ICHIBAN USHIRO NO DAIMAOU - Volume 13, 0 Prologue

Volume 13, Prologue

I finally felt like writing it.

“It” being this story, of course. However, I must first talk about “stories”.

We read stories. It can be in movies, in serial dramas, in manga, or in novels. We of course read them for enjoyment, but that sense of enjoyment is often backed by the expectation of wondering what will happen next.

In other words, it is assumed there will be some form of ending.

Needless to say, there are some stories that seem about to end yet one does not want to end, but the fact remains that it is assumed that a story has an ending. n–0𝑣𝐞𝑙𝑏In

To view it in a rational light, a story is something in which the characters die or are saved.

That is why stories that move people – myself included – truly begin with their ending. It can be a tragedy or a comedy. Complex causal relationships gather toward a single conclusion and the power brought about by various coincidences and human fates burst open a single final point! The story exists for that final point. Whether it takes the form of the grim reaper’s scythe or the bond of the red string of fate, destiny exists for the ending.

And as everyone who has read this far knows, stories are fictional and yet we are still controlled by them in our real lives.

In other words…yes, we think of things from the perspective of the ending.

When a boy and girl meet, we ask whether they will end up together or part ways.

When a crime is committed, we ask if the criminal will escape or be captured.

When we live, we ask if we will be fortunate or fall into ruin.

Our minds are thoroughly infected by the virus that we call stories. There is no free will there.

Humans cannot perceive time as a sensation. We instead perceive it as a story.

In the early 2000’s, I received a phone call from an old friend in front of my apartment in Yamato, Kanagawa. I assumed they were inviting me to hang out, but they instead informed me the ex girlfriend I had broken up with about half a year prior had died. I had not contacted her even once since we broke up, but my friend had been receiving news about her from someone else.

“Eh? Really?”

“Oh, man. So you’re serious.”

“Hm, I see. Thanks for telling me.”

I remember that meaningless conversation.

At the time, I felt no confusion or sadness. That’s just how it is.

But when the same friend called me the following day and told me the cause of death, I felt somehow urged forward. I couldn’t sit still and a strange impatience sent cold sweat dripping down my cheeks. It was not that her death finally felt real. It had never felt real. I was never going to meet her again regardless. What difference did it make if that was now an eternal thing?

Her cause of death was truly stupid. She had horrible headaches and took a bit more of her medicine than usual. This was not a suicide with sleeping pills or anything like that. Sometimes your body grows accustomed to a drug and you have to take more of it. The direct cause of death was what they call Economy Class Syndrome. In other words, it was a blood clot in an artery. Lying in the same position for a long period of time without drinking any water had led to her death.

I briefly wondered if she would not have died had she not broken up with me. I’m not trying to boast, but I can be fairly attentive when it comes to looking after others. I would likely have been managing the medicine and having her do some light daily exercise. However, that was the exact reason she had broken up with me. She apparently found that side of me annoying.

I wondered if she might have lived had I been looking after her.

I knew that future was impossible. I knew that, but I continued asking the question.

That was the source of the impatient feeling.

She had chosen a death similar to suicide. That is, she had lived in a way that more easily tended towards death. She was oblivious when it came to her own health and yet she was sensitive to anything that threatened her mental state, so she chose inactivity over activity and she interpreted kindness as an attack. In the long run, that could be called constantly choosing death in multiple situations.

It is commonly said that any animal that chooses suicide is insane. There was a rumor of lemmings committing mass suicide, but that was proven to be false. (It was set up for a documentary.) There are several confirmed suicidal actions among living creatures, but as research has advanced, it has become clear that almost all of them are caused by parasites or toxins from another living creature. For example, the hairworm resides within a praying mantis host and has the praying mantis jump into a river. The hairworm can only mate within the water, so it kills its host and jumps out into the water. Also, a certain type of wasp can control the brain of the roaches it lays its eggs in. The toxin it injects removes the roach’s will and prevents it from feeling pain as the larva hatch and eat it from the inside. On top of that, the wasp guides it to the wasp’s burrow while it can still walk, so it actually walks to its own grave.

Humans are living creatures, too. In that case, shouldn’t we try to live no matter what? Isn’t it unthinkable for humans to commit suicide?

Yes. Humans do not die by their own will.

So what is it that we call suicide?

There is a single answer.

Someone is controlling those human’s minds.

Let me reiterate: our minds are infected by the virus that we call stories and someone injected that virus into us.

That is why humans commit suicide. They take a reckless action and they die.

But as is standard for parasites, stories also benefit humans.

People cannot perceive time as a sensation. We instead perceive it as a story. Without a perception of time, we would likely have never developed the intelligence we have. Stories are intelligence.

So should we cast aside those stories?

No, we must never do that.

If we do not do that, they will end.

Stories always end. For mankind, that ending is the time of destruction. That is the time in which we discover the objective of the one who implanted the stories within us.

Will something hatch within our brains?

Will we be devoured by something gigantic after our deaths?

If so, can you cast aside those stories this very instant?

We must think about the original human race and the origin of stories.

Now, let us go see the answer for ourselves.