Fairy Tail: Kyoka Suigetsu

**The Can of Worms**

[The Devotion of An Atheist]

Is this really worth saving? It makes me ponder… The only reason I'm doing this is that I'm honoring my deal and taking pride in it because I simply like the idea of sticking to my word. I have no deeper concept of right and wrong. It's just that if you believe you're doing something the wrong way, then correct it, but if not, change is unnecessary.

I still remember that day. It was the day an elder died, her head crushed and minced by a truck. I was only a kid when I watched her fall slowly. Not only me—the people surrounding me did the same. However, they tried to rush over to her when they noticed her falling, and instead, I was left alone, standing at a distance, watching the scene unfold. Did I think it was too late, or did I just not care about the lives of other people? Or did I simply not understand things because I was only a child? I don't know. That's the only thing I'm certain of—I don't know. But I do know that I felt nothing at all about her brutal death. And whoever took her place, even if it was someone close to me, I would still do the same thing.

Is it because I was ashamed of crying? Did I put too much emphasis on dignity? In my opinion, to be honorable, one must remain strong. The idea of becoming strong is to not be weak, and crying is considered a weakness. So, I'm not going to cry. I completely eliminated that weakness. If that's the case, then I'm strong. Since I'm strong, they will respect me, and once I gain the respect I want, I can take pride in my efforts. Pride... I'm satisfied. The reason I feel satisfied is that I was unsatisfied with the way they treated me because it was wrong. I set my morality that way because I felt unsatisfied. However, to them, it was the right way to treat me.

"Violence always solves the problem. If it doesn't work, it simply means you didn't use enough."

Beating someone into obedience—I experienced it firsthand, and it caused one of my disabilities. I tried to fight back, but for them, me defending myself was wrong! I should be beaten, I should be put down into the depths of the abyss, and I should never rise to the surface! Because that's where I belong. Why? I don't understand. They wanted me to die but wouldn't kill me because killing is wrong, so they could only drive me into a depressed state where I would kill myself. One day, they might feel guilty about their actions, saying, "I'm sorry," but they will always do the same thing. It's a cycle, like a wire being bent until it snaps. That's when you lose your sense of reason.

Speaking of reason, they did it because they hated my existence. But did I ever ask to exist? I was given life because they wanted to, yet they were unsatisfied. Yes, unsatisfied. And at that time, I didn't understand—I was only a kid. That's why I tried to understand and failed! Which made them even more unsatisfied. So, in order to satisfy them, I learned how to satisfy others—pleasure, happiness, a sense of fulfillment. I wanted to satisfy them by doing things that would make them happy, eventually seeking to satisfy everyone, regardless of my own image. If I could make them smile, I would even go so far as to destroy myself. Why? It's something I don't understand! And I truly despise that feeling. I tried to please the world, hoping to be accepted, and was instead thrown into the abyss. I lost everything.

I wanted to remove the sword buried deep in my heart. I wanted to get rid of that thing! I didn't know how, so I searched for answers, and eventually, I came to a conclusion. I killed myself. I killed myself repeatedly—every single second, every single minute, every single hour, every single day. Yes, I don't know how much time I spent, but I know that the majority of my time was spent in that space. A space that gradually became my comfort zone, where I felt satisfaction.

I wanted to know the answer, but nobody was going to tell me, so I figured I would do things myself. Nobody was going to help me. Nobody!

I experienced violence, begged for forgiveness, and asked for help, but they only laughed at me for being pathetic. Ah, so that's why I despise weakness. I swore never to shed a single tear because it's shameful, and doing shameful things would bring dissatisfaction to the people I wanted to satisfy.

One day, I found a dog—a cute puppy abandoned by the world. I felt like we were similar, so I secretly adopted it. Since I wasn't allowed to bring it home, I could only keep it in an abandoned house. I always visited that place; for me, that puppy brought happiness. It grew up, but one day, on my way back, something happened. Just like bandits, some adults invaded the place where my daughter resided. She thought they were good people because she only knew me. How innocent... However, her innocence would lead to her downfall.

They were hungry. They put a sack over her head, pinned her to the ground to ensure she couldn't resist, and bashed her head in with thick metal pipes.

And I was there, watching... I couldn't do anything. I watched the scene unfold from beginning to end. I watched her die. I watched her blood flow onto the ground. They removed the sack from her head, butchered her, and then cooked her—just to satisfy their hunger.

My daughter was eaten. I was there, standing, unable to do anything. They didn't even notice my existence. To them, I was just a passerby.

**HAHAHAHA.** I laughed at myself.

My daughter... Ha.

I didn't know what to say.

I stood there in a daze.

In school, I was bullied. No one accepted me because they were unsatisfied with my results. My sisters, who excelled academically, were respected. It wasn't that I wasn't bright—I just had no one to guide me like they did. So why was I the one in the wrong?

