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ArabicHonkai Star Rail: My Death Feeds Their Madness — Chapter 24
Chapter 24: Unknowing
Remaining Lifespan: 1 hour, 11 minutes, 41 seconds.
Kagashi finished recounting the long, quiet story of his life. As his gentle voice faded into the stillness of the room, a heavy, suffocating weight settled over Clarice. She felt as if a jagged stone had lodged itself deep within her chest, an unyielding ache that permeated her very bones.
By all accounts, after Mr. Kagashi had found his salvation, his existence had flowed as calmly as a stagnant pool of water. He had encountered no grand tragedies, no sudden misfortunes, living a peaceful life right up until the twilight of his days. Yet, looking at the man sitting before her, she felt an overwhelming, agonizing distress for the life he had led.
Why was this happening? She searched her mind for an answer but found only a bewildering fog. Wasn’t an ordinary, quiet life supposed to be a blessing?
“Mr. Kagashi…” Clarice began, her voice trembling slightly. “Isn’t there anything you ever wanted to do? Any personal dreams you wanted to fulfill?”
“Yes, and they have all been accomplished,” Kagashi replied, his tone mild and entirely devoid of regret. “I just told you about them.”
Hearing that calm, accepting answer, the fog in Clarice’s mind suddenly cleared, and she finally understood the true source of her sorrow.
Mr. Kagashi had never truly lived for himself.
His entire existence had been spent drifting along a current dictated by another. When his teacher imparted knowledge, he studied with a terrifying diligence, dedicating his every waking hour to madly absorbing everything she offered. When his teacher assigned him tasks, he worked with relentless devotion, solving impossible difficulties and striving for nothing less than absolute perfection. He did whatever she commanded, without question, without hesitation.
When his teacher told him to leave and establish himself, he simply packed his things and left. He had quietly lived in absolute seclusion in this bamboo forest for a hundred years, never venturing far, simply waiting for his death. And until that death came, he stood guard over the path home, keeping it clear for a teacher who had never returned.
He was like a marionette moving without strings, willingly living entirely for the sake of another, entirely dependent on a purpose that was not his own. He appeared to be a free man, yet he had never tasted a single day of true freedom.
‘You shouldn’t be like this, Mr. Kagashi…’Clarice thought, her vision blurring.’Even if she was the only light in your life, you should still have your own ideals. You should have a self, rather than willingly binding your soul with these invisible threads.’
She really, really wanted to be jealous of his teacher. She wanted to hate the woman who had consumed this gentle man’s entire existence. But she was not the one who had brought him salvation in his darkest hour, so what right did she have to harbor jealousy? On the contrary, she was the one who had been saved by Mr. Kagashi. If her mother succumbed entirely to her amnesia, Clarice would lose everything she held dear.
So why was her heart weeping? Why was this sorrow so absolute?
Clarice slowly sorted through the tangled mess of her emotions. It was because she had no right to comment. It was because everything was already irreversible. The sand in his hourglass was almost gone, and she could only keep these desperate, grieving words locked inside her own throat. How could she bear to say such cruel things to a dying man?
Was Mr. Kagashi wrong to live this way? No, he wasn’t wrong. Was his teacher wrong? No, she wasn’t wrong either. If one desperately needed to find a culprit to blame, they could only blame the cruel world Mr. Kagashi had been born into—a world that had long since crumbled into cosmic dust, yet had left him bearing lifelong, invisible scars.
But were those the only reasons?
Clarice closed her eyes, a helpless breath escaping her lips. No. Perhaps the greatest tragedy, the factor that even Mr. Kagashi himself could not comprehend, was the main reason. It was the very reason her jealousy burned so bitterly.
Mr. Kagashi had deeply, deeply loved his teacher.
But he simply did not know it. He had never realized the true nature of the emotions taking root in his own heart, and he fundamentally did not understand what romantic love was. He merely took that overwhelming, all-consuming devotion as a natural, dutiful respect for his mentor.
A sudden memory surfaced in Clarice’s mind—a melody Mr. Kagashi had casually played and sung during one of her recent visits.
“…Mr. Kagashi,” Clarice asked softly, breaking the silence. “I want to hear you play and sing that song again.”
