and the cute Western shoes he had gifted her. He could even hear her satisfied sigh when she fell into the arms of another boy named Masa. That sound was like a tiny needle stabbing his heart.
"Haha, I get it, I get it! A strict upbringing is a good thing!" Zenitsu laughed it off. His smile was stiff, but he forced his tone to remain light. He naturally stuffed the coins he had just won that morning—still warm from his hands—into Chiyo's palm, moving too fast for her to refuse.
"Here! Chiyo-chan is so cute, you'll look even better in that dress! Next time... you have to wear it for me, okay?"
Chiyo's fingers instinctively tightened around the money, her knuckles turning white. She lowered her eyelids to hide a flash of guilt and calculation. "Mm... okay, Zenitsu-kun. Next time... definitely!" Internally, she was already plotting: Next time, I'll just say the dress got stained... then I can get more money to buy a gift for Masa.
"It's a promise, then! Tomorrow evening, the usual spot!" Zenitsu acted as if he didn't hear the dismissive tone in her voice. He waved enthusiastically with a bright smile.
"Mm, see you tomorrow..." Chiyo whispered. She watched Zenitsu turn and walk away, let out a soft sigh of relief, and tucked the money into her robes. She turned and walked briskly in the opposite direction, already planning her date for the night.
Zenitsu kept that foolish grin on his face until he turned the corner and was certain she could no longer see him. As he walked alone toward his dilapidated shack, his footsteps became heavy and dragging. He could hear his heart thumping in his chest—a dull, lonely sound. He rubbed his face hard, trying to wipe away the lingering sense of loss.
It's fine, it's fine. At least she took the money. Chiyo-chan will be even cuter! Hehehe...
Zenitsu comforted himself, trying to focus on the weight of the remaining copper coins in his pocket. I have money! I can buy eel! He hummed a tuneless melody and pushed open his creaky, broken wooden door. The world was shut out. He slid down against the door, clutching his bag of winnings, that silly smile still plastered on his face as if the events of the street were merely a trivial interlude.
The next evening. Having won a bit more, Zenitsu sat on the cold stone steps of their meeting spot, rubbing the warm coins between his fingers. Chiyo-chan will look like a doll in that dress. He imagined them walking together under the sunset. One day... we'll have a little yard, children running around, and she'll sit on the porch and smile at me...
The warmth of his longing briefly filled the void of his solitary life. Even knowing the money would likely end up in Masa's pocket, he didn't care—hearing Chiyo's "thank you," even if it was fake, felt like the clinking of a home being built.
Chiyo didn't come. The sun sank below the horizon, and the wind in the alley turned biting. Zenitsu rubbed his chest where a gambler had punched him earlier. It's okay. She's a girl; being a little late is cute... He tried to ignore the growing hole in his heart.
Deception? He was used to it. Hatred? That was a luxury. He only wanted a harbor to rest in, even if that harbor was a sandcastle built of lies and copper coins.
Chiyo still didn't come. The night was thick as ink. The streets were empty. Zenitsu's body was stiff from the cold. Is it over? The thought was an ice pick to the heart. Do I have to find a 'new home' again? The faces of the girls who had tricked him before blurred in his mind. Every "ending" meant he was one step further from his dream of a family.
Just as despair was about to drown him, a sudden impulse drove him to his feet. His legs moved on their own toward Chiyo's house. Just a peek... maybe she's sick? She's so cute; she wouldn't have the heart to leave me!
Chiyo's house was deathly silent. No shouting from her father, no sharp scolding from her mother, no rattling bottles. Only the wail of the wind through a broken window.
Zenitsu's heart skipped a beat. Too quiet... where is she?
By instinct, he thought of Masa. He crept toward the boy's solitary shack on the other side of town like a startled cat.
Zenitsu smelled it—anyone would have. The closer he got to the shack, the thicker the sweet, metallic scent of blood became.
And his ears had already caught the sounds. Crunch... crunch... teeth gnashing on something hard, grinding cartilage. Squelch... rip... the sound of muscle and fascia being violently torn. And then, a familiar voice—Chiyo's voice—intermittent and strained: "Ugh... Masa... ugh..."
Zenitsu's blood rushed to his head. That bastard! Is he hitting her?! Rage incinerated his fear. This is it! The hero saves the beauty! She'll finally see me for who I am! His courage surged to an all-time high.
He didn't hide. He stood tall and kicked the flimsy door open with a heroic roar: "Masa, you bastard! Let her go! If you want a fight, take me on—eh? Chiyo-chan... what are you doing?"
Under the flickering oil lamp, a slender figure knelt with her back to the door, sitting in a thick, dark pool of blood. She was wearing the new pink dress Zenitsu had bought her, but it was soaked in crimson filth. Her shoulders jerked with suppressed, wet sobbing.
Her hands—the hands that had shyly twisted her sleeve and accepted his money—were buried deep inside a horrific, gaping hole in Masa's chest. She was rummaging, digging, accompanied by the bone-chilling sound of tearing tendons and a sticky, wet friction.
"Masa... you said you only liked me... you said your heart... was mine, hehe..." Chiyo's voice was still sweet, but it was like honey-coated poison—hollow and obsessed. She began to sob again. "So I'm taking it now, Masa's heart... ugh... I can't let that other girl have it..."
The sound of the door startled her. The figure stopped jerking. The sobbing died into an eerie silence.