They resented me. Everyone hated me for being incompetent.

I was only a child…

If the world hated me, then the only place I belonged was that dark place.

Eventually, I stopped thinking about things and spent my time sitting in a daze, staring at nothingness. But in my imaginary world, I thought about things and considered them reality. In my world, I was happy. In my world, no one hated me.

However, that world was invaded again—this time by the evil beings called "family." I spent less and less time there and eventually lost that world. Every day became stressful since I could no longer find a place to rest.

But the world hadn't abandoned me yet. I found hope in playing online games. Over time, I learned to prioritize myself first. I learned it from them, so I decided to put myself first. I often studied during the day and played games at night. That's right—the internet café became my new home.

I met a girl online—it was only a short encounter. She was the same age as me. We exchanged contact information and often had late-night conversations. It wasn't about romance or anything like that; it was about life. We shared our experiences, and in doing so, we found similarities between our struggles. Over time, I gradually began to heal, and so did she.

But whenever I went outside to talk to someone, people became suspicious. Still, I kept our conversations a secret.

Having someone to talk to was a comforting thing. I slowly started to change, to do better. But then something happened.

One day, while exchanging messages with a classmate, a strict old teacher caught us using our phones during break time. She confiscated them immediately. I resisted—I needed my phone to communicate with her—but I couldn't do anything. The only way to get my phone back was to bring a parent or guardian. I begged my mother to come, but she was busy. Instead, my sister came.

It wasn't even Monday yet—the day I could retrieve my phone. It was Friday. That meant I had to wait the entire weekend. I desperately wanted to talk to her, but there was nothing I could do. In exchange for my sister's help, I became her personal servant for two days, running errands. Because of that, I had no time to visit an internet café or contact her.

I wanted to reach out, but I endured. I waited until Monday.

That day, I brought my sister to the counselor's office to retrieve my phone. She and the teacher knew each other well—my sister had been her student. I thought everything would go smoothly.

Then, the teacher fabricated a story.

She claimed that the reason my phone had been confiscated was because we were watching inappropriate content (pornography). My sister was shocked. She looked at me with disgust.

Of course, I tried to defend myself. But no one believed me.

Do you think a Nokia old phone, capable only of basic communication, could play pornography? The irony—these people called me a fool, yet they were so closed-minded they couldn't grasp something so simple. I wanted to explain, but I didn't know how. The more I tried to reason with them, the more they saw me as guilty.

Rumors spread throughout the school. Naturally, she was the one behind it. It was hard for her to believe that someone like me was connected to someone like my sister, a model student. So, she did everything in her power to ruin my reputation.

I was completely oblivious at first, too focused on making things right with my sister. But she refused to speak to me. Her reputation was her top priority, and because I had "tarnished" it, she despised me.

When we got home, I asked for my phone back.

She punched me with all her strength, then threw my phone onto the ground, shattering it.

The only means of communication I had with her—gone.

More than the beating, more than the insults, what hurt me most was that my sister chose to believe a teacher over me.

I could only shed silent tears, but she misunderstood.

"You bastard! Are you really that desperate for porn?!" she screamed. "I've been working hard for you, and this is how you repay me?"

Then she did something unthinkable. She stripped off her underwear, shoved it into my mouth, and sneered.

"You're such a pervert. Eat this! You ruined everything I worked so hard to build!"

I wanted to vomit. I hated the taste, the smell. But I had no chance to react—I was about to be beaten to death.

Just as I was on the brink, my mother came home and stopped her.

When she found out what happened, she also wanted to hit me—but she held back. "No matter how disgraceful he is, I can't kill my own son," she said.

Still, they all believed that one day, I might assault them (impossible). And so, they put distance between us. I spent two weeks in isolation.

In that dark room, I was alone. I barely remember what happened, what I did. All I know is that at some point, I collapsed. I stared into nothingness, crying.

What happened?

I didn't know. I didn't understand.

Yet, I didn't lose hope.

Even if my family, even if the whole world hated me, I still had a friend. And that friend was waiting.

The means for daily communication were gone, but there were still ways to reach her. We understood each other better than anyone. If worse came to worst, we could meet in person.

I forced myself to eat. I clung to life. I survived—so I could talk to her again.

But I didn't know that hope would lead me to despair.

I rushed to an internet café, excited to hear from her. I didn't care that rumors of me being a pervert had spread. My reputation had hit rock bottom, but none of it mattered.

The only thing that mattered was talking to her.

But when I opened the chat app, I saw her last message:

**"If you are reading this... I'm dead."**

I dropped to my knees and cried my heart out.

People around me thought I had been dumped by a girl I liked.

That was when realization hit me.

To them, I was strong. I never cried over trivial things. I was cool-headed.

