PROLOGUE:
Ichiro Yamasaki has no care for the world, a society he mocks as being hedonistic and hypocritical. Although born into a rich upper-class family, he chooses instead to defy all conventions—everything from his crazy hairstyle, lazy attire to occupation as a mover. Filled with bitterness and contempt, he refuses to give away any part of himself and isn’t afraid to break many hearts. As fate would have it, he meets Yun Kim, a poor and hardworking Korean girl five years his junior. They’re both the last person to possess the qualities of an ideal mate for each other, yet a strong force manages to pull them together. Their love is strong as Ichiro stays by Yun’s side as she slowly progresses and matures through her professional and academic path. However, how long can they keep their facade up? As time passes, their roles start to reverse—their social and racial differences widening in front of their eyes—factors they both deemed as unimportant in the midst of their love. But is love really enough to overcome their pride—enough to transcend societal and familial pressures?
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CHAPTER 1:
The vivid colours were flashing in front of my eyes again, as I heard the hauntingly familiar tune trail down my spine. Somehow, the notes sung out were like needles, piercing my skin as I felt small packets of pain. I wanted to reach out, to grab onto the shoulder of the woman singing the hymn, but she seemed to be flying above me, beyond my reach. Somehow I knew that my time was almost up—before long, she would completely disappear. The outline of her figure was already becoming more and more faint by the second—a persistent tapping noise was foreshadowing the end….
The tapping got louder and louder as I finally rubbed my eyes and arched my head back on the pillow with a groan. It was morning yet again. Then again, why am I not surprised? It’s not like I can ever escape this cycle.
“Give me a second,” I called out, standing bare-chested in front of the mirror as I inspected my wounds. Grimacing, I fingered the fresh cut from the crater falling on my shoulder the afternoon before. Oh well, physical pains meant very little to mean now. Staring down at the messy floor in front of me, I tried to pick out a T-shirt to wear for today’s job. Man, what could I wear? I kicked the pile of clothes around as I tried to scope out the raggiest and dirtiest T-shirt I had in my collection. I heard that my father had arrived last night from his meeting in Tokyo and I wanted to make sure I was greeting him in style. Snickering, I scoped out a torn black T-shirt with a skull dripping full of blood. I then proceeded through my jeans to find one with large holes. To add to the final touch, I added my earring stud and rummaged my hair up a bit. So I was destroying the new Gackt style ‘do’ that cost me quite a bit…everything was worth pissing off the old bastard.
After I was satisfied with my appearance, I opened the door to a grandmotherly looking older woman with a tray in hand. “Ichiro,” she gasped in shock. “Dr. Yamasaki is waiting downstairs! Perhaps you should change into something more suitable?”
“And that’s precisely why I am wearing my favourite clothes,” I grinned, patting her on the shoulder as I accepted the tray with a wink of thanks. Unlike most other Japanese patriarchs, my father preferred White servants to Japanese ones. Who knows what’s running in that twisted sick mind of his? He probably get a high out of ordering the Whiteys around for once, I could care less. Fran has been with our family for a while though, and as much as I despised the whole master-slave bullshit that my father had going, I have to admit that I did enjoy her company. She was probably the only person I could half tolerate in the entire so-called family.
Shutting the door, I strolled down the stairs, making an extra effort to slouch my shoulders and stomp on the stairs. I heard footsteps behind me and gazed back lazily to see the kid scramble to rush down the stairs in full prep boy gear with slicked hair and fully iron-pressed attire in order to greet his honored father. I scoffed at his widened eyes as he stared at me in disbelief for a few seconds, frozen down the stairs. Man, the kid was becoming more like the old bastard by the day. Although in all honesty, the kid wasn’t too bad. He didn’t even reach one tenth the epitome of ruthlessness and deceit that my father possessed yet. All Kaito had on him right now were arrogance and pride. Sure, tons of rich people were arrogant and proud, that meant shit.
