Page 20 of The Oni's Heart

I focused on the rhythm of my breath on the way back to the temple. In. Out. In. Out. The monks taught me to find peace in stillness. To quiet the mind and separate myself from the world. It had worked before—calming the storm inside me, letting the darkness fade away into silence. But tonight, the peace seemed farther out of reach than it had ever been.

The distant temple bells tolled, signaling the evening’s quiet. I stood there for a long time, letting the silence wash over me, waiting for it to settle. But it didn’t. My thoughts swirled relentlessly, tangling themselves with the memories of my past—the blood-soaked nights that defined me, the violence I could never escape.

I clenched my jaw. No. I wasn’t going to let that take over tonight. Not again. Not when I had worked so hard to bury it. So I pushed the thoughts back, took another breath, and forced my feet to move.

When I finally returned to the temple, the monks were already preparing for rest, the dim candlelight flickering as I passed them in the halls. I didn't look up, didn't acknowledge their subtle glances. I didn’t need to. They could see the storm inside me. They always could.

The quiet of my designated quarters did little to ease the heaviness in my chest. The room was small and simple, a futon spread out on the floor, the walls adorned with only the barest necessities. I sank down onto the tatami mat, my hands trembling as I undressed, my mind too unsettled to even focus on the simple task. The dark, empty space around me felt suffocating.

I closed my eyes, hoping sleep would find me. But sleep, like peace, evaded me.

The moments I tried to escape into the stillness were fractured by flashes—violent, haunting memories of a life I couldn’t outrun. The bloodshed. The screams. The cold, ruthless reality of being born into a world I never asked for, a world I hated with every inch of my being.

I could still hear the sound of my father’s fists hitting flesh, his rage, and his drunken roars reverberating through the walls of the dingy apartment we called home. He was never home much, not when he was sober, but when he was, he’d stumble back in from the bar, swearing, his anger looking for a place to land. And that place was always me if he couldn’t find my mother.

He never failed to remind me of the one thing that had defined my existence—my blood was worth nothing. Every time he looked at me, there was a kind of disgust in his eyes, condemning me as a mere image of her, a byproduct of a world I had no place in.

And the worst part? I didn’t know any better.

I was just a boy back then, powerless, trapped in the cycle of violence that seemed to define the men around me. His anger was a constant storm, and I learned early on that there was no escaping it. There was no shelter from the fists, from the words that cut deeper than the beatings. And my mother? She was a shadow, always too far gone in her own world to protect me from his wrath. She was never the mother I needed. In the end, she was just as much a ghost as the man who called himself my father.

The violence. The hatred. The chaos. No matter how hard I tried, or how deep I buried it, it was always there, just beneath the surface, waiting to break free.

And now, as I lay here in the dark, trying to escape the memories of the past, they refuse to let me go. They merge with the more recent pain—pain I’d tried to keep buried. Momoi’sface flashes in my mind again, her eyes full of anger, full of fear. When she pulled away from me… it felt too damn familiar.

It made me question everything. All the years of control, of training myself to suppress my rage, to bury the monster I’d once been—was it all just a lie? Would I ever be free of this darkness? Or was I destined to drag it with me? The longer I allowed it to hold me down, the heavier it became.

I turned over, trying to shake the thoughts from my mind, but it was useless. Every time I closed my eyes, I was back there—back in that apartment, with my father looming over me, his fists raised in anger, his cruel laughter echoing in my ears. The sound of blood. The smell of sweat. The cold, suffocating realization that I was never meant for anything more than to become a reflection of the monsters around me.

And as much as I wanted to forget, as much as I tried to escape it, the truth always came back to me: I was the son of a prostitute, raised by a man who couldn’t see me as anything more than a burden. And no matter how far I ran or how much I tried to bury it, that blood, that history, would always be a part of me. Always.

I forced my eyes open, gasping for breath as the nightmares lurked just beneath the surface.

But then, everything shifted.

12

I Was Poison

TATSUYA

Momoi’s delicate face cut through the chaos of my mind between sleep and wakefulness. Her eyes were wide with fear, her breath shallow, her body flinching away from me as usual. The rejection burned in me again, more fierce than before. Her anger… her confusion… it all wrapped around my chest like a vise.

She didn’t understand. She couldn’t.

I could feel the heat of her skin, her body had tensed when I reached for her. The touch had sparked something deep inside me, something I couldn’t control, something I didn’t want to admit. I had saved her, tried tohelpher, and yet, she had pulled away—it hadn’t been just fear. It had beenanger.

And I couldn’t get past it. Couldn’t get past the way she made me feel out of control, the way she made me want tolosecontrol.

Maybe no one had ever shown her a gentle touch. More than anyone, I could see the pattern in her reactions. If only she knew that kindness existed, that not everyone was out to harm her. I could be the one to show her what real gentleness was.

Images I shouldn’t have flashed through my mind, and I nearly choked on the weight of them. My hand trembled as I dragged it down my face, trying to steady myself, to find some semblance of calm... but it wouldn’t come. My own mind was at war with me. The moment I let that demon of temptation gain any ground, it seized control, intent on dividing me, breaking me down piece by piece.

Despite her flinch, the softness of her skin didn’t escape my notice. It was just as I imagined it would be when I looked at her face.

Her reactions to my presence were justified—a woman like her should want nothing to do with someone like me. Even in another life, I wouldn’t be deserving of her affection. My past would only tarnish whatever light she had left.

But my inner demon refused to release its grip as more images of forbidden touches flooded my mind, relentless and consuming.

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