Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

About twenty years ago, on the outskirts of a village in northern Kyushu, an elderly beggar collapsed.
The skin, weathered by wind and rain and caked with grime, was a sinister parched hue, covering bones where flesh had fallen away and jutted sharply.
Deep beneath that white disheveled forehead covered in dust, sinister eyes glared with an unsettling intensity.

The children who had gathered around the collapsed beggar scattered in all directions when met with that sinister glare.
But as the children played outside in the lingering evening light, the beggar from earlier came walking along, leaning on a long bamboo cane and staggering.
The children once again huddled together uneasily in one spot to let the beggar pass, but upon seeing his tottering figure retreating, they all trailed after him in a ragged procession.

The beggar entered the village, proceeded a short way along the main road, then vanished into the forest on the left.
That was this village's Shrine Grove.
When the children followed him that far, they scattered in panic at both the grove's deepening shadows and the terror of seeing the beggar turn around again, fleeing back headlong.

The next day, having forgotten all about yesterday's beggar, the children entered the grove as usual to play in the square before the shrine.
There sat yesterday's beggar on the shrine's stone steps, clutching his gaunt knees, those sinister eyes beneath white hair gleaming as he stared fixedly at them.
Startled by this unexpected obstruction, the children bolted from the shrine grounds to find another place to play.

However, when evening came, they could not forget about that beggar.
So there they all went, gripping each other’s obi belts tightly to ensure no one would be left behind if something scary happened and they had to flee, venturing into the shrine grove to investigate.
This time, the first thing that met the children’s eyes was a fire blazing vigorously at the base of the largest old camphor tree in the shrine grove.
And the next thing that came into view was that beggar, his face rendered indescribably fearsome by the reflection of the crimson flames.

“Aah!”

The children screamed inexplicably today, tore free from their friends' hands that had been gripping their obi sashes at their waists, and came running out.

Just then, it was the village police officer who happened to pass by that spot.
The children turned deathly pale; because those who had been left behind came fleeing out of the shrine in tears, the police officer hurried into the shrine.
After the police officer entered, the children stood clustered together on the street for a while, but soon heard him call out to a man working behind the house next to the shrine.

“Hey, Tamesan! Bring water and fill a bucket!”

The police officer approached Tamesan’s house while shouting like that.
When the children saw Tamesan heading to the shrine with a water bucket, they once again trooped into the darkened shrine precincts.

“Can’t even move his body properly, yet he goes setting fires like this—dangerous beyond words,”

As they talked, making a hissing sound, they poured water on the fire and extinguished it.

"There’s no telling what such a beggar might do. Let’s drive him out."

Tamesan pursed his lips and urged on the police officer.

“Well, I thought so too—but he’s limp as a rag and won’t budge. Even if we drive him out now, he won’t get far anyway. Let’s spare him tonight and chase him out tomorrow morning.”

The police officer laughed with a resigned expression and withdrew together with Tamesan.
The children also trooped back home.

That night, a fire broke out in this area—something that rarely ever happened.
The elderly people made a commotion, exclaiming things like "the twentieth year" or "the twenty-fifth year."
The fire had started at a hardware store located around the middle of the village, and it seemed to have originated from the kitchen.
Since it was a large thatched roof, it burned down without a moment’s delay, and the three houses standing side by side in a row were reduced to ashes in the blink of an eye.
And when the fire had spread to the fourth house, it was finally extinguished by the firefighters.

However, due to this rare fire incident, the entire village had been thrown into such an uproar from that night until the following day that it seemed turned upside down.
And the following night, exhausted by the commotion, they all fell asleep.

Then once again—following that—about 150 meters east from last night’s fire site in the village, the tavern and neighboring barbershop on the busiest street simultaneously burst into flames.

“Fire!”

The sudden clamor made the households that had roused themselves startle in shock.
What startled everyone more than the fire’s severity was its recurrence on consecutive nights—last night and now tonight.
This time, two houses burned down first, then the flames split in both directions, consuming one house after another.
Just as that fire began dying out, the farmer’s storehouse behind the burning site erupted in violent flames.

It became unmistakably clear this was arson.
Yet faced with such unexpected blazes, even the village elders turned pale.

The next morning, with five or six police officers from the town police arriving and some important-looking people coming to poke around the fire site, the entire village somehow grew tense with a murderous air.

“Arson! Arson!”

