Chapter 1: Chapter 1- The lowlife

Out of form, scumbag, degenerate, pervert, otaku, obese, useless, sweaty pig These are only a few examples of the verbal abuse I've endured since childhood, and even as an adult. I learned at a young age that the world does not revolve around you, and it will never revolve around someone like me. When I was approximately 18 years old, I fled away from my home and rural community. I had collected enough money to travel a train to the large metropolis, believing I would have more opportunities there, but boy was I mistaken. When I arrived, I was mugged by thugs, beaten to rags, and they stole all I had, which was around 100,000 yen. I've been saving that money my entire life. Working at jobs that my unsupported parents did not believe to be jobs. I make wooden sculptures and sell them to an outcast in our rural village; she was an old lady who many called cursed since she was a child and now a witch; she was stoned and ridiculed in public when she was in her mid-30s, but now everyone in our village ignores her and always says hurtful things behind her back. She was the only one who saw my creations as art, and she was there for me every step of the way. She was more of a parent figure than my my parents, and even more so than my siblings. She was like a parent and a friend to me, and we always talked in private when I was in the village; I hope she is well. I was kicked, stomped, chewed, swallowed, and spat on my entire stay in the city; they don't like individuals who don't do "office-work," because that's the only jobs they regard to be actual labor, and the rest are just bizarre and nasty hobbies. My first several weeks there were awful; I was lost, my money was taken by local gangsters, and I was even mocked by spectators and passers-by for appearing like a worn out rag. They say that there is light at the end of the tunnel and that the world isn't always horrible, but since moving to the city, that mindset and philosophy has been absolute nonsense. Nobody helped me, not even the false monks who con people out of money, nor the church, nor a homeless shelter. Until I landed a job as a worker at a building site, the construction firm had a particularly dodgy reputation because they hire anyone with no documents. A normal person would not take a job like this, but I had no choice, so I took it as if my life depended on it. There was free bread and water, but it was my lifeline, so I seized it and ate it as if it were the nicest meal I'd had in ages. I make around 2,000 yen an hour and ordinarily construction employees work 8-10 hours a day, however with this dodgy company, we worked 12-14 hours but were paid much more for overtime. With that first day completed, I earned my first wage of 36,000 yen, but the hard labor was simply too much for me; as a child, I had a weak body and a slow metabolism, so I was a fat kid, and I'm still fat to this day; I am overweight, I have cholesterol problems, heart problems, diabetes, and I sweat like a fat pig honestly. So I quit the construction job the day I got my first paycheck. I looked for any cheap rooms to merely sleep in, because sleeping in Tokyo's parks or on the streets could get me mugged again like the last time. So I slept in one of the public bathrooms at Tokyo railway stations, sleeping on them and transferring to another stall when the guards or janitors were present. The next day, I looked for cheap places to stay or abandoned sites where I could sleep for free, but the abandoned places had too many psychopaths or too many couples having sex on them, which was too much for a virgin like me. So I looked for affordable places to stay, half of which refused to take me because of my appearance, and the other half mocked and dismissed me for being who I am. So my last alternative was to hunt for haunted places to stay because they were dirt cheap or even free depending on how many murders or suicides occurred in that apartment or house. Simply said, the more brutal and bloody the crime or suicide, the lower the value of the property. But, to my luck, if I ever had any, someone was offering a free place to stay; it was a run-down old looking traditional Japanese style inn-building, but it was classy; it looked like one of those old fancy hotels in the 1960s or 1970s, but in a traditional Japanese sense. But little did I realize that the so-called "little luck" that I had left would be the worst luck I'd ever have, more of a curse than a blessing.

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