Page 8 of The Oni's Heart

I wasn’t sure what I was hoping to find by looking for her, but I couldn’t stop myself.I need to understand what she’s carrying,I thought.What kind of burden is she hiding behind those eyes?

Maybe she was similar to me, someone who had been left to fend for themselves in a world that didn’t care. Maybe she was just a soul lost in the same way I had been. But even as I told myself these things, something in me wanted to believe that finding her again could mean something else—something more. I wasn’t sure what, but I couldn’t ignore the pull.

The fight inside me raged. I knew I should focus on my duties, on my path, and on the temple’s teachings. But her face—the brief flicker of pain I’d seen in her—kept coming back to me. I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something she needed, something I could help with.

I had been searching for peace for so long, but what if helping her was the path to find it? Or was I simply losing my way again, drawn into something I wasn’t prepared for?

The city loomed ahead, a sea of strangers, and I found myself moving toward it without knowing where I was going. I wasalready too far from the temple, from my past, and yet here I was—still trying to escape the same ghosts that haunted me.

And I couldn’t help but wonder—was she the one who needed saving, or was I the one who still needed to be redeemed?

6

The Smell of Desperation

MOMOI

Iwalked the streets with a purpose, my feet hitting the cracked pavement harder than necessary. My stomach growled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten anything since yesterday, but I ignored it. I had more important things to focus on than hunger. I needed to find work.

The city was alive with the hum of busy people, all moving with purpose, their footsteps a constant rhythm that seemed to mock my own aimless wandering. I was an outsider—just another face in a sea of strangers, but one that nobody wanted to deal with. Each step I took only seemed to remind me how invisible I was, how I didn't belong. Every shop I entered, every business I walked into, was the same—blank stares, polite refusals, and a slow, tightening knot in my chest.

“No experience?” Their voices were polite, but the subtle condescension there was undeniable. They didn’t even bother to look at my face. They were just checking a box, making sure I didn’t fit their criteria, as if it was something they could measure by looking at my resume, something I didn’t have.

“Yeah, that’s right,” I answered, my voice tight. “But I’m willing to learn.”

Another pause, then a glance at their clipboard or phone screen, a quick evaluation of whether I was worth their time. It didn’t help that my clothes weren’t the kind usually seen in the city, more reflective of Western culture, much to my detriment.

“Well, we’re looking for someone with more experience. Sorry.” The statement sounded almost rehearsed. Their eyes would shift over my shoulder as if the next person waiting in line was the one they were really interested in. I wasn’t even a blip on their radar.

The frustration bubbled up in me, but I forced myself to nod, a practiced smile on my face.

“Right. Thanks,” I muttered before turning on my heel, making my way out of the shop as quickly as I could without looking close to physically running away from rejection.

But it didn’t stop. It was the same everywhere I went. The same polite dismissal, the same underlying judgment that I didn’t have the right credentials, the right look, the right... whatever it was they needed to see to trust me.

By the time I walked into the third shop—a small cafe with a couple of tables inside, the scent of freshly baked goods wafting through the door—I was on the edge of breaking. My stomach was growling louder than my thoughts, and I hadn’t even noticed how badly I needed food until now. Maybe if I could just grab something simple, I could sit down for a minute and clear my head.

I walked up to the counter, doing my best to keep the exhaustion from showing.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” I said, trying to keep my tone light, trying tonotsound desperate, even though I felt it deep in my bones. “But are you hiring?”

The woman behind the counter glanced at me briefly before picking up a glass to wash it. “No, sorry. We’re all set for now.”

I frowned, resisting the urge to ask,Do you not anticipate having a lot of customers?What are you going to do during rush hour?

“Right. Thanks,” I muttered again, turning to leave. I caught a glimpse of myself in the reflection of the glass door, and I hated what I saw. My hair was messy from the wind, my clothes probably more revealing than they should be, and I couldn’t tell if my face looked tired or just... lost.

As the door shut behind me, I leaned against the wall outside, trying to steady my breathing. I should’ve known it would be like this. I’d been through this routine before—over and over again, in a different city, in a different life. The same rejection. The same feeling of being invisible. The same gnawing emptiness that followed me wherever I went. It was all too familiar, how people looked past me, not worth a second glance. That was what led me down the path of shady deals under the cover of night. Back then, I didn’t care. I was just trying to survive, to fill the void in whatever way I could. The money, the thrill, the chaos—it all felt as if it could drown out the hollowness, even if just for a moment.

But now, it was different. I didn’t want to go back to that. I didn’t want to crawl back into the shadows of that life. I wanted to stand in the light, to be seen as more than just the girl who made desperate choices. I wanted to have areallife. A normal life. One where I wasn’t constantly looking over my shoulder, where I didn’t have to hide who I was or what I did. I wanted to try, to finally live the same as everyone else, without the weight of my past holding me down.

I felt as if the city was laughing at me, mocking me for thinking I could ever be a part of something normal. Each rejection was a reminder of how far I’d strayed from that dream.But I couldn’t give up—not this time. I had come too far, across an entire ocean, to start again. I had to keep pushing forward, even if it felt like every step I took was just another nail in the coffin.

I’m not going back to that. Not again. Not ever.

But the doubt crept in again, as it always did, gnawing at my resolve. Was it even possible to start over? To erase all of the things I had done, all of the choices I had made? I wanted to believe it was. I needed to.

I gritted my teeth, muttering to myself. “You’re fine. You’re fine. Just keep going.”

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