While everyone kept saying this, they had no idea who the culprit was.
The police officers and detectives would seize villagers one after another and ask them various things.
However, once things reached that point, everyone was so consumed by anxiety and fear over what consequences their own words might bring that no one dared speak openly with the police officers.

In the village, terrified by fires on two consecutive nights, they began the fire watch they normally conducted only in winter.
And they decided to patrol the entire village about every two hours.

Two

Three nights passed without incident.
The villagers were growing increasingly fed up with this out-of-season fire watch.

"Just because there were fires two nights running doesn't mean we need this rushed fire watch. Whoever's setting them probably isn't fool enough to strike again so soon. Bet they're laughing at how stupid we look."

"Damn right! How much more burning can we take?"

On the fourth night, they came around patrolling the streets as part of their official duty while grumbling such complaints.

But what do you suppose happened!
When they returned to the western guardhouse and were taking a smoke break, a clamor suddenly erupted.
When the startled fire watch members rushed outside to look, there in the east—the very direction they had just patrolled—flames were leaping high, furiously raining down sparks.

“Agh!”

No sooner had they said this than one old man collapsed.

By the time the others stirred into commotion and arrived in great numbers, the small candy shop directly across from the burned barbershop was already ablaze.

However, this time before dawn, the arsonist who had been terrorizing the village was caught.
That very night, two people who had come from a neighboring village to inform someone of a household’s misfortune saw flames before entering the village. As they hurried toward it upon reaching the communal graveyard at the village outskirts, a shadowy figure approached from the opposite direction but hastily retreated into the cemetery upon spotting them—this was the account they later gave.
The assembled firefighters immediately rushed to the graveyard and searched but found nothing at all.

As the east began to lighten, the group who had given up their search were starting to return dejectedly when they suddenly noticed the communal shed for storing funeral tools beside the graveyard.

When two or three of them pulled open the door and looked inside, there, just as expected, crouched a single emaciated man.
When they found him, they snapped into action and dragged out the old man—who hadn’t even properly straightened his posture—all the way to the main road.
And everyone peered at his face—but that was an unfamiliar, filthy beggar.

They had initially been crestfallen but, remembering something, dragged this beggar along.
And the police officer who saw the beggar strode briskly to his side.
Though dawn had already begun brightening the sky, the lantern held close threw the beggar's face into sharp relief.
He was the beggar who had entered the village three or four days prior.

Around noon, as it became known this beggar was behind three arson cases, details shocking enough to astonish both this village and neighboring areas spread among the villagers.

This beggar was a man named Hikoshichi, born in a place called ××hara within the special hamlet located in a corner of that village.
He had been missing from his birthplace for decades.
In that village as well, it had reached the point where only those connected to Hikoshichi’s family or the elderly still remembered him.

In his birthplace hamlet too, it was rumored at times that he had become an extremely wealthy man living in extravagant luxury somewhere, and at other times that he had joined gamblers' circles, gotten into fierce brawls, and been sent to prison. However, what had actually become of him remained uncertain.

Yet when thirty long years had passed and people had forgotten him, he returned to his hometown as a beggar so emaciated he seemed a shadow of himself, dragging his near-death body with him—and thus was captured as an arsonist. Moreover, he was a pyromaniac with two prior arson convictions. Furthermore, it was said he vowed never to cease this fiery curse until his dying breath.

Three

“Eta brat!”
“Eta brat!”

Ever since childhood, Hikoshichi had found it unbearable that the village children’s taunts—calling them such things—demeaned the people of their own hamlet.

We don’t live in any particularly different place, nor do we depend on those village bastards for our livelihood—so why do they look down on us? It’s so infuriating—he kept brooding over this constantly.
And he was always talking about that very matter with his friends.

As he gradually grew older, Hikoshichi found being scorned by the villagers in such a way increasingly infuriating—both needlessly humiliating and utterly absurd—and these feelings only intensified.
Finally, one day, he sneaked out of his home and went to the castle town.
He had thought that there, he could surely work happily without being scorned by anyone.

However, since he knew no one in town, he could hardly find any work.
For two or three days he wore his legs to stumps searching for work, but even households wanting servants said they wouldn’t hire him unless he came recommended by someone—a friend or relative.

Nevertheless, after several days, he managed to secure a job tending the fires at a tile kiln on the outskirts of town.
At that time, he was sixteen.
For the first time in his life, at that moment, he was able to interact with other craftsmen as an ordinary human being.

