Chapter 29: The Price of Hatred

The moment Maruta Tsuchiya’s message appeared in the class group, everyone’s first reaction was one of utter disbelief.

‘Didn’t he know that being chosen meant death?’

Maruta Tsuchiya’s voice echoed, ‘I know being chosen means death, so please, everyone, vote for me.’

Several classmates who usually had a good relationship with Maruta Tsuchiya immediately sent messages.

–Maruta, are you okay?

–Why put yourself through this?

–We have no problem voting for that scoundrel Yuto Kirigaya, but to vote for you…

Maruta Tsuchiya replied, ‘I’m currently in the hospital, in my sickbed. I’ve seen everything that’s happened in the class group on the TV in front of me. Teacher Matsui must be behind this, right?’

‘On the TV, I watched as you all cursed, fought, and turned against each other out of hatred. It made me feel terrible.’

‘In my memory, everyone was usually such a gentle person, but now, because of this death assignment, you’ve all become stranger and stranger.’

‘This version of everyone feels so unfamiliar and frightening to me. What I fear even more is that perhaps one day, I too will become this strange, enslaved by hatred.’

‘I don’t want to become like that. My great-grandfather was killed by white people who succumbed to hatred. He was once an outstanding Black entrepreneur in Tulsa, USA, but he was burned to death by a white cleaner during the 1921 massacre. My grandfather had no choice but to travel across the ocean to Cherry Blossom State.’

‘When I first heard this story from my grandfather, my immediate reaction was fury, immense fury. I clamored that those despicable white people must pay their blood debt. They killed 300 Black people, so we should kill 3000 white people—an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth!’

‘But my grandfather shook his head and told me to think more deeply, not to be so easily consumed by the monster of hatred. What difference would I be from those white executioners then?’

‘At the time, it was hard for me to understand, but now I know what my grandfather meant. Hatred is a terrifying thing. Its most dreadful aspect is its ability to persist through bloodlines. Hatred from a century ago won’t simply vanish with time; instead, it will be sown into the bones of all of us, growing and waiting to erupt.’

‘Sadly, despite many people striving to save us from the fate of hatred, more and more individuals are being manipulated by it. This is an intractable problem.’

‘I can no longer see hope for saving everyone, nor for saving myself. But at the very least, I hope that when I die, I do so not as a s*ave to hatred.’

‘Also, there’s no need to worry about me. I’m perfectly lucid. The doctors say my spinal cord is severely damaged, and it’s highly likely I’ll be confined to a bed for the rest of my life. Death, for me, would be a release.’

‘So, please, everyone, vote for me.’

Maruta Tsuchiya’s words struck everyone like a heavy blow. The once noisy classroom fell silent. The quarreling students looked at the content on their phones, involuntarily lowering their heads, their expressions complex.

After more than ten seconds of silence, a message appeared in the class group.

Bai Yuliang: ‘Maruta Tsuchiya, you are the true hero.’

[Bai Yuliang cast one vote for Maruta Tsuchiya]

Soon, a second message followed.

Qichuan Feng: ‘Maruta Tsuchiya, you are the true hero.’

[Qichuan Feng cast one vote for Maruta Tsuchiya]

‘Maruta Tsuchiya, you are the true hero.’

‘Maruta Tsuchiya, you are the true hero.’

‘Maruta Tsuchiya, you are the true hero.’

Message after message of votes for Maruta Tsuchiya flooded the class group. However, unlike when they voted for Yuto Kirigaya, there was no hatred or anger on anyone’s faces—only admiration and guilt.

If Yuto Kirigaya was a s*ave consumed by hatred from the very beginning, then Maruta Tsuchiya was a warrior who confronted hatred, choosing not to yield until the very end.

He chose to use his own life to interpret his choice, seeing it through to the conclusion.

Compared to him, those who chose to cling to life appeared utterly contemptible.

As the deadline approached, many girls began to sob softly, afraid to look at the final result.

Teacher Matsui’s voice cut through the air: ‘Time’s up. The results of the [Death Vote] are in. Yuto Kirigaya received the most votes, Maruta Tsuchiya the second most. The execution of Lingchi will commence!’

‘No—’

Yuto Kirigaya, who had been lying weakly on the ground, let out a wretched scream, but the outcome was already irreversible.

In an instant, hundreds of cuts appeared on the surface of his body. Lines of crimson blood, like strings of beads, spurted from the wounds, splashing onto the ground as if a bloody rain had begun to fall.

‘Ah—’

Most of the students in the classroom were still children who hadn’t entered society. They had never witnessed such a scene before. They clutched their heads, afraid to look, or their legs turned to jelly, and they fled the classroom.

Among all those present, only Bai Yuliang watched meticulously, holding his breath, not daring to miss a single detail.

His eyes were moist, as if something had just been dripped into them.

Before him, Yuto Kirigaya was not yet fully dead, still wailing incessantly, his cries inhuman and utterly horrifying.

Piece after piece of crimson flesh fell from his body, revealing the pallid bones and the red-and-white fascia beneath.

Soon, Yuto Kirigaya could no longer scream, for his tongue had also been severed. He could only produce muffled whimpers.

More and more people rushed out of the classroom, afraid to listen, and even more afraid to look, not daring even a glance.

Bai Yuliang still watched with wide eyes. He, too, wanted to leave, but he knew he had to keep looking.

‘Just a little more, and I’ll see it…’ he murmured softly.

The execution was nearing its end. Yuto Kirigaya lay on the ground, his eyes vacant, only blood foam bubbling from his mouth. He could no longer make a sound. His neck, which had been stiff, now fell limply to the ground, clearly indicating his imminent death.

But whether it was a final surge of vitality or something else, at one moment, his eyes suddenly sprang wide open, revealing an expression of extreme terror, as if he had seen a ghost.

‘Pfft—’

A gush of dark, black blood, like burnt syrup, erupted from his heart, emitting an intensely foul odor.

The smell was so pungent that it made Bai Yuliang feel nauseous.

Closing his eyes, he meticulously replayed the scene he had witnessed in that fleeting moment.

Thanks to the effects of the cherished ox tears, Bai Yuliang finally understood the cause of Yuto Kirigaya’s death.

In that final instant, the moment Yuto Kirigaya showed his horrified expression, Bai Yuliang finally discerned a strange figure formed from a faint white mist.

The figure held an umbrella made of mist in its left hand and a dagger in its right, which it plunged fiercely into Yuto Kirigaya’s heart, ending his life.

The moment he opened his eyes, there was no longer any figure formed of white mist before him, nor was Yuto Kirigaya’s corpse. The classroom had returned to its usual pristine state—as if an eternity had passed.

Opening his phone, Bai Yuliang saw the class group filled with condemnation for Yuto Kirigaya and mourning for Maruta Tsuchiya.

He reflected on the two classmates who had died today.

Yuto Kirigaya, consumed by hatred, was ultimately devoured by the hatred of others.

Maruta Tsuchiya, afraid of hatred, also lost the will to live because of its absence.

They were profoundly different, yet their ends were the same.

‘The rigid shatter easily, the delicate snap easily. Only moderation endures,’ Bai Yuliang mused. ‘Hatred is indeed a terrible thing, but for survival, perhaps it is also essential.’