The age of samurai is extinct. In the distant past, warriors engraved with an indomitable spirit clashed without fear of death. From birth, boys were expected to be men, rigorously trained to live up to their formidable standards, craving the virtue of honor into their souls.

  Brandishing a blade was second nature, and those with pacifist beliefs were looked at with contempt. But now, Japanese society is filled with cowards and disgraces. People who would tremble uncontrollably gripping a blade. Someone like me.

  My life hasn’t gone the way I expected. I have no one to blame but myself. I’m twenty-one years old in my supposed senior year of university. The reason why I say 'supposed' is well… I dropped out during my freshmen year due to my social anxiety. As I mentioned, I'm a real coward.

  Naturally, someone as timid as me remained friendless. All I have are my parents, complimented with their hefty expectations of me. In their eyes, their perfect son will be graduating with an engineering degree next month.

  I’m aware it's only a matter of time before they find out the truth about my early withdrawal from university, shattering their hearts and likely end up with me being disowned.

  I’ll be forced to live with my failure, drifting around the street and praying I find a stable job.

  I've already envisioned how this dreadful, inevitable time will play out: for a couple months, I’ll likely be living on a random street. Even if I manage to get an apartment for myself, I’ll barely be able to keep my head above water, so I’ll just be eating poor quality ramen noodles daily and forgoing any hobbies. I will be like a mindless drone.

  Even though its cruel, my parents disowning me for deceiving them is justified. They have worked tirelessly to give me the opportunities to succeed, yet I have nothing to show for it.

  I’m giving myself the benefit of the doubt here, but at least, I didn’t waste those days of leisure. Instead of going to university like they assumed, I went to the library to read books or play games on the computers.

  At one point, I became phenomenal at Shogi. I thought I was the best in the world and envisaged a lifelong career as a professional Shogi player. I was certain, this was it— the prosperous occupation that would justify my dropout from university.

  And so, I enrolled in a local tournament with cash prizes, brimming with confidence.

  In the first game I got annihilated by an eleven-year-old. I was humbled beyond belief, too stunned to speak, and immediately realized the world of Shogi possessed countless talents far beyond my novice level.

  After that I tried my hand at chess, rapping, writing, e-sports, you name it and failed at all. I was so desperate to make my life into something worth mentioning— to be someone my parents can brag about to friends and family…To be known and heard of by the world, but all I did was acquire average Shogi skills.

  I’ve pondered extensively on how and when my life became so miserable. In my position, I shouldn’t fail. I mean, I have affectionate parents who support me financially, a home, and lack of responsibilities.

  It was when I pinpointed all the good in my life when I realized that’s what made me so depressed. I was pampered and privileged, and I wasted a golden opportunity many would kill to have. I had everything I needed, so I didn’t chase what I wanted.

  In order to cope with this realization, I blamed the way society is structured. If the profound values of the age of the samurai that I read about were still prevalent, perhaps, I would’ve forced myself to success. Perhaps, I would have had the discipline I lacked. Maybe, I wouldn’t be so tense and overthink basic human interactions.

  At my local library, I read nearly the entire catalog on samurais and that era, so maybe I’m just spouting biased nonsense. After all, the era fascinates me.

  Although, information on samurais is quite limited from the 1500-1600 era because of the great meteorite of Edo, which erased a significant portion of history.

  Modern historians and archaeologists are unable to comprehend and explain how a meteorite crashing in a specific region could completely nullify information in the entire country. The uncanniness of that century has intrigued several, including me.

  Anyways, enough with my history knowledge that has no bearing whatsoever to me.

  To make up for my failures in life, I’ve made the tough decision to commit Seppuku: a ritualistic suicide intended to restore honor. It’s the only way someone like me can die with some dignity, you know? I’ve made up my mind—at least, I think I did. The way I see it, there's no point in me sticking around when my world caves in.

  This morning, I bought a tanto knife at a convenience store. I asked the clerk if this was the sharpest one available, and he nodded nonchalantly.

  It was a real emotional process for me, but I managed to bury my emotions deep in my soul. Although, if he asked a follow up question or showed a hint of concern, I might have burst into tears and abandoned my plans.

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  “Hey, mom and dad!” I greeted, as I entered my home.

  As always, whenever home, I spoke lively and enthusiastically, concealing my dejected spirit.

  Unexpectedly, my parents weren’t waiting in the living room for me. Just as I was about to search for them, I recalled that today is Friday. On that special day of the week, they usually have a date night planned. I’m all alone, perfect.

  With that mind, I retrieved the knife wrapped in the plastic bag from my backpack and headed to my bedroom.

  After removing the packaging, I inspected the blade thoroughly. Cautiously, I brushed my finger alongside the edge of the knife.