Hikoshichi, though it was quite strenuous labor, worked with all his might.
He bathed in the same baths as others, shared meals with them, and slept side by side with every person without distinction.
Hikoshichi did not suffer the kinds of unbearable insults that he had heard about or witnessed in his own hamlet.
He was able to work comfortably for about a year, just as he had envisioned when leaving the village.

One day, Hikoshichi was invited by one of the young craftsmen and went into town to see the festival.
The two were just about to enter the festival’s bustling crowd when two or three young men approached from the opposite direction. Upon seeing Hikoshichi’s face, they exchanged meaningful nods. Having once passed by each other, they deliberately turned back, slipped past Hikoshichi’s side to get ahead, and then one among them called out to him.

“Hey! Hikoshichi!
“Thinking no one recognizes you, you’re acting so damn insolent.”
“An Eta like you needs to know his place—if you keep strutting around here, we won’t let it slide!”
“This ain’t no place for a filthy beast like you to go skulking around.”

Hikoshichi started when his name was called.
The men were villagers whose faces he himself knew well—indeed, they were among those who had come to serve in that town.

When he heard the words “Eta beast,” he stiffened.
Without uttering a word, he launched himself at them.
The opponents startled and drew back, but when they realized he was attacking them, they banded together and confronted Hikoshichi.
Hikoshichi savagely struck an opponent’s temple with the geta he had slipped off and now gripped in his hand.

“Thwack!”

As the opponent pressed a hand to that spot and twisted away—just as Hikoshichi tried to land another strike in quick succession—he was swept off his feet and tumbled sideways. Fists immediately rained down mercilessly across his body while geta trampled him indiscriminately. He shed bitter tears of frustration beneath the jeering crowd encircling him. Struggling upright, he contorted his face—now caked with sand and blood—and shoved through the throng, desperate to reach the tile kiln on the town’s outskirts. When he finally neared the building, a pursuing mob still trailed close behind.

“How could we let our friend be wounded by an Eta like you and leave it at that?”

They said this and, staggering him about, beat him mercilessly again and again, kicked him down, and tormented him until he was left gasping for breath before finally dragging him away.

Hikoshichi, unable to crawl, lay moaning through the entire night by the thicket near the tile kiln.

The next morning, a neighbor discovered his pitiful state and reported it to the tile kiln.
However, at the tile kiln, they had learned he was an Eta and no longer attempted to treat him kindly.
Two or three craftsmen who had been friendly with him until yesterday brought a straw mat, rolled Hikoshichi's body onto it as if tormenting something filthy, dragged it together to the back shed's eaves of the tile kiln, abandoned it there, and returned to their workplace.

Rather than resenting how yesterday's friends had offered not a single word of comfort nor brought him even a cup of water, Hikoshichi shed fresh tears that trickled down at the wretchedness of his own situation—his body rolled onto a straw mat spread on the ground before the shed like a dying dog.
That those called Eta were treated like dogs and cats was something the others considered perfectly normal.
If I hadn't even been born in that hamlet, I wouldn't have suffered last night's ordeal, nor would I be subjected to such treatment now.
Why was I born in that village?
But what connection could that village possibly have that would necessitate persecuting those born there?…… Hikoshichi kept turning such thoughts over and over in his pounding head.

IV

The scorching July sun beat down mercilessly on Hikoshichi’s pitiful body, intensifying his anguish all the more.
All the people who occasionally passed by the shed glared sidelong at Hikoshichi lying there as if he were something filthy—spat “Ptui!” as they walked past, or deliberately approached to peer mockingly at his grotesquely swollen, dirty face—but not a single soul spoke to him.

Each time shame and rage made his body jerk, he thought of somehow escaping this place. But though his throat had been parched to a prickling dryness since last night—not only could he not reach any water source, but he had to endure both the torment of his desiccated throat and the agony of his body, which ached unbearably even with the slightest movement—he could do nothing but bear it all.

However, when noon came around, Hikoshichi could no longer endure it.

"I don't care if I die—I don't care if I die—I'm getting out of this place.
And then I'll return to the village.
Just wait—I'll make them pay somehow. I won't let this go unavenged.
From now on, I'll make you bastards shoulder every bit of this shame and suffering."

With tremendous resolve, he gradually raised his body.
However, his raised body immediately went limp and collapsed heavily due to the intense pain.
Even so, through terrible resolve, he finally stood up.
And then, as if concentrating all his strength to endure the pain that answered each step, he fixed his terrifyingly bloodshot eyes ahead and shuffled forward step by step.

