Chapter 1: A Story From Before My Reincarnation

A Story From Before My Reincarnation

The most beautiful sight of fresh snow is when it's rudely trampled under muddy boots. It's the moment when it's completely ruined by some uncouth mortal who doesn't even understand the concept of elegance.

The best moment for a canvas isn't when you finally finish it, but when it's set on fire. It's the moment when the vibrant colors of the various metal atoms it contains emit a radiant light.

I accept that there are objections here. If there are counterarguments, I'll listen to them as much as I can.

Well, I'm not saying I'll just listen and accept them. Opinions are free to be shared, but you shouldn't expect them to be heard.

The dazzling light that shines in that brief moment when something loses its value.

I realized that this was the most beautiful thing when I was building a tower of cards for no particular reason.

I bought several packs of four playing cards from the 100-yen store and built a 12-level tower, taking into account the subtle variations in the non-standardized elements.

Just as I was about to complete the final cards, the apartment shook. The card tower suddenly lost its balance and collapsed, and I fell off my chair.

In that moment, like lightning, a revelation struck me.

The way that accumulated things crumble is beautiful. The more valuable they are, the higher they are, the greater their beauty.

This is a truth without a shred of contradiction.

From a physical and chemical perspective, it's clear that the higher the energy value, the stronger the fluorescent glow as they fall. What science shows to be true is therefore necessarily true. As a devout scientist, I believed this wholeheartedly.

In reality, it was the microwave upstairs that fell, but even that was a revelation to me. No matter how you look at it, the one who sent it down was not God but the devil, but if that's the case, then my god was the devil.

If worship is enough, even an ordinary person can become a god, so it doesn't really matter who the god is.

With that thought in mind, I prayed to the void in the spring of my 20th year.

I was still a man.

I forgot my faith in science.

Einstein, on the cover of magazine with Newton, looked at me sadly, but the slight simmering guilt I felt disappeared when I placed the book on top.

Once you realize the truth of the world, the rest is easy.

I thought about how to see things more beautifully for three days and three nights without sleep, and before I knew it, I lost consciousness.

Waking up to a hospital ceiling is quite something. It's probably worth experiencing at least once.

But I definitely don't want to do it again.

But it was worth thinking about it until I passed out, and as I woke up, I had another epiphany.

In other words, since all things of value in this world are finite, if you want to enjoy each moment, you must create something of even greater value.

As I was once again offering my prayers to the void, giving thanks to divine revelation, I was punched in the face by my childhood friend who had rushed over after hearing that I had awakened.

I was not at ease, having my faithful prayers interrupted, but as I heard, it was my childhood friend who found me collapsed in my room and called an ambulance.

In other words, she had saved my life.

If the gift of life and the enemy of my faith were a contest, the gift of life should take priority.

From my childhood friend's perspective, I had suddenly collapsed, but the moment I woke up, I was muttering to myself into the void with a creepy smile on my face, so it was understandable that she would reflexively punch me.

Now that I understood, I thanked her without anger, and also told her that I had realized the truth of the world and that I was quitting university.

My childhood friend began to apologize, crying. Apparently, she thought that hitting me had made me crazy. It was a terrible, tragic misunderstanding.

Even though I told her I was perfectly sane and that the revelation I had received was genuine, my childhood friend didn't believe me. Instead, when I dropped out of university and started working to create something valuable, she offered me a place to live, saying; "It's my fault you went crazy, so I'll support you until you come to your senses."

She wouldn't listen to me when I denied it, and most importantly, it was convenient for me, so I eventually gave up.

Incidentally, my family disowned me.

Now, when it comes to creating something valuable, everyone has a different definition of what constitutes value. Of course, I tried to think about what truly constitutes value, but I couldn't come up with anything.

When I prayed for a revelation, my childhood friend forcefully stopped me.

It wasn't because I couldn't bear to worry my childhood friend or anything like that, but simply because she held my lifeline and I couldn't resist, so I compromised for the time being.

Not something truly valuable, but something that would make money. Being a gigolo for a childhood friend who's the same age as me and a university student makes me feel uncomfortable in many ways.

First of all, something I can sell. Even if I don't break it myself, I need to gradually improve my skills so that one day I can break something amazing.

To practice, I started making woodworking. I started with small things, starting with a single craft knife, and gradually buying better things as my financial situation improved.

If there's one good thing that came out of this, it's that I might have had some artistic talent, even though I hadn't realized it until then.

My first small item sold within a few days, and everything I made after that steadily sold. Thanks to this, I started regularly replacing my meager collection of crafting tools. It was also fun, like playing a game, as my equipment gradually improved.

While being a gigolo for my childhood friend, I made woodworking and within a few years I was earning enough money to be free of my parents' support.

Of course, my parents had disowned me, so it didn't matter, but I was at least making enough money to stop being a gigolo, and within a few years I was able to hold small solo exhibitions.

I occasionally received specific commissions, and my workspace had moved from my apartment to a room in a house.

My life was going so smoothly that it was hard to believe I had never studied art.

I spent my days imbuing value into blocks of wood I bought from a local lumber store. Before I knew it, my income had far exceeded that of my childhood friend, who was now my wife, and I was grateful to her.

But strangely, I still wasn't satisfied.

No matter how much money I made, how famous I became, or how happy I found myself, I was never satisfied.

For me, the greatest happiness is the moment when something valuable is lost.

Of course, I devalued a lot of things. I burned works worth a hundred times their original cost, shattered beautiful and delicate glasswork, and turned countless money into scraps of paper. Cleaning up the aftermath was a lot of work at the time, but looking back, it's a fond memory.

But I still wasn't satisfied. Even when I tried my hand at other things besides woodworking and ruined them all, I never felt satisfied. Even when I destroyed the greatest piece of my life, worth tens of millions of yen, I was far from satisfied.

I had a revelation, but I couldn't fulfill it.

I lived for that purpose, but it was all in vain.

Even when I read in the newspaper that a famous artist (me) had gone mad, my heart was surprisingly calm.

Honestly, I don't really remember what happened to me after that.

Perhaps I gave up on life and committed suicide, or perhaps I lived like an empty doll and lived out my natural lifespan, or perhaps I was killed by someone with a grudge.

I didn't care about my end, and I had no interest in it. The only thing I know for sure is that I failed in life and was given the chance to start over again.

That's all.