“Which one?” he asked, looking at her with mild curiosity.
“I don’t know the name, but it’s… the saddest one.”
Kagashi would never deny the girl’s reasonable requests. He rose slowly from his seat, his movements carrying the heavy lethargy of his fading life, and fetched his Ruan. Settling back down, his fingers found the strings with practiced, effortless grace.
The melody began. It flowed from the quiet verse into a swelling chorus, weaving through a haunting interlude before drifting toward the end. From the very first few seconds of the resonant, weeping notes, Clarice reached her final conclusion.
Mr. Kagashi was slow-witted when it came to matters of the heart. He possessed no correct understanding of his own emotions and never once considered his devotion to be love. His life had been so entirely occupied by his teacher’s shadow that he simply lacked the capacity to understand.
But the songs he composed could not lie.
What a person suppresses during the day, they dream about in the dark of night. If one had never truly experienced the agonizing depths of such a state of mind, how could they possibly create lyrics and music that evoked such visceral sorrow in anyone who listened?
‘A sigh for deep love understood, love finally becoming a shared journey…’
That final line of the song was, perhaps, Mr. Kagashi’s truest, most deeply buried subconscious hope. But apart from those fleeting words at the very end, every single note and lyric that preceded it revolved entirely around the crushing loneliness of unrequited affection and silent waiting.
The song Mr. Kagashi had composed was a mirror of his own soul.
And what made Clarice feel as though she were suffocating was the sudden, piercing realization that this song was also about her. They were both walking down a path destined for missed connections and barren results, constantly exploring deeper into a devotion that would leave their hearts riddled with holes.
‘But I know the truth of my feelings, and you don’t even know your own…’
That was the cruelest part of it all. She could not say a word to him. The most agonizing regret in the world was sitting right in front of her, entirely oblivious to itself.
That tarot divination she had performed for Mr. Kagashi hadn’t been ineffective. On the contrary, the cards had spoken the absolute, flawless truth.
Three of Swords. Ten of Swords. Reversed Star.
deep heartbreak leading to the brutal end of a relationship, bringing with it an unforgettable, bleeding despair. And ultimately, a complete and total loss of hope for the beautiful future that had once been quietly envisioned.
It was just that Mr. Kagashi knew absolutely nothing. He didn’t know his own heart was broken. He didn’t know he had ever envisioned a future by her side, or perhaps he simply hadn’t dared to let himself envision it. Most tragically of all, he did not know that his subconscious had already drowned in despair decades ago.
He lived solely for his teacher. He had painstakingly, carefully waited for his teacher’s final instructions right up until the very end of his lifespan. He willingly remained chained to the ghost of her past memories, never once entertaining the thought of breaking free.
How utterly pathetic, and how devastatingly beautiful.
The Ruan resting in his hands, the pristine white lab coat hanging carefully in the Bamboo House—they were all irrefutable evidence of this tragic conjecture. How many years had passed? Yet that coat remained as immaculate as the day it was left behind. No wonder on the day they went to cultivate the back mountain, even though the autumn air had already turned biting and cold, Mr. Kagashi had still taken off that lab coat. He had shivered in the wind simply because he couldn’t bear the thought of even a single speck of dirt clinging to her memory.
‘Mr. Kagashi, you don’t have to be so humble…’
At this point, the dam finally broke. Clarice could no longer hold back the tears stinging her eyes. She rose from her seat, crossed the small distance between them, and gently wrapped her arms around Kagashi’s head, pulling him softly against her chest.
“Clarice?” he asked, his voice muffled and confused.
“…Let me hold you,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “Just for a moment…”
Perhaps, in his entire long life, no one had ever truly cared for him. No one had ever given him an embrace filled with simple, unadulterated tenderness. If that was the case, then she would be the one to give it. Before Mr. Kagashi grew cold and passed away, she would impart one last trace of human warmth to his unknowing, exhausted body. Even if it was just a fraction of heat. Even if it was only for a fleeting moment.
Kagashi sat completely stunned.
A strange, quiet feeling surged upward from the depths of his chest. His stiff body was suddenly enveloped in a soft, familiar warmth, and for the first time in a hundred years, he felt the heavy tension in his shoulders finally begin to relax.