Chou no Doku Hana no Kusari SS (Majima SS)
千夜の夢 - A Thousand Night's Dream
At last, this day has come.
I was given a room once used by the previous gardener, and as I prepared to begin my first task, I found myself unconsciously looking back on the path that had led me here—even though I had yet to fulfill my true purpose in this place.
How many times had I dreamed of infiltrating this estate and destroying everything with my own hands? How many nights had I been tormented by nightmares, swallowing down the rising tide of despair and murderous intent?
For ten long years, I had lived fueled by vengeance.
I had envisioned countless ways to drag this house into the depths of ruin.
The searing pain on my back from that fateful night.
My mother’s blood spattering the floor. The fever that dragged me to the brink of death, night after night. The devil’s laughter, ringing in my ears.
After miraculously surviving, I pried the truth from the man who called himself my "real father"—a truth so dark that even that devil paled in comparison. My origins were far more befitting of the name child of darkness than his.
I was ten years old at the time. The ten years I had lived up until that point and the ten years that followed were as different as light and darkness. No—so different, they might as well have belonged to two separate lives. Because I had become someone else entirely.
Hamada Kiyoshi had died. My real name was Ishikawa Kiyoshi.
I would never use that name, but I could never allow myself to forget it.
As soon as my wounds had healed enough for me to move, I fled from my biological father’s estate. The underworld took in the pale faced child with lifeless eyes without a second thought. Among the wretches of the slums, the fact that I could read and write was a rarity. Because of that, I was put to work at the side of a man they called "Boss". His trade was in gambling, prostitution, and opium.
Now and then, Chinese men would arrive with interpreters, selling opium. Listening in on their exchanges, I found myself gradually understanding their language. Before long, I had learned not only their language but also the ways of their trade—the routes, the dealings, the negotiations.
One of the Chinese men noticed. And then, just like that, I was taken across the sea to the Mainland. I had just turned twelve.
Perhaps they thought I could be useful. If I had proven otherwise, I would have been discarded like trash. Had I made a single mistake, had I tried to escape or betray them, my body would have been floating in the Huangpu River without a second thought.
The fact that I survived at all might have been nothing short of a miracle.
At that time, I hadn’t yet clearly figured out how I would take my revenge. As I moved back and forth between China and Japan, and my footing began to solidify, I started to carefully plan how to drag those abhorrent people to hell.
Abhorrent—yes, while I witnessed all manner of human desires in the Mainland, my hatred never wavered.
In Shanghai, human life was the cheapest, and opium was the most expensive. In this country, where salt and opium were the most lucrative, people fought, killed, and stole for this sacred elixir, and those who gained it obtained wealth.
They became intoxicated by the scent of the alluring flower, dreamed of towering buildings, and played in their version of the Peach Blossom Spring*. Here, opium wasn’t a drug; it was a noble indulgence that fulfilled daily needs. There were no rigid, formal moral values like those in Japan, nor was there the disgustingly puritanical spiritual doctrine that made one want to gag. Yesterday’s enemy could be today’s ally, and as long as negotiations and deals were handled well, that alone was enough to make things right.
That is precisely why the sibling affairs in that world, with their so-called refined and beautiful faces, the murders born from jealousy, and the cover up of the massacre, seemed so horribly filthy to me. The distorted hearts of those who were convinced of their own righteousness were monstrously ugly.
After I came to understand the nature of the Chinese—their habit of not hiding their greasy desires and of morphing themselves in any way necessary to satisfy them—my hatred for my own bloodline only grew even stronger.
What I regret most is that my father died on his own before I could put my hands on him. I regret not acting sooner. After that, I relocated my base to Japan, apprenticed under a certain gardener for about two years, and then infiltrated that mansion. There was not a trace of coincidence in any of it; every step had been meticulously planned. It was on a summer day when I turned twenty, and I intended to settle everything within less than a year.
"You're the new gardener."
My foolish, pathetic mother—completely convinced I was nothing more than a mere gardener—cast only a fleeting glance at me before turning her face away, utterly disinterested.