  “Oww!” I groaned, unintentionally drawing blood from my finger.

  It’s sharp alright… I thought in acknowledgement.

  I placed the knife on my drawer and paused as I unintentionally caught sight of myself in my mirror. Intense waves of inner hatred consumed me as I dreaded my appearance.

  I’m a frail person with arms as thin as a stick. My black hair is shaggy and unkempt, my face is as rough as sandpaper, and my hollow eyes give me an awkward and eternally weary look.

  For that reason, I developed the habit of always lowering my head whenever I’m near my mirror to avoid this inevitable self-belittling. Typically, my bangs cover my eyes, shielding me from the discomfort, but I was forced to reluctantly cut my hair because my parents argued that an ‘emo look’ isn’t suited for an engineer.

  I removed my shirt and tossed it in my laundry bin. Quite pointless, considering the fact, I won’t be alive to do my laundry, but at the very least, I can leave without causing any inconveniences for my parents.

  I grabbed the knife, shut my door and took a couple steps back. I dropped to my knees, slowly shut my eyes and exhaled deeply as I aligned the blade inches from my stomach.

  Surprisingly, my hand didn’t quiver beyond control. They were steady like a surgeon's hand.

  This is it. The end of the line for me.

  I opened my eyes, brimming with determination, as I gradually inched the blade slightly closer. Suddenly, I froze, as my heart surged uncontrollably, as if it would burst free from my chest.

  There it is. The inevitable suffocating sensation of fear. A single movement was all it would take to pierce my mid-section, to free myself from this miserable life, yet I was paralyzed. It was as if I were a statue, demonstrating the split-second before seppuku is committed.

  I gritted my teeth before my face twisted with disgust, frustrated with my cowardice.

  I exhaled one more time, then held my breath, tightening my grip.

  “I can’t do it,” I admitted with quiet sorrow, shaking my head.

  I laughed self-deprecatingly.

  “Who am I kidding? I never had the courage to go through with this…”

  “Isamu! We got sushi for you!”

  My body jolted at the sound of my mother's voice as if I were struck by lightning.

  Just then, excruciating pain ripped through me. I winced and nearly wailed like a wounded animal.

  I lowered my gaze, and my breath hitched and my eyes widened with disbelief as I saw the knife embedded in my stomach. I nearly vomited from seeing blood drench my stomach.

  I couldn’t believe it. I accidentally stabbed myself!

  “Isamu! Are you in your room?” my mother questioned, her footsteps growing significantly louder.

  Any second now, she’ll barge into my room and find her only son bleeding out. She wasn’t supposed to be here. Not now.

  “No! I’m okay!” I mustered, my face twisting in anguish.

  Frantically, I crawled closer to the door in an attempt to twist the lock shut.

  “Argh!” I yelped, as I foolishly jerked the blade to the side, increasing the internal damage.

  I rolled on my back, unable to move a single inch under the unbearable agony.

  My door opened and my mother's face dropped with despair.

  “Isamu!” she gasped.

  She hurried over to my side, her eyes wide with panic. At that moment, I felt lightheaded, my vision clouding.

  “No! No! Isamu! Please! Stay with me!” she pleaded. “Not my Isamu! Not my only dear boy!”

  Even as my senses numbed, I somehow felt her soothing warm hand grip mine.

  Hearing my mother’s desperate cries seized my father's attention.

  Like my mother, he gasped upon seeing me and initially denied the shocking reality before he begged me to stay strong.

  “Isamu! Please, stay with me!” he cried out. He demanded my mother to call an ambulance, and without hesitation she frantically complied as he tried his best to tend the wound.

  But it was futile, my world was darkening. I could barely register what they were saying.

  Seeing them this concerned for me was both dejecting and touching.

  It was nice to be reminded of the magnitude of their affection for me but disheartening that I’m leaving them with nothing but sorrow.

  I wish I could say a heartfelt goodbye, but my body couldn’t speak at this state. All I had were my regretful thoughts.

  Every breath drained strength out of me—my body notably drew closer to the gates of death. I knew at most, I have a minute left before I slumber eternally.

  I’m sorry mother and father… In the end, I got my wish, but I went out in such a pathetic and dramatic way... I didn’t even have the courage to intentionally stab myself; I had to be startled into it…. This is selfish and delusional of me to ask, but if there is a God out there, I would like to ask for something. If I could make a wish, I would wish to be given a second chance… To live in a world where I can be someone…. I want to persevere through setbacks, not hide from them and be someone instilled with the values of samurai and be a person who isn’t a burden.

  After my dying wish crossed my mind, my lights extinguished, permanently.