My father and mother died.

I don't know exactly how old they were.

I was too young to remember.

They went shopping without me, and that must be why they were punished.

It was a train accident.

What a terrible disaster.

A lot of people died in that incident.

But maybe my father was one of the lucky ones.

He was still alive when he arrived at the hospital, so he was able to share his final words with me.

My mother died instantly.

"...Daddy, Daddy

...Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!!"

I didn't want to admit that this person I could hardly recognize was my father.

As I called out to him, I hoped that it was someone else instead.

But

unfortunately

it was my father.

Maybe I shouldn't have woken him.

Because when I woke him up, he was reminded

of the miserable agony that he had forgotten.

"Oooh...

Oooh..."

"Daddy,

Daddy,

Daddy,

Daddy!!"

He tried to move his right arm

so he could pat my head.

But his arm was wrapped in bandages

and his hand was no longer there.

I couldn't find his hand anywhere on the bed.

I only had scary memories of his right hand.

Its main job was to slap me when I did something bad.

But I never wished it to be gone.

Besides, that hand also patted my head...

even though that only happened a few times.

It was a big, warm hand, and it stroked my head very gently.

But no matter what good deeds I did

he could no longer

rub my head...

No...

his hand was the least of his worries.

He had to go into emergency surgery.

The doctors already warned me that the chance of him surviving was very low.

That was why I was allowed to see him, regardless of his condition.

Not only could he no longer rub my head,

he might be gone forever...

"Daddy, the surgery will make you better, right?

Daddy, you'll get better, right?

Right?!"

"......L-Listen carefully.

...Your daddy might not make it.

Even if I die, you have to be strong, okay?"

"No, no!!

You'll get better!!

The doctor is going to make you better!!

So you're not going to die!!"

He was a stubborn and old-fashioned father.

He believed endurance was a virtue, and he never complained about anything.

That was why I couldn't believe he actually said he might not make it.

I tried desperately to deny his words.

But even that wish wouldn't prolong his life.

My father, knowing his time was limited, tried to tell me some important things.

But I interrupted his efforts by crying like a baby.

I just wanted him to slap me.

Just like he used to do every time I cried like a baby.

But he would never slap me again.

"L...

Listen well.

Your mother and I both

lost all of our family in the war.

So...

after I'm dead,

there won't be anyone left to take care of you..."

He didn't need to tell me that.

My parents used to tell me that all the time, so I was aware of that fact.

In other words, my father was the only relative I had left in this entire world.

"If, if

I die

you can count on Dr. Takano.

Doctor Hifumi Takano.

Can you say it?"

"Hi

fu

mi

Takano..."

"That's right.

Doctor Hifumi Takano.

He is my former teacher.

He will

help you...

cough

cough!!

Cough!!"

"Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!!!"

Many doctors came into the room in a hurry.

He wanted to tell me something else, but the doctors stopped him from talking, so I wasn't able to hear him.

I was kicked out of the room.

I didn't know what to do.

Nobody told me how my father was doing or when the surgery was going to start.

And nobody told me...

that was going to be the last conversation I ever had with my father.

I think I asked people at the government office about Dr. Takano.

They'd asked me if I knew his phone number.

I said I didn't.

Then they didn't ask me anything further.

Sometimes they told me they'd look into it, but nothing led to anything.

They couldn't find me a guardian, so I ended up going to an orphanage.

At the time, there were plenty of orphans from the war, so although there were many orphanages around, they were all full.

There were also some orphanages run by civilians.

I was sent to one of those civilian orphanages.

There was no profit to be had in taking in an orphan in the first place.

So, I thought, those civilians who were running orphanages must have been very good people.

I was sure

they hoped that the children

would grow

in this loving environment

and enter into society with a sense of gratitude.

But reality isn't so kind.

How many children in this world can actually express their gratitude towards their parents in the first place?

Children are supposed to be nurtured by their parents' love.

Therefore, when that environment is destroyed, their hearts are wounded.

Every child has his or her own personality.

Receiving affection doesn't guarantee that a child will become someone angelic.

Not everyone's heart can be healed.

That was why there were some problem kids at the orphanage.

Maybe I shouldn't call them problem kids, though.

The sadness and despair of losing their parents

and the anger at having to hide such feelings filled those kids' hearts.

Spending time individually with the children could have solved their problems.

But at the orphanage where I was, none of the staff members even tried to spend time with them or put in an effort to understand them.

All they could do was make sure that the kids followed the rules.

Therefore, they could only see the children's emotional pleas for help... as problems.

In this world, nobody expresses love without expecting something in return.

The person who founded that orphanage was expecting something in return as well.

He wanted the children to appreciate him.

That was why such a faint dream was destroyed by cruel reality.

The children called the orphanage a prison, and nobody appreciated the staff at all. In fact, all they did was complain.

That made the staff slowly realize that love alone couldn't run a facility like that.

Just like how the children called it a prison,

the staff started to recognize the facility as a prison, too.

It was a chain reaction resulting from mistrust on both sides.

The staff bound the children with rules so they could suppress problem behavior.

There was a framed picture of the founder of this orphanage, but I had never seen him in person.

Was he satisfied with the fact that he put his own money into this social service?

Or maybe he finally realized his dream of being surrounded by angelic children and being celebrated for what he did was simply that, a dream?

I don't know.

But there's one thing I'm certain of.

Such a dream didn't exist at the orphanage.

There were so many rules, and several plausible standards outlined for us,

but the most valued one was silence.

Children's chatter tends to increase each other's volume, just like mics drawing closer.

And sometimes that leads to fights, and the disturbance of order.

So children were forbidden from speaking with each other.

With those disallowed, they must have thought things would go smoothly.

However, I think I always heard people's voices at the orphanage.

There were two kinds of voices.

One was the staff yelling, and the other was the children crying.

We were not allowed to walk around inside of the orphanage freely, so we never knew who it was that was crying.

One time, along with the crying and yelling, we heard the noise of metallic things being smashed against each other.

We knew it was some kind of punishment, but there was no way for us to even imagine what it was. We trembled, pretended we didn't hear anything, and kept working on our assignments.

One of my roommates told me it was the "Casket Punishment"

but she didn't tell me any further, and I didn't want to know either.

Even if we behaved exactly the same way as yesterday, if the staff were in a bad mood, they might pick on us.

So, even if I didn't want to know, I might suddenly find out what the Casket Punishment is one day.

The footsteps of a staff member were getting closer.

We noticed them, so we straightened our backs and pretended we were studying hard.

It was more important that the staff saw us doing so than us actually getting any work done.

I noticed the girl next to me was falling asleep, so I poked her with my elbow.

She noticed my signal and straightened her back like the other children.

It was almost evening.

This was the hardest time for us to keep ourselves awake

and the most dangerous time.

The door to our room opened, and a mean-looking man showed up.

Then he looked around to make sure none of us were falling asleep.

Even if we were actually studying hard, if he thought we were asleep, we were out.

That was why we had to make sure we appeared to be studying very hard.

The man walked around our desks.

I hoped he would just walk by me.

That was what we all prayed, as we kept working on our homework.

The more we pretended to study hard, the more we could hear the sound of metal objects.

The sound of metal objects crashing into each other, along with screams.

We couldn't even imagine what the poor subject of that punishment was going through.

...Maybe there was something even worse than the Casket Punishment.

To erase such fears, we tried to concentrate even harder on our work.

We kept working...

As the metal sounds and the screams went on forever.