"He's awfully young, dear. Are you sure he's all right?"
"They say his skills are excellent. You've seen that splendid garden, haven't you?"
The devil who had massacred my adoptive parents now wore an astonishingly calm expression—he must have been living a blissful life. Though murderous intent filled my heart, I smiled without betraying even a trace of it.
"I shall work with all my might, so please treat me well, Sir and Madame."
"Yes. Oh, since you'll be managing the garden, you'll be seeing her quite often. Let me introduce you to my daughter."
"Oh, you really don't have to go out of your way to introduce that child to the gardener," she said, frowning, as she suddenly heard a commotion outside.
"Look—since something's happening out there as we're speaking, Majima, when you see my daughter, be sure to greet her," she added, gesturing with her folding fan.
My mother was beautiful yet arrogant. I had seen her from afar and heard about her, but meeting her face to face stirred a strange shift in my feelings. Though a part of me longed to kill her immediately, I wanted her to suffer slowly—to be reminded of who I am, even if only a little, and to regret it until her dying moments. Is that what love for my mother amounts to? Either way, just imagining the gradual, sure footed infiltration and destruction of this mansion sent shivers down my spine. The very root of my existence, the devil who stole away the kindhearted—this entire false, happy household built upon hideous madness—will all perish for their own brutal deeds.
I pictured their miserable end in my mind and became utterly enraptured. Everything was in place. With a single command from me, I could set this mansion ablaze. Serving these sinners as a gardener while holding their fate in my hands—this was the ultimate stage for my revenge. Lost in such thoughts as I stepped out into the garden, I noticed a maid loudly shouting something toward the pond.
"My lady, please stop! That thing isn't important at all!"
"It IS important. It’s that precious handkerchief you received from your lover back home, isn’t it?"
"For heaven’s sake, please stop—or the Madame will scold you!"
Watching the exchange closely, I realized that the lady herself was about to wade into the pond to retrieve something that the maid had apparently dropped.
(What a tomboyish girl she is—hardly even at an age to lack a sense of modesty.)
Though exasperated, I approached the pond, following the "Madame’s" orders to the letter. First, I addressed the flustered maid.
"Did you drop something?"
"Y-yes. My handkerchief... The wind carried it away."
The maid, who looked about my age, stiffened when she saw my unfamiliar face, her cheeks flushing red.
"I’m the new gardener. Allow me to retrieve it in your place, my lady."
Noticing her sandals haphazardly tossed onto a stone, I couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle. The lady had hitched up the hem of her breezy yukata, adorned with goldfish and flowing water patterns, and was now marching determinedly through the pond, unhesitatingly wading toward the white handkerchief floating at its center.
I hurried in after her, stepping into the water as I called out, "My lady!" But she didn’t so much as glance back.
"I’ll get it for you, my lady. Please step out of the water."
"Wait, I’m almost there."
"That’s why—just let me do it…"
Without thinking, I reached out and grasped her slender wrist. Startled, she turned to face me for the first time, eyes wide with surprise.
—So this is what it means for our eyes to lock and never let go, I thought.
For the first time, I found myself unable to look away from her. My body refused to move, as if my very soul had been drawn into the depths of those clear, unclouded eyes.
"Nice to meet you. You’re the new hire, right?"
In response to the young girl's cheerful greeting, I croaked a reply, barely managing to say "Yes." I came back to my senses as I heard my own voice, gulping. Right, I had to get the handkerchief first.
I quickly reached out, picking up the small cloth floating on the surface of the water, and then walked toward the shore while still holding onto the lady's hand. I intentionally ignored her words, "I can walk on my own."
After dismissing the repeatedly bowing maid with little more than a polite gesture, I introduced myself to the lady once again.
"My name is Majima, the new gardener. It’s a pleasure to meet you, my lady."
"Oh, you're the one replacing Mr. Shigekichi. Nice to meet you, Majima."