“What are you waiting for?” I mocked. “You’re going to be late, in case you haven’t checked your Rolex.”
Tightening his jaw, I saw the kid tense up as he slipped past me. He learned not to argue with me the last time I nearly gave him a black eye. He could tattle on me, but the kid had a backbone, I have to admit. He picked his battles and he was a stubborn one too. But because he was the old bastard’s son, I couldn’t help but hate him too.
A few seconds later, I made my grand entrance. It had been three solid months since I saw the old bastard and everyone around the household had been busy for the last week prepping for his arrival. The thought of seeing his face made me want to puke before even eating anything, but I felt my lips curve into a satisfied sneer as I saw the veins in his temples popping.
“Ichiro Yamasaki,” he bellowed out. “How dare you walk in my house dressed like—like—garbage?” he spat out.
“Why, Yoshi Yamasaki, I thought you would be pleased that I wore my favourite clothes to greet you,” I answered in a sing-a-long voice.
“Ichiro, how could you address your father like that?” the old witch spurted, her eyebrows furrowing up with rage.
“Leave, NOW!” the old bastard yelled, dropping his fist on the table.
“Gladly,” I answered with a lazy eye and winked at them as I made my way to the door.
“Where in the world do you think you’re going wearing that?!” I heard him call out from the back.
Turning around, I mocked surprise, “To work, where else?”
“Oh Yoshi,” I heard the old witch lament. “One of my friends saw him the other day moving—it was such an embarrassment. Oh, I don’t know how much longer I must endure this…I simply can’t any longer. This is such a disgrace to the family name. My father must be turning in his grave right now—oh, I—“
I didn’t even bother listening to the rest of her wails. It was the same crap anyway, her materialistic needs, her shopping spurges, her cries for more, more, and more. As I merged into the busy Vancouver streets, I couldn’t help but feel the same bitter emptiness every time one of these show-downs occurred. My life had been turned upside down ever since I discovered the truth five years ago. What killed me more was the fact that I always knew, yet I refused to believe anything.
Sometimes I wondered, what would’ve happened if I had been left behind in Japan? Would I have been put into a home and grown up to be a street rat? Sent to a different home? Yet my selfish mother’s choice changed my life forever. Sure, she got her revenge, but did she even think about me?
Nothing seems to faze me, yet that night 5 years ago haunts me like yesterday. My mother’s stricken face as she stood on the rooftop of one of the tallest skyscrapers in Tokyo, yelling curses at my father for deserting us for the old witch for a chance to come to Canada. She made headlines across all the major newspapers despite my father’s desperate attempts to bribe the press. Hot news like that was a once in a lifetime chance and they sure weren’t going to pass it up. To minimize the damage, he had to take me in or else the black smeared to his name would be even darker. Was part of it due to guilt? Who knows.
After discovering the tape, everything finally pieced together. Why I was given the cold shoulder ever since I arrived into my new family. Why my father and stepmother failed to acknowledge me. Why my little brother was treated like God while I was consistently ignored. A flame ignited inside of me, and wouldn’t burn down. I was done with working extra hard to please two cold bastards who probably wished everyday for me to disappear. I was done with trying to excel so they would pay more attention to me. Why? Because I was done with seeking their love. My phony life started to map out in front of my eyes and I soon realized that I wanted to be in no way a part of their hedonistic and materialistic world.
I often thought about leaving, creating a fort of my own, but every time I wanted to cut all relations with the old bastard, my mother’s words came back to haunt me, over and over. I don’t know who was truly the debt collector—her for giving me life and raising me until I was five or me for being denied a normal childhood.
Washing away the bitterness within with my music, I jogged up to my buddies and slapped them on the back. After fooling around for a couple of minutes and started to gather up the gear for a day’s work. We drove to Victoria, where a Korean family was planning to relocate to Vancouver. It looked like it was going to be a long day ahead, as I rubbed my wound and stared ahead to the winding roads in front of us.