Haruto Yoshida

I'm Haruto Yoshida, and I'm 10 years old. All my life, I've lived with unfairness. My parents always favored Hayato, while I was left on the sidelines. One day, I was running through the woods with the other kids from the village. It was autumn, and the leaves were falling from the trees. The sun was starting to set when suddenly, the sole of my sneaker gave out, separating from the rest of the shoe.

I was worried and upset. One of the other kids asked if they were new shoes. I shook my head and said, "I've had them for two years. Hayato wore them before me, so they're pretty old." The kid replied, "Well, it's normal for them to break then. I'm surprised they lasted you this long."

I headed home, trembling with fear. My parents were not reasonable people. I snuck into the house and tried to tiptoe up the stairs, but Hayato spotted me. He grinned and called out, "Dad, Haruto's sneakers broke!"

I froze. Without even asking what happened, my father grabbed me by the shirt and threw me to the ground. "You stupid idiot!" he yelled. "I told you not to go out and play. Now look, you've ruined your shoes. Do you think we're made of money??"

Tears streaming down my face, I tried to explain, "But Dad, they were already old..."

Enraged, my father shouted, "Are you talking back to me? You moron?" I looked to my mother, desperately hoping for some help, some maternal love and protection. I knew I wouldn't get it - I never did. But that yearning for a mother's care still made me hope, foolishly.

My mother just said coldly, "Here, hit him with this frying pan. I was going to throw it out anyway." I was lucky, in a sense, because all I remember after that is a single blow, and then everything went black.

When I woke up, my whole body was covered in bruises and welts. My nose was broken... again. It seemed I wouldn't be going to school for a while. I wondered if I could tell my teacher, if he could do something to help me. But deep down, I knew the likely answer. This was just my life, the hand I had been dealt. All I could do was endure, and hope that someday, somehow, things would get better.

But that hope grew fainter with each passing year.

When I turned 13, I met a kind teacher, someone I could count on. One day, I arrived at school with a broken arm. He asked me what happened, and I told him that my father had broken it because I got a 9 on my last exam. The teacher looked at me and said that I seemed thinner than usual. I admitted that I hadn't eaten anything over the weekend.

The teacher stood up and hugged me, apologizing for what I had been through. It was the first time I had ever felt genuine affection and empathy. For several months, this teacher brought me food and new clothes, cut my hair, helped me study, and taught me various things. He was like the father I had always wanted.

One particular day, I arrived home happy, carrying a new backpack that my teacher had given me. My father saw it and asked if the teacher had given it to me. Fearfully, I nodded. He jumped up, flipped over the table, and yelled at me, saying we didn't need charity and that they were mocking him.

Hayato chimed in, claiming he had heard me say at school that the teacher was more of a man than our father. It was a lie - I had never said that. In a rage, my mother smashed a glass on my head, leaving me bleeding.

My father grabbed me by the ear and dragged me through the entire village to the teacher's house. He pounded on the door furiously until the teacher opened it. My father berated him, but the teacher confronted my father about how he treated me.

When my father tried to hit the teacher, the teacher fought back, giving my father a beating he would never forget. He beat him so badly that my father ended up begging for mercy. The teacher warned him that if I ever showed up with another injury, he would come find my father and give him another thrashing.

That day, something changed. For the first time, someone had stood up for me, had shown me that I deserved better. The teacher's actions gave me a glimmer of hope, a belief that maybe, just maybe, my life could be different.

It hadn't even been two weeks when my father decided to take his revenge. In a cruel, unthinkable act, he grabbed my tongue and cut it out. I screamed and cried, the searing pain mixing with the horror of realizing I had lost the ability to speak. I knew my father was cruel, but I never imagined he could be this monstrous. He beat me until I lost consciousness, my body limp and broken.

When I awoke, I found myself in a wooden box, the musty smell of earth filling my nostrils. My father had dragged me to the backyard of my teacher's house and buried me alive. The teacher wasn't home. No one knew I was there.