The lady flashed a radiant smile. Though still a young girl, how beautiful she was. I must have seen many women called unparalleled beauties, but none had ever stirred my heart. Yet, with this princess in front of me, my heart fluttered like a boy’s. We’d barely exchanged a few words, so why was this happening?
"My lady, even though it's summer, the water is still cold. You’ll catch a cold if you're not careful. Please let me know next time you plan to go in the water. I’m always in the garden, after all."
"I’m fine, just a little cold feels refreshing."
"You can’t, my lady. This is my job. You shouldn’t be doing such things."
"Oh, Majima," she said with a soft, delighted laugh. "The only person who lectures me like that is the steward, Fujita."
I froze, startled, and quickly lowered my head.
In her innocent and carefree nature, I had momentarily forgotten she was a noble lady.
"It’s fine, don’t apologize, Majima. You’re kind of amusing. Let’s talk more from now on."
The lady, still in high spirits, picked up her sandals, her wet feet stepping into the house. As expected, a shrill, almost panicked voice rang out from inside. I couldn’t help but chuckle quietly to myself.
She has a charm that effortlessly brightens up everything around her. She is like the sun. **Someone said that the first woman was the sun itself, and indeed, that must be the kind of person they meant.
(That girl is my sister…?)
She is so adorable, with sharp, intelligent eyes, that it’s hard to believe she was born of a foolish mother and a devilish father. From that point on, the lady’s face was on my mind all day long, and for that night alone, I forgot all about my desire for revenge.
About a week into living in this fated mansion, I quickly realized that the lady was far more of a wild child than I had imagined.
The ladies I had envisioned in noble families were always indoors, either playing the koto***, doing embroidery, or sipping tea, but this lady? She was often in the pond, and when she wasn’t there, she could be found climbing trees.
"It’s just cooler and more comfortable up high," she explained, but when a branch nearly snapped and she almost fell, I couldn’t help but feel a chill run through me.
"My lady!" I cried out, desperately catching her in my arms as she jumped down from above. Her still developing, fragile frame felt unnervingly light, and I couldn’t help but want to hold her tightly, a surge of protectiveness overwhelming me.
"Majima, you're like a hero of justice. You're always there to help me." she said, flashing me an innocent smile that, for some reason, I found almost infuriating.
I happened to glance down and noticed a scrape on her knee, a faint trickle of blood seeping from the wound. The sight of that red sent a wave of dizziness through me.
"My lady, that's enough playing for today."
I half forcefully led her back to my room, washed the wound with water, and bandaged it. At times like these, she was oddly quiet. Like a cat in a stranger’s home, she sat there, silently taking in my every movement.
I plucked a white flower from a water filled glass cup where I had placed it that morning and held it out to her.
"What kind of flower is this?"
"It's a gardenia. I found it growing wild in the garden. The pure white petals are beautiful, aren't they?"
"They really are. And it has such a sweet fragrance…"
"Yes. It's thick, sweet scent easily attracts insects."
A sickly sweet scent that lures in ignorant insects. Just like opium, just like me.
Addicts crave opium and sweet fruits with an insatiable hunger, lost in a madness of sexual indulgence.
To me, the sweet scent is always linked to this—an intoxicating fragrance that seduces, ultimately leading to ruin and, in the end, drawing me toward death.
"I'm so happy. Thank you, Majima."
She held the flower to her chest, a faint blush rising to her cheeks.
Don’t make that face. If you do, I might not let you leave this room.
(This delicate flower is just like you.)
She, too, has already drawn in—a bad insect like me.
TW DISTURBING CONTENT BELOW⚠️🔞
That night, I dreamed of embracing the lady. The setting was that wretched den I had once visited—a place where every depraved desire could be fulfilled, from beastiality to necrophilia.
The air was thick with the stench of opium, death, feces, heavy perfumes, and the crude scent of garlicky dishes. People dined, smoked opium, and had sex beside corpses.