When he walked four or five ken from the front of the shed, the well was located another five or six ken to the right.
Hikoshichi walked straight to the wellside.
In the wide tile-drying yard as well, no human figure could be seen.
When Hikoshichi finally reached the wellside, he gasped and extended his aching hand toward the ladle attached to the water jar there—just as he tried to press it against his parched lips,

“How filthy!”
“You think I’d let the likes of you put your filthy lips on this?”

With a shrill voice, the maid rushed out from the kitchen and, with her thick hand, snatched the ladle from Hikoshichi's hand.
Hikoshichi's body trembled violently with anger.
He bit his parched and cracked lips and glared at the maid’s bright red, swollen face with eyes blazing like fire.

“Ooh, scary!”
“With those eyes of yours, if you turn into some monster it’ll be trouble, so go ahead and drink all the water you want!”
“Look, your bowl’s right over there! Why don’t you stuff yourself with that!”

She pointed at the bowls and dishes he had used until yesterday—discarded on the dirt floor by the kitchen entrance’s threshold—and spoke hatefully thus; then this time, while exchanging looks and laughing with another companion whose face peered out from the kitchen window,

“Eta scum are so grudgebound—once they nurse a resentment, it’s dire business.”
“Why don’t we toss him a rice ball for charity, O-Matsu?”

“Heh heh heh…”

He stared at the discarded bowl.
Swallowing back rising tears, lips quivering, he crept to retrieve the bowl.
Then without breathing, he gulped five-six cups of tepid sun-heated water from the jar in rapid succession.

When the thirst that had tortured him until this instant eased, Hikoshichi sagged as if to collapse there.
But rallying his fading consciousness bit by bit, he walked toward the craftsmen’s tenement where he’d lodged a full year.

When Hikoshichi finally walked up to the front of the tenement, the retired master of the tile kiln called out to him from behind.

“Hikoshichi, I hear you’ve had a terrible time.”
“Well, since you had no right to overstep your place, there’s nothing to be done about it.”
“At our house too—though it may seem heartless to say this after seeing your disability—the truth is we only kept you employed this long because we didn’t know your background. Now that we understand, we can’t keep you among the others. Especially since your work involves tending fires—a task requiring someone of untainted status—if your body can still move, we’ll need you gone by today’s end.”
“I’ll leave the money held until yesterday here—”

The retired master briskly said only what he wanted to say, then placed the money packet he had been holding atop the entrance threshold as though handing it over would defile him, and turned back toward the main house.
Hikoshichi stood staring fixedly at the money packet atop the threshold.
And when he shifted his gaze inside the house, his meager belongings had been thrown out into the corner of the earthen floor where the craftsmen’s geta had been pushed aside.

Burning with vengefulness, he carried his wounded body back to his birthplace.
His parents and siblings nursed him with great care.
Contorting his face, he spent a long time motionlessly deliberating the course of his future life.
And having become the enemy of those societal bastards who had subjected his innocent self to near-fatal torment, he devoted himself to devising how he could make them suffer most excruciatingly.

Before long, once his health had recovered, he began working with astonishing intensity.
He had never been much of a talker to begin with, but now he became even more of a silent man.
And there was not a single moment—whether in a day or across an entire year—that could be called wasted.

Hikoshichi’s family was relatively well-off in the hamlet, and all of their six or seven tan of rice fields and vegetable plots were their own.
Hikoshichi helped parents and siblings and worked two people’s worth of intense farming labor.
And in his spare time, he made straw sandals, made zori sandals, twisted rope, and beyond that, did any work that would earn money.
Even on holidays like Obon and New Year's when others rested, he did not idle away a single hour.
He worked diligently in silence.

Five

When he turned twenty and the autumn harvest had just ended, he built a small makeshift hut next to his parents' house entirely by himself.
It was smaller than an ordinary farm’s stable and unsightly in appearance.
He built it in silence, then spread a futon over boards laid out on the earth and slept there alone in silence.
Of course, he took meals alone as well.
More than those from other households, his own family members were first astonished by this wordless undertaking.

To all manner of questions and objections, he simply remained silent.
In the hamlet, since they knew he was an eccentric, they were not particularly surprised; however, there was severe criticism regarding his rejection of the social interactions that one who had left their parents' home to establish their own household ought to engage in.
However, paying no heed to such matters, he remained unfazed—mercilessly ignoring all customs and courtesies, utterly absorbed in his work.

