Unlike the major events that have occurred in the United States, and unlike the booming development of China, there are some crazy people living on an island thousands of miles away.
They are considered insane because these people have never been afraid to fight to the death, always regarding death as their greatest asset. This is the sad tone that has been passed down since their birth.
Neon lights represent their colors, and nothingness represents their culture. Those who frequently read works by Ryunosuke Akutagawa, Yasunari Kawabata, or Osamu Dazai can appreciate this aesthetic of nothingness through the vast depictions of conscious imagery and the use of blank space.
Japanese literature is delicate and its content is subtle, unlike our grand and majestic style, such as "Having fought a hundred battles in the yellow sands, I will not return until Loulan is conquered."
In contrast to us, from the "mono no aware" of the Heian period, the "yūgen" of the Kamakura period, to the "kansa" of the Edo period, death is an extremely important part of their culture.
In a remote town on the outskirts of Hokkaido, a girl dressed in a pink cherry blossom outfit walks slowly through the quiet, deserted streets in wooden clogs. The wooden eaves curve gently, resembling the tiptoes of a beautiful woman, and wind chimes hang below, their melodious sounds mingling with the girl's footsteps whenever a gentle breeze blows.
Strangely, the girl was walking with her eyes closed. Of course, she didn't need to see the stone slabs and corners in front of her, because she had walked this road countless times, forming a kind of muscle memory. She muttered to herself, "Step thirty-five...step thirty-six, okay, I should turn left."
Then she walked over somewhat awkwardly, her head adorned with no hair ornaments, her long black hair cascading down to her waist, before disappearing outside the wall of a building.
Even in heavy clothing, the girl appeared too frail, and an invisible, desolate sorrow flowed over her. She did not open her eyes, and if one were to see those eyes, they would likely evoke an even stronger sense of death.
After passing through the narrow alleyway that resembled a crack in the wall, everything ahead suddenly opened up. Before the girl were old buildings that had existed since the Edo period. The black tiles and two trees planted in the wide open space complemented each other, as cold as the season.
The last time she entered this door was four years ago. The girl's confused mind recalled that blurry scene. Everything from the Dark Samurai Treaty established by Tokugawa was clearly remembered in her heart. Apart from that, she had forgotten most things.
Even the clothes she wore today were tied by someone else. The expressionless woman from this morning put her hand on her shoulder, turned her around, and said to the bewildered girl, "Go on, you don't need to kneel today, the boss is waiting for you."
So she came.
Pushing open the heavy door, she was about to continue walking forward when she suddenly remembered her mother's arrangement, "Oh, we should hang up the wooden sign."
This girl, who occasionally exudes a sharp aura like a katana, seems to have a low IQ, a bit clumsy, like an underdeveloped egg. We usually call such an egg a bad egg.
She took the wooden plaque from her waist and hung it on a black nail embedded in the wall. The name on the plaque was: September.
"Kill him."
In September, she knelt in the living room for a long time without raising her head, only to hear a magnetic voice in her ear.
The boss's voice was quite pleasant. Although she didn't look at him, September was already imagining a face like a knife-cut noodle. Oh... no, not knife-cut noodles, what was that word again?
A resolute face, as sharp as if carved by a knife.
September's thoughts drifted, wandering between random ideas. A hint of confusion appeared on her stunningly beautiful face as she silently wished, "Tell me who I killed!" September dared not look up at her boss, who liked to hide his true face. It was said that seeing his real face would blind you; who knew he might really look like a knife-cut noodle.
A thin photograph floated down and appeared in September's eyes. She glanced at the young man in the photo, who looked to be about eighteen or nineteen years old and had a handsome face, without any expression on her face.
"His name is Jiang Cheng, a researcher from China. Your task is to kill him, even at the cost of your own life. Unlike your previous simple missions, this man is under heavy protection. Someone in China will be there to meet you. After you kill him, you won't be able to return. Do you understand?"
"Yes, ma'am."
September heard a slight vibration on the floor, which she guessed was the boss jumping off the chair. The footsteps became clearer and then gradually faded away. She reached out her slender hand, grabbed the photo, and examined it carefully.
Then she did something that no one would expect: she stuck out her pink tongue and gently licked the corner of the photo, then bit off a piece and chewed it, and the taste of ink instantly spread in her mouth.
So this is what the photo smells like... She nodded seriously, then carefully put the photo into the belt around her waist.
Unbeknownst to her, in the shadows of the wall, the "boss" who had just left was standing respectfully next to an old man.
The aged voice said softly, "I remember she was the most outstanding one we trained."
"Yes, September is the strongest among that group of kids. She has done a lot for us, but she's not very bright."
"I can see that... It's not surprising that someone who can come out of that place has something different about them than ordinary people."
They knew that once September went, he would never return, and his body might never be found again; the person they wanted to assassinate was not so simple.
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