Universe 001
EASRS: Joke Or Love My
Chapter 1
XX/XX/1955
Hiroshima, Japan
Amid rows of small, dilapidated houses built from compressed earth, old timber, and thin, softened materials, their rusted tin roofs pressed tightly together along shattered, makeshift dirt roads—scars left behind by the Second World War—life continued in a fragile, trembling state.
Inside those temporary homes were crude single beds made of steel and wood, placed upon worn-out fabric mattresses. Upon them lay wives, mothers, children—bodies weakened and hollowed by radiation from the nuclear blast. Beside them sat exhausted husbands, fathers, sons, their backs bent, their eyes dulled by helplessness.
In another house, an elderly woman sat alone in the darkness, silently crying. Every day she stared outside with vacant eyes. Her grandson, her son, even her daughter-in-law—all had perished in that single, blinding moment.
Though the war had ended long ago, its aftermath clung stubbornly to those who remained. The pain it left behind refused to fade, carving memories that could never be erased.
Along the dirt roads, crude wooden stalls were lined shoulder to shoulder. On them lay green vegetables, pumpkins, anything that could still be grown in poisoned soil. Fresh fish—some still twitching with life, others lying motionless beneath grayish scales—were displayed by fishermen who desperately tried to sell what little they had.
Different goods, same purpose: to earn even a fragment of money to keep their families alive.
An old fisherman shouted with a hoarse, weathered voice, projecting the strength of a man long past his prime, hoping someone—anyone—would stop.
Fisherman
> "Fish here! Fresh fish! Two hundred and thirty yen per kilo!
Yamame trout—soft meat, delicious taste!"
Among the ordinary fish on the wooden table lay a single yamame—so large it rivaled the size of a child. It lay lifeless, its body looking almost too perfect, like a feast prepared by fate itself.
A small, pale hand—no larger than one of the fish's fins—suddenly grabbed into the hollow of the fish's eye socket and pulled it close. The fish was so large it nearly swallowed the figure holding it.
The girl was less than a meter tall—perhaps only ninety-seven or ninety-eight centimeters. Behind her fluttered light blue hair, faint like the sky of a peaceful world long gone. She wore clothes that looked scavenged from ruins or trash piles, her small body smeared with mud and dirt.
She tucked the massive fish between her arm and waist and turned to face the fisherman. Her amber-gold eyes gleamed.
And then—she ran.
She dashed straight through the crowded market of farmers, fishermen, and buyers. Behind her, the fisherman screamed and stumbled, falling hard onto the dirt. Mud and stones clung to his clothes as he cried out in despair, stretching his trembling hand forward.
That fish was worth nearly half a month's salary—enough to feed his children.
Fisherman
> "Don't take it…!
Give it back…!
I need to live too…!"
No one intervened.
In this postwar era, meddling in others' affairs was dangerous. Survival demanded silence. People pretended not to see, not to hear, not to care.
Yet—
From afar, a foreign man with blue eyes watched the child closely.
The girl slipped between makeshift wooden houses and tin structures, grabbed onto an old steel pole—likely a streetlight from before the war—and climbed with ease. She leapt onto rooftops, her footsteps thudding loudly as she ran across them.
Eventually, a concrete structure came into view—a reinforced building abandoned after the war. Its windows were scorched black by fire.
Using the steel pole, the girl slid down and squeezed through a broken entrance into the dark interior. Inside lay shattered desks and chairs; it seemed to be the lobby of a once-grand hotel.
She scanned the area carefully, confirming once more that no one else had entered her territory.
The interior was barren. A worn brown leather sofa sat nearby, likely dragged down from an upper floor. The ground was thick with dust, scratched and scarred. Burn marks stained the floor—evidence of past fires. An old matchbox lay nearby, probably stolen or begged for from a local shop.
She dropped the fish onto the floor with a heavy thud.
Nearby, overturned tables lay scattered—gathered intentionally for their wood. She grabbed one table by its leg and lifted it with a single hand.
Despite her small, underfed appearance, she raised it effortlessly—three to five kilograms at least—and hurled it against the wall.
Bang.
Dust exploded into the air as the table shattered, wooden fragments raining down. She gathered the broken wood and tossed it onto the scorched spot.
She struck a match.
The flame flared to life.
After glancing around, she tore a strip of cloth from the discarded clothes on the floor, lit it, and felt a faint warmth spread through the air. She tossed it onto the pile of wood, then crouched and blew hard.
The fire roared to life.
Suddenly—
Clap. Clap.
Applause echoed from the hotel entrance.
The girl spun around instantly, baring her teeth in a low, feral growl.
When the sound of clapping finally faded away, a figure leaned quietly against the cold concrete wall of the abandoned hotel.
She was a girl with milky-white hair, cut in a slightly messy shaggy wolf cut, strands falling loosely around her face. Behind a pair of gray-tinted glasses glowed blood-red eyes, calm yet unsettling. She wore a black shirt beneath a dark navy vest, paired with black dress shoes. Her height was around 162 centimeters—tall enough to feel imposing in this silent ruin.
Resting against the doorway, one hand clad in a white glove slipped casually into the pocket of her slacks as she observed the child retreating step by step. Her gaze followed the girl's wary movements, then slowly swept across the abandoned hotel hall.
After a moment, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a bright red apple, its surface glossy and almost unnaturally vivid in the dim light.
The child's amber-gold eyes widened instantly.
Hunger—raw and honest—flickered within them as she stared at the apple.
With a gentle flick of her wrist, Alice tossed the apple forward.
The fruit arced through the air.
In the next instant, the child leapt upward with surprising speed, catching it midair. She immediately shoved it into her mouth and bit down hard.
Crunch.
Her small body trembled with delight as sweetness flooded her senses—real, overwhelming sweetness she rarely tasted. Yet even then, her eyes never left Alice. She chewed while glaring, tense and alert, like a cornered animal afraid of being tricked.
Alice smiled faintly and spoke in a soft, soothing tone—gentle, careful, as if trying to calm a frightened beast.
Alice
> "Easy now… little one…
Why are you so afraid…?
Come here…"
The response was a low, hostile growl.
The child stepped back again, unable to speak, unable to trust. She crouched down, grabbed the large fish lying on the floor, and threw it straight into the fire.
She didn't know how to cook properly—this was how she always did it.
The flames swallowed the fish. Its skin tightened and curled as heat seared through it, flesh slowly cooking as the fire crackled. The girl retreated farther, watching carefully.
Then—
Her eyes suddenly widened.
Her body began to tremble.
A moment later, her eyelids fluttered shut, and she collapsed forward.
Alice moved instantly.
She rushed toward the child and caught her just before her head struck the ground, pulling her into her arms.
At that moment, a soft female voice echoed from somewhere behind them—high-pitched, gentle, carrying the tone of a child.
???
> "Umm… Onee-san…
Father told you to be gentle, didn't he…?
Why did you use a sleeping drug…"
The ruins fell silent once more.
[To be continued]