The innocent girl's legs were covered in blood from her losing her virginity and yet, she clung to me, her face alight with pleasure. I violated my sister like an animal. Before I knew it, her body had turned cold, but I couldn't let go. I ejaculated inside her repeatedly, savoring her corpse's mouth furiously, as I sank into an ecstasy beyond this world.
I jolted awake, drenched in sweat. My heart pounded wildly, and my breath, like a storm, stirred the cool night air.
The sweet scent filling the room—was it the lingering fragrance of the gardenia, or my own rotting stench?
(You devil......you incestuous waste!!!!!)
The roar of the man from my past echoed in my mind. Ah—
—That’s right. I’m the devil. That’s why I’m having these dreams.
Before I realized it, tears were pouring down my face, and I was shaking uncontrollably, my shoulders convulsing like I was having a seizure.
I want you to keep that smile on your face. I don't want to break you. I want to be with you. I want to cherish you and take good care of you. My beloved little sister.
But that is something I can never achieve. I can never dream of happiness. I came here to seek revenge. To destroy this house. To tear down my filthy mother, this repulsive man and this mansion that towers over everything, concealing the corrupted madness.
But… just a little longer, just a bit more.
The adorable smile of my little sister appears behind my eyelids. The deep, transparent gaze she had when we first locked eyes.
Whenever I think of her, my breath steadies. At the same time, my heart aches with an overwhelming pain.
We’ve only known each other for a few days, yet the cursed blood has finally revealed it's true nature. From now on, I will likely continue to defile my sister and pile on sins in my dreams every night.
If I don’t carry out the plan soon, this suffering will only grow deeper. Even knowing that, I find myself praying, wishing over and over: just a little longer, just a bit more.
Note by the queen herself, Maruki Bunge
"This is a story from when Majima first entered the Nomiya household. It covers his past and his first meeting with Yuriko. Before infiltrating the mansion, Majima was, of course, already suffering, but by then, he had grown accustomed to it. However, after meeting Yuriko as the gardener, a different kind of suffering begins to take root within him."
*The Peach Blossom Spring (桃花源記) by Tao Yuanming. In the story, a fisherman accidentally discovers a secluded utopia, a peaceful, idyllic place where people live in harmony, disconnected from the troubles of the outside world. It symbolizes a paradise, free from the chaos and strife of society.
In the context of the SS, this metaphor is being used ironically. The people in Shanghai, engrossed in the pursuit of opium and material desires, may dream of a peaceful, perfect world (as in the Peach Blossom Spring), but their version of it is corrupted, not a true utopia, but a self-indulgent, distorted version driven by vice and addiction.
**元始女性は太陽であった (Genji Josei wa Taiyo de Atta), translated as The Woman Was the Sun in the Beginning, is a work by Raichō Hiratsuka, a prominent Japanese feminist, writer, and activist. This work, first published in 1928, is often regarded as a foundational text in Japanese feminism. In it, Hiratsuka presents a critique of the social roles imposed on women in Japan and asserts that women are inherently powerful, symbolic of the sun, and should embrace their strength and independence.
The book was groundbreaking because it challenged the traditional gender norms of early 20th-century Japan. Hiratsuka's ideas were deemed radical for that period, promoting the idea of women's autonomy, intellectual equality, and self-empowerment. She drew on historical, philosophical, and cultural references to suggest that women have been systematically oppressed and marginalized throughout history and that a societal shift was necessary for women to reclaim their rightful place in society.
The work reflects Hiratsuka’s personal experiences with gender inequality, and it is closely linked to her broader efforts to promote women's rights, including the founding of Seito (The Bluestocking), Japan's first feminist literary magazine, which she established in 1911. The Woman Was the Sun in the Beginning remains an important part of Japanese feminist literature and continues to inspire discussions about gender equality.
The koto is a traditional Japanese stringed musical instrument. It has 13 strings, which are stretched over a wooden body, and it is played by plucking the strings with picks worn on the fingers. It’s often used in classical Japanese music and is known for its distinctive, resonant sound.
Yuriko is addressed as 姫様 (literally "princess"), which I translated as "lady," "young lady," or "noble lady" in English.