So, I wiped my tears, forced a smile, and joked, "Well, I got rejected, but at least I still have games to play! Let's go, I'll carry you guys to Grandmaster."

My playmates cheered.

And in that moment, I understood—I had lost the only person who truly understood me.

She left this world in silence, hoping for me to live on, to be strong, to not end up like her… a sore loser beaten by depression.

**Don't cry. Be strong.** That's what she wished for.

That day, I swore I wouldn't shed another tear. No matter what.

I had been denying it for a long time, but the truth was clear: I was garbage.

And if garbage like me had no place in this world, then I would go where I belonged.

That dark room inside my mind.

That's why I became attached to *Hunter x Hunter.* The people from Meteor City… they accepted everything. They wouldn't let anyone take from them. I wished that place existed in the real world.

But that was just me being naïve.

I needed an alternative. I thought about her. I considered my options.

If being myself had no place in this world—then I would become what the world wanted me to be.

If they thought I was a pervert, I would act like one.

If they thought I was a lunatic, I would play the part.

If they believed I was a killer, I would become one.

And so, the tale of me blending into the world like a chameleon began.

I killed the old me, again and again, until he completely disappeared.

Maybe… the only way he could come back was if I found a place I could truly call home.

But she was the only person I ever considered home. No one else.

Even if they beat me to death, I would never accept anyone else.

I had already experienced a second life. I was immortal. Even death itself couldn't stop me.

Pain? Torture? I would never shed another tear.

I could only be defeated if I *allowed* myself to be.

So instead, I would rise—like a masochist, finding pleasure in suffering.

But deep inside… I was still hoping. Hoping for someone to save me.

Maybe that's why I didn't kill my family back then.

Maybe that's why I made that promise to Cana.

Maybe that's why I agreed to help that old man.

**"Tungsten, Hydrogen, Yttrium, Argon, Uranium, Gallium, Yttrium…"**

**But does anything truly matter anymore?**

At this moment, I move only for the sake of movement. My words, my actions—they exist merely to remain reasonable, to give the illusion of purpose. After all, isn't it reason that drives people forward? Wasn't it reason that once pushed me to the brink of death? To test the waters, to see if fate would finally pull me under or let me crawl back to the surface, gasping?

A fleeting thought, a whisper in the abyss—I have but one true wish. Not salvation. Not redemption. **Destruction.** The obliteration of this world, a grand undoing of its sins. Yet, I stayed my hand in my past life, restraining the carnage that lurked beneath my skin. Not out of mercy. Not out of morality. **But out of shame.** Yes, to kill them would have been an escape, a coward's exit, and I—no matter how much my heart seethed with hatred—refused to flee. To end them without triumph, without satisfaction, would have been a hollow victory. And I am no coward. If I am to win, it must be absolute.

That is why I live. **To win.**

To break the shadows they carved into me, to shatter the chains they bound me with. I could have ended them—my so-called family—without a shred of hesitation. I could have subjected them to horrors that would make even the cruelest of gods avert their gaze. **But I didn't.** Because that would mean they had won.

**What a hypocrite I am.**

I curse them, spit venom at their names, yet deep down, I am worse than they ever were.

**If I could go back...**

No.

I cut myself off. A twisted chuckle rises from my throat, then spills into the empty corridor like a broken melody. My mask falls away, and I throw back my head, laughing—**laughing like a lunatic lost in the void.**

**"Hahahahaha!"**

I clutch my face, fingers digging into my skin as my laughter reverberates through the darkness.

Even if I went back, the truth would remain unchanged. I have already lost. A disgraceful defeat, one I refuse to acknowledge—because my grudge still lingers, gnawing at my soul, restless and unfulfilled.

Over time, they accepted me again, though not for who I am. No, they accepted the **perversion they forced upon me** (not that it was ever real). Our relationship mended, if only on the surface—nothing more than a means for them to exploit my supposed weakness, to chain me in yet another way.

But I did not forget. **And I will never forgive.**

The hatred in my heart remains untouched, festering like an open wound. The only thing keeping my blade sheathed was their existence. But in this world, they are gone. Erased. **So does it truly matter anymore?**

I have already walked the path of slaughter. With every corpse I left in my wake, I won. **And yet, I lost.**

This battle—this twisted dance of fate—is one of our own choosing. **Victory and defeat are dictated by the will of the one who stands in the end.**

And I have chosen to be the victor.

**No matter the cost.**

This is my tale to carve, my fate to forge, **for that is the way of Fairy Tail.**

But beyond vengeance, beyond hatred, a single ember of something else lingers in my chest.

A wish.

A desire to forgive.

And that is why, no matter what it takes—

I will settle this thousand-year grudge.

--->>

The small flash back is just a tip of the iceberg there's more don't worry.