The space looked as though it had been plastered in the thick, black tar used for asphalt roads.
Beyond the oppressive darkness, a stench—a cloying, unidentifiable rot—permeated the room, cut only by a chilling, rhythmic scrape of metal. It was the sound of a blade being honed, a noise so grating it felt like it was peeling the skin off one's ears. The air was heavy with a visceral sense of rejection, the kind that would make even animals turn and flee.
"Hey… have you ever heard the saying, 'Happiness is relative'?"
A voice rang out, entirely discordant with the surroundings. It was the voice of a woman—sweet, high-pitched, and flirtatious, as if she were cooing to a lover. It was a voice capable of swaying the hearts of many men, but paired with that scraping metal, it felt like a cold needle sliding down the spine.
"If you look at happiness indices, they're overwhelmingly lower in developed countries than in developing ones; lower for the rich than the poor. Why is that? It's because the higher you stand, the wider your 'field of vision' becomes. There are just so many things to compare yourself to. Even if your life is perfectly fine, the moment you see someone in a better environment, you can't help but feel unhappy."
𝘚𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘦.
The flirtatious voice shifted in an instant. The sweetness vanished, replaced by a pitch of haunting, abysmal gloom.
"Happiness is a social cancer. It only serves to make a multitude of others miserable."
𝘊𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨!!
"Really, people shouldn't be allowed to be happy. What did the people who have to witness that happiness and feel wretched about themselves ever do to deserve that? People who are happy because they did well on a test should be pushed down a flight of stairs. People who succeed in a confession and find a partner should be sent a package containing their lover's ten fingers. When you see a father and daughter walking home hand-in-hand, you should run up and slit their throats. You take people twisted by despair and hang them in the middle of a public square. Then, everyone else will look at them and think, 'Oh my, that person looks so much more pitiful than me. I guess I'm happy after all.' The whole is made happy by the misery of the few. Isn't that a perfect story?"
"Mmph—!! Mmmgh—!!"
𝘙𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦! 𝘙𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦!
Another presence stirred in the darkness. A man, bound hand and foot to a wooden chair, gagged. His face was a mask of terror and tears, and his pathetic struggle for survival produced nothing more than the rattling of his restraints.
"Oh, sorry, sorry. I was just talking about myself too much, wasn't I? Were you bored?"
The woman picked up the oversized shears she had been sharpening. They were garden shears, but there were no plants to prune in this room—only a man on the verge of fainting from sheer terror.
"Well then…"
She approached the man's neck. The obsidian sheen of the shears caught a faint, wandering glimmer of light, partially revealing her face.
She revealed the sinister, black and crimson eye of a Ghoul.
"For the happiness of everyone else… be miserable for me~♥"
𝘚𝘯𝘪𝘱!!
"O-One Oyakodon, please…!"
"I swear, Hitokawa, since you got promoted to Rank 2, you look like you're wasting away."
I was working at the tavern, 'The Firecracker in the Stomach.' It's called a tavern, but these days it's more of a regular eatery. Ever since I started working here, the menu has expanded, mostly due to the Manager's greed for more customers. Hitokawa became a regular after he tried the Manager's legendary Oyakodon. He stops by every day on his way home from work.
However, he's looked noticeably haggard lately, so I asked out of concern.
"Hahaha… Mr. Hashimoto got promoted to Special Class, so he's no longer my supervisor. They've got me doing busywork until they find me a new partner, but I underestimated it. They're working me to the bone! Honestly, it would be easier to just go out and hunt a Ghoul!"
"You really have it rough. Here, the Manager's special Oyakodon."
"Ah, thank you. Hmm! This egg is cooked to absolute perfection! It's enough to make me weep! As expected of the veteran's skill—!"
𝘛𝘩𝘸𝘢𝘤𝘬!!!
Hitokawa was cut off as a ladle flew from the kitchen and knocked him backward. It was a strike so magnificent that even the reflexes of an investigator trained to hunt Ghouls couldn't dodge it.
"Careful. The Manager has been sensitive about his age lately."
"Y-You could have warned me…"
Hitokawa stood up, dusting himself off. As he had fallen, a few items from his coat pocket had spilled onto the floor. I leaned down to help him pick them up.
"...!"
I saw something I shouldn't have. It was a photograph—one taken with an incredibly morbid sensibility.
"Huh? Ah!"
Hitokawa realized the photo was in my hand and snatched it away hurriedly. But the image had already burned itself into my mind. It was that striking, in the worst possible way.
It was a severed human head.
Normally, that wouldn't have shocked me. Given my "extracurricular" activities, I'm somewhat used to seeing corpses. But this was different. It was enough to trigger a panic attack, something I hadn't experienced in a long time. Fortunately, it was mild and I didn't show it outwardly, but the photo was still haunting.
Christmas was long over, yet the photo depicted a Christmas tree of the most depraved taste imaginable.
A man's head, twisted in despair and terror, was impaled on the top of an oak tree, and intestines were draped over the branches like tinsel. A desecration of the dead, a blasphemy of the divine… it was a grotesque sight, enough to make one's blood boil at the perpetrator.
"...Did you see it?"
"Thanks. I'm heading home soon to eat dinner with Eto, and now I feel like I'm going to throw up."
"Ugh. Sorry. It's evidence for the investigation. I forgot to turn it back in before I left."
"At the very least, don't drop it in a restaurant."
The day someone drops that in here is the day this place goes out of business. There isn't a human alive with a psyche strong enough to enjoy a meal after seeing that. …Wait, Hitokawa. How are you eating that Oyakodon so casually? Is this the caliber of a Ghoul Investigator?