For hours, I lay in that dark, cramped space, the oxygen slowly running out. Each breath became a struggle, my lungs burning with the effort. I couldn't tell if my weakness was from the loss of blood or the lack of air. Maybe both.

As the minutes ticked by, each one feeling like an eternity, a part of me hoped that death would come. I didn't want to suffer anymore. The physical pain was nothing compared to the agony of knowing that my own father had done this to me.

Just when I thought it was the end, when the darkness was closing in and my consciousness was slipping away, I heard voices above me. Suddenly, light flooded my prison as the police unearthed the box, their faces a mixture of horror and pity.

It turned out that my father had blamed my teacher for doing this to me. Hayato claimed to be a witness. And me? I couldn't testify. I couldn't speak.

In this corrupt, twisted society, the teacher is always at fault. They have no right to defend themselves. Even if they're innocent. And so began a trial that lasted months, a farce of justice that slowly destroyed my teacher's life.

The respect he once commanded turned to hatred and disgust. He lost his job, and no one would hire him. The man who had been my savior, my beacon of hope in a dark world, was now a pariah.

On my 14th birthday, the news came. My teacher had taken his own life, the weight of the false accusations and the loss of everything he held dear proving too much to bear.

And with him died the last flicker of hope in my heart. The world had shown me, once again, that kindness was a weakness, that those who tried to help would only be punished in the end.

As I stood at his grave, silent tears streaming down my face, I made a vow. I would never let myself be weak again. I would never rely on anyone else. In this cruel, unforgiving world, I could only count on myself.

When I turned 15, Hayato had already made a name for himself as a renowned Devil Hunter, his reputation casting a long shadow that I could never seem to escape. He had left home, leaving me alone to endure the constant abuse and mistreatment from our parents. In his absence, their cruelty only intensified, as if they blamed me for his departure.

One particularly bleak day, I found myself in the church, kneeling before the altar, my body bruised and my spirit broken. With tears streaming down my face, I prayed to God, begging for justice, for some kind of divine intervention to punish those who had wronged me.

As if in answer to my desperate pleas, the Demon of Final Judgment materialized before me, its presence both terrifying and awe-inspiring. It offered me a contract, a chance to wield its power and dispense the justice I so craved. But the demon warned me that every time I used this power, there would be consequences, a price to pay. Blinded by my rage and despair, I accepted without hesitation.

Armed with the demon's judging chains, I returned home, a twisted sense of purpose burning in my veins. In a whirlwind of fury, I dragged my parents to the Underworld, their screams of terror and agony music to my ears. But my revenge did not stop there.

I sought out everyone who had played a role in my teacher's downfall - the principal who fired him, the police officer who arrested him, even his wife who abandoned him when he needed her most. I condemned them all to the Underworld, my rage consuming me, leaving no room for mercy or reason.

It was only later, as I lay in my bed, the weight of my actions crushing down on me, that I realized the true cost of my vengeance. The souls I had damned, innocent and guilty alike, would haunt me for the rest of my days. Their tormented wails and ghostly visages became my constant companions, a waking nightmare from which there was no escape.

Sleep became a distant memory as the faces of the damned danced behind my eyelids, their accusations and pleas for mercy echoing endlessly in my mind. My father's hate-filled eyes watched me from every shadow, a silent reminder of the monster I had become. The principal's agonized face leered at me from every reflective surface, a mirror of my own guilt and shame.

The police officer's phantom hands clawed at my throat in my dreams, seeking the justice I had so ruthlessly denied him. And the teacher's wife, her eyes hollow and her voice a haunting whisper, followed me in my waking hours, a specter of the lives I had destroyed in my blind quest for revenge.

Countless other souls, the collateral damage of my rage, found their own unique ways to torment me. A chilling touch on the back of my neck, a whispered accusation in a crowded room, a fleeting shadow in the corner of my eye - they were always there, always reminding me of the terrible price I had paid.

