A Quiet Death of the Heart
This is a true story. As true as I remember it.
Prologue
Until I came to this place, I didn’t believe Ryohei when he said, “There are red crabs walking around here.” So when I finally saw them for myself, I was genuinely shocked. I’d always thought crabs only turned red after being boiled.
I didn’t know that those vivid, almost poisonous-looking red flowers were called higanbana. I didn’t know the true blue of the sea, or the strength of its salty scent.
I didn’t know the crisp morning air in the mountains, or how green leaves could shine when lit from behind by dappled sunlight. I didn’t know the murmuring of a brook, the songs of birds, or the whispers of pine branches swaying in the wind.
I had never imagined what it meant to be drunk under a sky bursting with stars. I never dreamed there were wild monkeys that would sneak into houses just to steal mandarins.
I knew nothing. Nothing of the beauty of life in the countryside—and nothing of its cruelty. And of course, I had no idea that one day, I would begin making jeans.
1. A Quiet Death of the Heart: Landing from Zero Gravity
“…I’m bored.”
I dropped the controller when I saw those words pop up in the chat window on the monitor. The dull thud it made drew a puzzled glance from Ryo.
My heart thumped. I found myself saying aloud, “This is bad. I’m done. I’m quitting this game—retiring.”
Even I was surprised at how weak my voice sounded. A cold sweat ran down my back.
Saturday nights were endless online battles until dawn. Sundays, we slept in until the afternoon, only to wake and play again. Those weekends, in the early days of our marriage, felt like a kind of eternal freedom.
We barely ate. We stayed in our loungewear. We saw no one, spoke to no one. There was no need to get ready to go out. To us, that felt like a fulfilled life.
It was Ryo who had introduced me to online games long before we got married. He was always the one to change my world, and my role was to complain and then eventually enjoy it. I just let myself be carried by that flow, and that’s how I always stepped into new worlds—diving in deeper and deeper each time.
Years had passed since we discovered online gaming. We knew plenty of “game addicts,” and long before terms like “metaverse” became trendy, we had already internalized the sensations, the addictive pull, the density of those communities.
But that world was never as sleek as the “cyberspace” Gibson had imagined. It was damp, a little too human. It wasn’t a digital realm—it was simply a messy, persistent extension of reality. A place to be.
Still, there was something quietly comforting in that space—something hard to name. Living in the city, with our shallow, hurried breaths and days blurred by stress, maybe that hollow login screen had come to symbolize a kind of secret freedom for us.
We never stopped genuinely enjoying our “activity” together in that virtual world. We were at just the right age to live a lazy life. And being newlyweds gave us a perfect excuse to justify it.
“What’s going on?” Ryo asked, puzzled.
“Someone in chat said they were bored,” I replied. “And the moment I read it, I got chills. We’re playing a game, but they’re saying they’re bored. And then I realized—I felt the same way. I’m supposed to love this, but I’m bored. Why are we still doing this? Isn’t that messed up? I suddenly got scared. Like, what if we waste all our time like this forever? That’s… terrifying, isn’t it?”
I said it all in a rush, and Ryo just nodded calmly.
“Yeah. Let’s stop playing this game.”
And just like that, the quiet days we spent immersed in online games came to an end—without a sound, like waking up from a long sleep. The weight of reality slowly returned, as if we were rising from a dense, weightless world.
Somewhere deep down, I had always known it was ending.
A confirmation message appeared on the screen in plain, emotionless font:
“Are you sure you want to delete your save data? This action cannot be undone.”
Without hesitation, we chose “Yes” and pressed the circle button.
When I closed my eyes and opened them again, a pale, overcast sky stretched outside the window. The scent of dry concrete mixed with damp grass and soil caught me off guard, brushing past my nose.
I felt like I had lost something. But also, as if I had finally touched something real.
We were finally beginning to step into the world of the everyday—a world still unknown to us.
Nothing was decided yet. Nothing had begun.
But at least one thing was certain: we had woken up.
I didn’t yet realize this awakening was the quiet beginning of my heart quietly dying.