His only pleasure seemed to be a small dog he had brought from somewhere.
He never once let the dog go.
He ate only with the dog, slept with the dog, talked with the dog, and walked with the dog.

During the day, he would either work in rented rice fields, gather dead branches in the mountains, or tend vegetable plots—in any case laboring outdoors from faint dawn until complete darkness fell.
When night came and he finished his evening meal, he would pour a little seed oil into an earthenware vessel, stir up a thin wick, and pound straw to make sandals and ropes in dim light that barely illuminated his hands.
While moving his hands busily, he talked to the dog crouching beside him, muttering all the while.

How much money Hikoshichi had saved up was something that the entire hamlet's people were constantly concerned about and discussed.
However, none of them could make any estimate.

He worked nearly three people's worth and retained all the profits.
And his food was unpolished rice.
He received a small amount of salt as seasoning from his father's house.
It appeared he scarcely put any produce from the fields into his mouth.
He never went out to shop by himself.
And the only things he had others buy for him were a small amount of seed oil and wicks.

When night came, he would get into his futon and sleep, but during the day, no matter the circumstances, he wore grimy, dirt-stained work clothes.
For several years, whether Obon came or New Year's came, he persisted with this.
They were torn here and there, but he didn’t mind even when his body showed through.
There, his mother and siblings, unable to bear seeing this, would dress him in different clothes—a practice that required no money either.

Thus, after four years of solitary living, he vacated his dwelling one night.
His figure disappeared along with the dog.

His first phase of life came to an end with that.
He reappeared in the town that had stoked his vengefulness.

Hikoshichi first borrowed a house.
He then told the landlord that he had some money he wanted to lend out, and requested that anyone in need be sent his way.
The old landlord who had been approached silently stared at Hikoshichi's face, suspicious of this man—with his withered, gaunt features that made his age ambiguous—and his stated intention to become a moneylender.

Hikoshichi not only made requests to the old man but also advertised his business through various methods.
Since there were many people in society struggling with small sums of money—and of course none knew the true intent behind Hikoshichi’s desire to become a moneylender—his business flourished in no time.

As for what Hikoshichi did next, we leave that to the reader’s imagination.
Since he had become a moneylender precisely to torment people as much as possible, he calmly perpetrated cruelties far more terrible than the ruthless cruelties of moneylenders blinded solely by greed.
And all while increasingly amassing wealth and extending his devilish grasp, he made people weep and relished it to his heart’s content.

Of course, over ten or fifteen years, he encountered terrible persecution numerous times, but he never yielded to such things.
The belief he had built was that if one held onto money, there would be no worry of being defeated by anyone.

Six

Among the destitute poor who had borrowed from him, there existed one family of particular wretchedness.
This was none other than the blacksmith in the neighboring town where he resided.
Though called a blacksmith, this man possessed no skill beyond swinging a hammer to forge metal tools for farmers' implements—a blacksmith singularly lacking in work.
Yet this couple gave no one cause for hatred—decent folk through and through.
They had two children between them: a boy of eleven and a girl of nine.
The blacksmith's paltry earnings could never suffice to sustain his two children and wife in even meager comfort.
Thus the wife took on small laundry jobs and ran errands here and there to supplement their livelihood.

The wife who fulfilled the most vital role in this family suddenly fell gravely ill.
The blacksmith, anxious despite knowing Hikoshichi's notorious cruelty, borrowed three yen from him to treat his wife.
Though she gradually recovered, repayment of the principal became unthinkable—they could not even manage the modest interest.

When the payment deadline lapsed, Hikoshichi commenced mechanical demands like clockwork.
Initially prostrating himself in apology, the blacksmith reached his limit as Hikoshichi's moneylending cruelty intensified—now opposing one in every three demands.

However, one evening, as the blacksmith was returning from work along the thoroughfare, he unexpectedly encountered Hikoshichi.

“Hey, Torasan, when exactly do you plan to settle that matter?”
“It’s been over a month since the deadline passed, yet you haven’t even paid the interest properly. This is a business for me too, you know. It’s a problem.”
“It’s just three yen or so, isn’t it?”

Hikoshichi suddenly began demanding in a loud voice.
The blacksmith must have been irritated, but still adopted a humble stance,

"Well now, I know that even without being told. But since it's about daily earnings here—you say it's just three yen, but for us it's truly a hardship. Could you wait a little longer?"
"I'll figure something out."

