Chapter Sixty-Three: A Day in the Life of Muramasa (Part Two)

Not fully understanding the old man's words, Luo Hanya lost consciousness in the midst of a biting chill. When he opened his eyes again, he found himself stepping out of a taxi. For some reason, it seemed he had not been pursued by the taxi driver.

"Muramasa, you've arrived!" From a distance, a middle-aged man dressed in a crisp, old-fashioned suit strode toward Luo Hanya with a broad smile. His face was plump and his limbs robust. Catching sight of something amiss, he asked in puzzlement, "Muramasa, why didn't you bring your little angel with you? Isn't she on holiday at home today? You two are usually inseparable."

"Ah?" Luo Hanya stammered, hastily inventing an excuse. "She's sick today, so I left her at home to recuperate."

"Hm? You seem a bit distracted today, Muramasa—even your excuse is poorly thought out. If your little angel were ill, you'd never come here. You've used her illness more than once to turn down invitations from old friends like us." Hirata laughed heartily, hands on his hips, eyeing the weary Luo Hanya with an amused look.

"Uh, Hirata..." Luo Hanya tried to defend himself, but Hirata gave him no chance. Instead, he slapped Luo Hanya's shoulder with a powerful hand, paying no mind to the clumsy lie.

"I'm glad you could make it, Muramasa! Let's enjoy this unforgettable holiday together!" Hirata cheerfully ushered Luo Hanya inside.

Luo Hanya flexed the spot where Hirata had slapped him, thinking to himself, "Strange... my shoulder feels numb. Why is there no sensation at all?" But before he could unravel this puzzle, the familiar darkness swept over him again, and his surroundings shifted once more.

"Muramasa! Muramasa!" Luo Hanya opened his eyes to find himself lying on a small bed in a cramped room, dimly lit. Everything reminded him of the simplicity of the space. The voice had come from beside him. Suddenly, his body shook—he was being rocked by a burly man with a gleaming bald head whose muscles quivered with every movement.

"Who... who are you?" Luo Hanya stared in confusion at the man, unsure why he was being shaken, or where he was, or who this stranger was. The only thing he could be sure of was that the journey had already begun, and the burly man seemed to mean Muramasa no harm.

"Muramasa, did you lose your memory after that fall?" The bald man widened his eyes in astonishment, looking at Luo Hanya as if he knew nothing at all.

"I don't know. I feel as if I've forgotten many things." Luo Hanya's eyes flickered as he quickly concocted a story. Pretending to clutch his aching head, he cried out, "My head hurts so much! Where am I? Who are you? Why am I here?" To make it more convincing, he rolled on the floor, groaning in apparent agony.

A trace of pity appeared in the bald man's eyes as he pressed Luo Hanya down, saying loudly, "You're Muramasa. I'm your friend, Watanabe Nishizawa. We're both in the car, and it will be some time before we reach our holiday destination. Muramasa, do you remember now? If not, just rest here for a while."

"I..." Luo Hanya began to speak, but suddenly lost control over his body, as if viewing Muramasa's experiences from a third-person perspective. Everything before him sped by, as though he were watching a film played at twenty times the normal speed. Time seemed to race ahead.

Then, though his view remained in the same room, two people appeared whom he had never seen before.

"Muramasa, are you alright?" Clearly a couple, both dressed in somber gray attire. The woman was linked arm-in-arm with the man, and they seemed very much in love. She wore a gentle smile, exuding concern for Luo Hanya.

"Sorry, I seem to have injured my head just now, resulting in temporary amnesia. May I ask..." Luo Hanya looked helplessly at the couple who seemed so familiar with Muramasa, once again blaming his memory loss on the head injury.

But before he could finish speaking, their cries interrupted him. "Oh heavens, poor Muramasa!" The woman gazed at his bewildered expression as if pitying a stray pup, patting his head. The man’s eyes brimmed with tears, as though he were about to lose a dear friend he hadn’t seen in years.

Luo Hanya gazed coldly at the couple. Beneath their pretended compassion and sympathy, he detected a ruthless indifference—even a hint of schadenfreude. Yet he could not betray any emotion, continuing to feign cordiality.

He put on a moved expression and said with feeling, "Though I don't know who you are, I truly am touched. We must have been very close friends in the past."

"Yes, we were classmates in middle school. You were the most handsome boy in the class," the woman said, giving Luo Hanya a deep look and sighing, "But now, how did you end up like this?" Luo Hanya was inwardly mocking, for he sensed that only the woman's words were sincere. "Is this hatred born of love? Was this uncle a heartthrob in his youth?" He stroked the stubble on his face, and looked at his weathered reflection in the nearby mirror, seeing nothing that could be called handsome.

"Muramasa had his own choices. He walked his own path; no one else is to blame." The man beside her squinted and spoke in a strange tone.

"Enough!" The woman seemed annoyed, glaring at her sour husband, then softened her voice and gazed tenderly at Luo Hanya, who sat on the hospital bed. "Muramasa, I'm Minako, and this is my husband, Kazuo Yamamoto. We've been friends for many years. Rest well—during this trip, we'll take good care of you."

"Yes, we'll take good care of you."

"We'll take good care of you."

"Care for you."

"Care for you."

"Care for you!"

Luo Hanya felt as if something had split his head apart. The searing pain deep in his mind made him want to scream. The words "care for you" echoed again and again in his brain, as though he had once been deeply wounded by them.