I Created Urban Legends in Parallel World
[Original – YakuMan]
[TL – MiT7]
[PR – Spades]
Chapter 5: Sometimes Happiness Is Just That Simple
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The next day, Kamihara Shinji sat at the computer in his study, yawning.
He hadn't slept all night.
Not because he was studying, but because he'd been reading horror and thriller novels, gathering inspiration for future urban legends.
This routine had been going on for over two weeks.
It was also why he slept through school every day—though by now, the teachers and students were used to it.
Kamihara Shinji had been like this since his first year of high school. Of course, it hadn't been that way in middle school, back when his father was still alive.
After becoming an orphan a year ago, the original owner of this body had given up on himself. He'd come home to play games online all night, then sleep through classes at school.
The teachers had learned about his situation and tried to counsel him, but it didn't work. Over time, they sighed helplessly and stopped bothering.
Frying himself a couple of eggs and pouring a glass of milk, Kamihara Shinji ate breakfast, then grabbed his backpack to head to school.
"Onii-chan!"
Just as he locked the door behind him, a familiar voice called out. He turned to see a girl of about eleven or twelve—a little loli—staring at him with wide, forlorn eyes, her expression tinged with disappointment.
"Junko, morning," he said with a slight smile.
Glancing to the side, he noticed uniformed movers hauling items out of the neighboring apartment.
"Kamihara-kun, good morning. I hope we didn't disturb you," came a gentle voice. A refined, motherly woman stepped out of the apartment.
Though Kojima Nami still bore traces of exhaustion, her eyes sparkled with life—a stark improvement from before.
"No, I was just heading to school," Kamihara Shinji replied, a hint of curiosity in his tone. "Kojima-san, are you moving?"
A month ago, when he'd first crossed over and was getting a feel for this world, it was the Kojima family next door that had solidified his decision to write his first urban legend.
Back then, Kojima Nami and her daughter Junko had been victims of domestic violence.
Every afternoon when he returned home, he'd see Kojima Nami with lifeless, numb eyes. Sometimes, when she went downstairs to take out the trash, she'd accidentally bump into walls.
She'd been like an empty shell—a soulless husk stumbling through life.
He'd gotten to know the mother and daughter because, whenever Kojima's husband flew into a rage, she'd send Junko out to escape.
When the man lost control, even his daughter wasn't spared.
Once, the husband had chased Junko out into the hall, trying to drag her back. Kamihara had been on his way to the supermarket, irritated, when he saw Junko crying and screaming.
In a foul mood, he'd beaten the man up and called the police.
But since it was a family matter, the cops had only mediated briefly before leaving it alone.
For a few days after that, Junko had taken refuge at his place. It was during those nights that he'd written *The Gaze from the Cracks*.
Of course, he hadn't shown the photo to Kojima's husband right away. He'd waited a week, then casually let the man catch a glimpse.
That single glance was enough. Three days later, word came that Kojima's husband had killed himself at work.
With the abuser gone, Kojima Nami had slowly regained her vitality. Recently, he'd even started seeing smiles on her face.
As for grief over her husband's death? Maybe there'd been some at first. But every punch and kick had eroded her feelings long ago. Kojima Nami had no love left for him.
"Thanks for looking out for us before, Kamihara-kun," Kojima Nami said, bowing slightly. Her eyes shone as she smiled. "I'm planning to take Junko back to my hometown. The rent in Meguro Ward is just too high."
Kamihara Shinji nodded. Fair enough.
Meguro Ward's housing prices ranked among Tokyo's top five, and they were still climbing every year.
Luckily, the apartment he lived in had been fully paid off by the original owner's father. Otherwise, he'd probably have to move too.
"Need any help?"
"No, the moving company's got it covered," Kojima Nami replied, glancing at Kamihara Shinji with his backpack. "It's getting late—you should head to school before classes start. Junko, say goodbye to Onii-chan."
Junko gazed at Kamihara Shinji reluctantly. At twelve, she understood that this parting might mean never seeing her big brother again. Tears welled up in her big, watery eyes as she choked out, "Onii-chan, goodbye."
"See you. If anything's bothering you, give me a call," he said with a faint smile. No banquet lasts forever. Without saying more, he stepped into the elevator, backpack in hand.
As the doors closed, he heard Junko's loud sobs and Kojima Nami's soothing voice.
For some reason, Kamihara Shinji's mood lifted.
Reading about the abusers' stories in the notebook had always left him feeling heavy.
But now, seeing in person how an abuser's death had indirectly saved a family, he felt much lighter.
Sometimes happiness really was that simple.
As for Junko, she'd probably settle into a new school in her hometown, make new friends, and forget about him.
The thought left him with a faint sense of loss. When he'd first crossed over, crushed by the pressure of death, it had been Junko's sweet presence that had eased his mind.
Soon, he arrived at school.
As usual, once classes started, he slumped over his desk in the back row and slept. The teachers didn't bother with him anymore.
Sleep made time fly. When the dismissal bell rang, Kamihara Shinji stretched as usual, packed his things, and left the classroom.
The Ghost Club was a group the original owner had joined a year ago. Kamihara hadn't quit after crossing over—why would he? A mini entertainment lounge wasn't exactly a bad deal.
It was a place to unwind his tense nerves.
"Senpai, hi! Can I ask you something?"
He'd reached the club building but hadn't gone upstairs yet when a voice called out. Turning slightly, he saw a first-year boy.
He could tell the grade because Sakuraaki High's uniforms varied slightly by year.
First-years had orange pins on their chests, second-years had bright yellow, and third-years had deep blue. For girls, the difference was in the ribbons.
"What's up?" Kamihara Shinji asked flatly.
"Senpai, do you know which floor the Ghost Club is on?"
He sized the boy up. Glasses, a slightly round face, and sharp, intelligent glints in his eyes every now and then.
"Follow me," Kamihara Shinji said. "You're in luck—I'm a member of the Ghost Club."
Uesaki Kaito's face lit up with delight, and he quickly fell in step behind Kamihara Shinji.