In my darkest moments, as I huddled in the corner of my room, my sanity fraying at the edges, I finally understood the true lesson my teacher had tried to impart. It was hope and kindness, not vengeance and violence, that had the power to change lives. But for me, it was a realization that came too late.

I confessed to Hayato that our parents had been attacked by a demon, a half-truth to mask the horrible reality of my actions. But even as he accepted my words, I could see the glimmer of suspicion in his eyes, the unspoken question of what role I had played in their fate.

As the years passed, Hayato's success and acclaim only grew, while I remained trapped in the shadows of my past, forever haunted by the souls I had damned. His contempt for me was palpable, a constant reminder of my failures and the unbridgeable gulf between us.

But even his disdain paled in comparison to the unrelenting torment of my ghostly victims. They were my constant companions, my purgatory on earth. And I knew, with a bone-deep certainty, that this was only the beginning of my punishment.

For the rest of my existence, I would be haunted by the consequences of my choices, the price of the vengeance I had so eagerly embraced. It was a hell of my own making, a nightmare from which there was no awakening.

And in the depths of my despair, I couldn't help but wonder...

Was there any hope for redemption, for a soul as damned as mine?

Only time would tell, but as the ghosts of my past continued to whisper in my ear, their voices filled with unending torment and rage, I feared that the answer was a resounding and eternal 'no'.

I opened my eyes, finding myself in a room, 18 years old once again. The cold was intense; we were in Finland, searching for Santa Claus. In my lap rested Makima, and I gently kissed her forehead. At the edge of the bed, my mother's head peered out, staring at me with wide, bloodshot eyes. I ignored her and got up, starting to brush my teeth. Behind me, in the mirror, I could see my father's face. I paid him no heed and continued to comb my hair.

As I stretched, a smile spread across my face. Seeing them had become practically a daily routine for me. I know what I did was wrong, but I've been walking the path of redemption, helping numerous people and offering hope. I don't expect to earn my way into heaven or anything like that; I just want to feel good about myself. And that is something no one, not even ghosts, can take away from me.

Over the years, I've learned to live with the constant presence of the souls I wronged. Their haunting visages and accusatory whispers have become a part of my everyday life, a reminder of the terrible choices I made in my past. But rather than letting them consume me, I've chosen to use their presence as a motivation to be better, to make amends in whatever way I can.

Each day, as I go about my work as a Devil Hunter, I strive to bring light into the lives of those I encounter. Whether it's saving a child from a demon's clutches, offering a listening ear to a troubled soul, or simply showing kindness to a stranger, I pour my heart into making a positive difference in the world.

It's not about erasing my past or earning forgiveness from the ghosts that haunt me. It's about living in a way that honors the lessons I've learned, the hard truths I've had to face about myself and the consequences of my actions.

In Makima's presence, I find a measure of peace and comfort. Her love and support are a balm to my weary soul, a reminder that even someone as flawed and damaged as myself can still be worthy of love and happiness.

As we prepare to face the challenges ahead, to confront the enigmatic and dangerous Santa Claus, I draw strength from the knowledge that I am not defined by my past. I am more than the sum of my mistakes, more than the ghosts that haunt my every waking moment.

I am Haruto Yoshida, a Devil Hunter, a friend, a lover, and a man determined to make the most of the second chance I've been given. And no matter what horrors or trials may await me, I will face them head-on, secure in the knowledge that I am walking the right path.

It won't be easy, and the weight of my past will always be a burden I carry. But with each step forward, each act of kindness and compassion, I feel the chains of my guilt and regret loosening just a little bit more.

And that, in the end, is all I can ask for. Not forgiveness, not absolution, but the chance to be better, to do better, and to leave the world a little brighter than I found it.

It's a long road ahead, but it's one I'm determined to walk, no matter where it may lead.

For the sake of the man I was, the man I am, and the man I hope to become.

Note from the author:

I decided to upload a double chapter because the other one did not add much to the plot.