"You've been saying 'I'll figure something out' since way back, but that figuring isn't cutting it."

“Now Mr. Hikoshichi, this is a public thoroughfare, isn’t it? I’m exhausted from just returning from work myself. If you have matters to discuss, why not come to my house later? It’s unseemly to loudly press for debt repayment right in the middle of a public street.”

“Hmph—if it’s unseemly, you shouldn’t have borrowed from others in the first place. I need what I’m owed returned. There’s no rule against demanding payment on the street, I tell you. Don’t put on airs while being poor. If you hate being pressed for debts, you shouldn’t take loans. Borrowed means repaid—promptly.”

“Well, I suppose there’s no use arguing whatever you say, but that’s not how it is.”
“In any case, I must beg to decline demands in the middle of the thoroughfare.”

The blacksmith suppressed his agitation and, having said that, started to walk away.

“Hey now, Torasan.”
“You think I’ll let you have your way?”
“I’m not some idle layabout, so since we’ve met right here by chance, I’ll have you give me an answer.”
“What?”
“Come to your house?”
“Not a chance.”
“What’s this ‘come to your house’ nonsense?”
“Under proper circumstances, shouldn’t you be coming to me to settle this properly?”
“What do you take me for?!”
“Come to your house, you say?”
“You’ll settle this matter right here. It’s barely three yen!”
“Don’t run—settle it like a man.”

Hikoshichi pressed on spitefully.
If this had been an ordinary poor man who didn’t fret much over debt, it might not have mattered so much. But as luck would have it, the blacksmith—though he had always been poor—was a man who had never borrowed money before. To be publicly shamed over something that already weighed heavily on his mind was more than he could bear.
The gentle yet stubborn blacksmith completely lost his temper.

“I’ve had enough!”
“You bastard!”
“This is what you get, you ruthless bastard!”

In a frenzy, he suddenly struck his head with the large hammer he happened to have on hand.

A torrent of blood gushed from Hikoshichi's temple at nearly the same moment his body collapsed.
The blacksmith, in a frenzy, raised the hammer and pounced on the fallen Hikoshichi.
He was immediately restrained by bystanders nearby.
And then, the blacksmith—now finally coming to his senses—upon seeing Hikoshichi's face lying there with blood flowing from it, sat down on the ground in a daze.

The blacksmith did not return home as he was.
He was thrown from police detention into prison.

About half a month later, Hikoshichi—his face still fearsome with bandages—entered the blacksmith’s house, assisted by neighbors, where the family was living in sorrow, grieving each passing day.
He paid no heed to the wife’s pleas, rummaged through the house for days—a house with nothing of value—then tore off the futon where the two children lay curled in sleep, rolled them onto the tatami mats, and took a pot from the kitchen stove before leaving.

In the face of this heartless treatment, the wife held her two sobbing children close, gnashed her teeth, and wept with bitter resentment.
After laying the children down on a futon that a neighbor’s wife—unable to bear watching their plight any longer—had lent them, the wife wrote a note entrusting her children’s future to her two brothers and left the house.

Late that night, Hikoshichi’s house was set ablaze from three sides and erupted in flames.
When he awoke, the fire had already engulfed everything.
Still, he clutched the hand chest by his pillow and rushed out, but at the entrance, his legs were swept from under him as he fell, and the chest was snatched away by a figure bursting forth.

When he tried madly to pursue that shadowy form, the chest had already been hurled into the inferno.
The blacksmith’s wife had at last stripped Hikoshichi utterly naked.

The fire stopped at the third house from Hikoshichi's.
Hikoshichi stood dazedly in the burned remains where nothing remained, his ugly face contorted.

Because of the fire, he had utterly lost the life he had built up until now—a life he had constructed by bleeding himself dry.
Due to intense dejection, he became as if he had fainted, and for two or three days, he merely wandered aimlessly through the burned remains.

However, before long, flames that could incinerate even the most robust things in an instant began flickering incessantly in his eyes.
He now exchanged his previous revenge through money for flames brimming with allure.
And for a long time, while wandering here and there, he did not cease that curse.

He had returned to the village where he was born to send crawling the flames of his curse across the land where his heart of curse had first taken root—one final act of remembrance.

[Kaizo, Volume 3, Issue 8 - July 1921 Summer Special Issue]