In an agonizing surge, it seemed to give back everything he had sent out into it over forty years: his brother’s bruises, his mother’s screams of impotent anger, his nineteen-year-old bride holding her face in her hands as she fought to stifle her sobs, his father holding a bamboo rod and cracking it down on him. The stick hit his ear and became the crash of bombs on Takayubi’s slopes. It hit his back and became Kotetsu Atsushi’s fists as he begged Takeru to go back for his father—“Please! Matsuda-dono! Please!” It hit his arm and became Misaki’s Blood Needle. It hit his knuckles, and he felt
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This book is RUINING ME