"Was 'that' done by a Ghoul too? I don't remember seeing it on the news."
I pointed toward the pocket where he'd stuffed the photo.
"Most likely. The head was removed with something like garden shears, but there are signs the intestines were pulled out with raw physical strength. It's such a bizarre case that we're keeping it out of the media while we investigate."
Hitokawa shoveled a mouthful of rice and chicken into his mouth.
"Chomp, chew… Anyway, everyone is desperate to find this 'Artist.' A guy who disappeared years ago has resurfaced. They've mobilized a lot of personnel, but ultimately, it's just the grunts like me who have to do the legwork and gather info."
"The Artist?"
"That's what we call the Ghoul. Aside from that photo, he's a lunatic who makes all sorts of bizarre 'works' and leaves them in public places. Seriously, why can't Ghouls just stay hidden? It's bad enough being eaten by one, but imagine being murdered just to become some incomprehensible piece of art. Damn bastard. I'll definitely crush him."
Hitokawa bit down on his wooden chopsticks, his rage palpable. He mentioned he was on his way back from meeting the victim's family. Having felt their grief, his anger toward the "Artist" was sharp.
Hitokawa had never had a high opinion of Ghouls, but since becoming an investigator, he had encountered only the worst of their kind, solidifying his worldview. Though he rarely showed it, the way he radiated fury toward Ghouls reminded me of my father, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth.
That was when a burst of energy entered the shop, washing away the bitterness.
"Daddy~!"
The moment a young girl spotted me, she practically flew through the air and lunged into my arms. I'd experienced this enough times to catch her smoothly, spinning around to absorb the impact.
"Welcome back, Eto."
"Yes! I'm home!"
Eto nuzzled her face against my chest like a cat with catnip before looking up with a bright smile. Her teal hair reached just past her shoulders, and her face had the soft, marshmallow-like cheeks of a doll.
She was seven now, and lately, she had begun to exude the aura of a proper young lady. Hitokawa started to greet her, but stopped, surprised by what was on her back.
"Eto, long time no… wait? A Randoseru?"
Eto was wearing a bright red Randoseru—a traditional Japanese elementary school backpack. It was brand new and looked perfect on her.
"She started attending the local elementary school a few days ago."
"I see. I guess she is at that age now."
"But what are you doing here, Mr. Hitokawa?"
"I'm obsessed with this place's Oyakodon. It's delicious, you want a bite?"
"No!"
Hitokawa offered her a spoonful, but Eto rejected him flatly and hid behind my back.
Eto is a Ghoul. To be precise, she's a "Half-Ghoul," but like any other Ghoul, she has no taste for human food. Hitokawa looked wounded by her cold reaction, turning away to hide his mock tears.
"Why is Eto always so cold to me?"
"You're just not the type kids like."
"What's wrong with me?!"
The truth was, Eto disliked him because he was a Ghoul Investigator. Since his very profession involved hunting and killing her kind, Eto, with her sharp instincts, naturally kept her distance. I couldn't tell him that, so I offered a vague excuse, which only seemed to hurt his feelings more.
Hitokawa grumbled about having no allies in this world as he drained his sake cup. He watched as Eto went into the kitchen to greet the Manager.
"Seven years old, huh…"
"What's with that look? If you've suddenly awakened to pedophilia, as your friend, I will personally bury you in the ground."
"Put that kitchen knife down, it's not like that!! …I was just thinking about how much time has passed. It feels like only yesterday you were causing a scene by showing up to school with baby Eto."
"Hmm. I guess there was a time like that."
"I'm a Ghoul Investigator. It's a job where you never know when you'll die, so I never planned on getting married… but seeing you and Eto, sometimes I want to. I want to get married, have kids, and start a family."
"Raising a kid is not easy, let me tell you. It starts with diapers and ends with endless headaches. At least twice a month, she drives me up the wall."
"Haha. I bet. Still…"
Hitokawa refilled his cup, then looked at me, then at Eto.
"Still, you both look so happy it makes me jealous."
"...Is that so?"
"Yeah."
Hitokawa finished his Oyakodon. He looked satisfied, a slight flush on his face from the sake and a full stomach. Then, he asked a question.
"By the way, you said she drives you up the wall twice a month? Eto seems so mature for her age, I didn't think she'd be any trouble."
"Lately, she comes home from school with a new way to annoy me every day. School is a place where all sorts of people—teachers and students—gather, and she learns all the wrong things."
"What?"
Hitokawa knit his brow, not understanding. To provide a live demonstration, I called her.
"Eto."
"Yes! You called?"
"Can you tell me what you learned at school today?"
"Today? Today I had Korean, English, and we did gymnastics in P.E… Oh! And my friends taught me this!"
Eto scurried over to stand in front of me and gave a little performative cough. Then, as if a switch had been flipped, her eyes began to sparkle with a mischievous, flirtatious light, and she looked up at me with an exaggeratedly adorable pose.
"Welcome home, Daddy~. Would you like dinner first~? A bath first~? 𝘖𝘳. 𝘱𝘦𝘳. 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘴…♡"
"Okay, that's enough."
I raised a hand to stop her and rubbed my aching temples with the other. School is a melting pot. It was great that Eto was making friends her own age, but it seemed a few of those friends were equipped with a lot of "useless" knowledge.
Vowing to visit the school soon and see the faces of these little brats, I turned back to Hitokawa, who was sitting there with his jaw dropped.
"This is my life lately."
"...You really have it rough."
I'm glad he finally understands.