Dead Man's Tales: HSOTD

Trust. That word has always had weight for Kozen—a kind of burden, really. It's something he struggled with, both in this life and the one before. Back then, he didn't trust people. Not really. There was one person, though, one exception—his mother. She put all her faith in him, believed in him enough to send him off to the big city to become someone. And what did he do? He failed her. He destroyed the trust she had in him. Lied to her face. Maybe she knew it all before he died. He wondered sometimes what she thought of him after his death. Was he just a disappointment to her?

It's something he had come to terms with in this new life, accepting that he was a letdown to the one person who mattered most to him. 

And with that acceptance came a promise. A promise that he wouldn't screw up this second chance. He was going to be the best he could be, no matter what. That led to a new bond of trust—a trust in Rika.

He didn't want to admit it, not even to himself, but Rika… she had become like his mom in this life. It felt weird, considering his mental age, but it didn't matter. She was there for him, through everything. A constant pillar in this new, chaotic world, and leaning on her felt… right. Is it wrong to feel this way? He wondered, glancing at Rika from the corner of his eye as she drove.

Kozen let the thoughts drift as he turned his head towards the window. The city was behind them, replaced by a patchwork of farmland and open skies. Fields stretched out in waves of gold and green, broken up by occasional weathered fences and grazing animals. A sudden jolt of curiosity nudged at him, a small voice asking, Can I ask questions?

Rika had told him about a new training regimen, but no details beyond that. All she said was that he'd get his answers after it was done, which seemed unlike her usual direct style. It didn't make sense, but he trusted her. Besides, school was getting boring anyway. Pretending to pay attention while trying to ignore those wannabe gangsters who seemed determined to ruin his plans for a perfect life was exhausting. What is a perfect life? He found himself wondering as Rika brought the car to a stop.

The engine clicked off, leaving them surrounded by the kind of quiet that only exists in the country. Kozen stepped out, feeling a strange tension settle into his shoulders. In front of them stood a farmhouse, old but well-maintained. Takashi was there, leaning against the porch railing, waiting.

"Kozen, good to see you, buddy," Takashi called, smiling as he approached.

Kozen met him halfway, and they exchanged a firm dap up—their hands slapping together with a satisfying snap before their fingers clasped in a brief, mutual squeeze. Kozen couldn't help but smile a little.

"So," Kozen said, tilting his head. "Any idea why I'm here and not doing my homework?"

He didn't miss the way Rika's eyes zeroed in on both of them, a silent warning. Takashi raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin widening. "You know Rika'd kill me if I spoil the fun."

"Fair point," Kozen said, smirking as Takashi ruffled his hair. He never seemed to get tired of that.

"Well, enjoy your time at my farmhouse," Takashi said, turning towards the house.

"I thought you were broke," Kozen quipped, raising an eyebrow as he glanced around. Technically, they hadn't left the city—just ventured out to its more rural outskirts, where the old folks lived.

"For your information, this is my family's farmhouse," Takashi replied with mock indignation. "And I teched it out with a lot of cool stuff."

He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "By the way, there's some premium Playboy magazines in your room."

He winked, and Kozen couldn't help but let out a short laugh. Magazines? Really? He thought, amused by the irony. He had a phone, and it's not like he was desperate for reading material. Who even used magazines anymore? But he appreciated the effort, even if it was unnecessary.

Rika called out to Kozen, breaking him out of his thoughts. "Kozen, go check out the farm. Takashi and I need to talk."

The change in her tone told him it was serious, and for a moment, he wondered if it was about him. But he pushed the thought aside and nodded, slipping away from the two of them and wandering towards the edge of the property. There was a lot to process, and maybe taking a walk would clear his head. I trust Rika, he reminded himself, even if she was keeping things from him for now. Still, that lingering unease wouldn't let go of its grip on him. I just hope I'm ready for whatever's coming next.

Walking around the farmhouse, Kozen couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment. He'd expected at least a couple of animals—maybe some chickens or a stray dog, anything to break up the quiet. But there were none, and the absence felt… off. It's like this place was built to look like a farmhouse, but without the life that usually came with it. He couldn't even hear crickets, just the faint rustling of leaves in the distance. As he wandered further, he noticed the fields surrounding the house had been altered—drastically.

What had once been open land was now converted into a training field straight out of a Navy SEAL documentary. Obstacle courses lined with climbing ropes, wall hurdles, and wooden barricades surrounded the area. There were patches of disturbed earth where it looked like pits had been dug and filled back in, and a series of weather-beaten pull-up bars and parallel bars, their paint chipped and worn, stretched out like grim reminders of the hell that probably took place here. Kozen couldn't shake the feeling that this place wasn't meant for farming anymore; it was designed to break people down and build them back up, piece by piece.

A bead of sweat trickled down his temple as he continued his tour, slipping inside the house. The air was cool but heavy, the silence almost suffocating. As he stepped inside, the first thing he noticed was the equipment scattered throughout the hall and rooms. Some of it was familiar—ECG machines, bags of IV fluids, and blood collection bags stacked in sterile containers. The rest, though… he had no clue. A bunch of strange, box-like machines with wires and tubes, a large tank that looked suspiciously like a deprivation chamber, and cabinets full of medical supplies that seemed way out of place in a farmhouse. It looked more like an impromptu field hospital than a place anyone could call home.

With no intention of lingering around the equipment that gave him weird vibes, Kozen decided to find his room. After all, Takashi had mentioned something about magazines… but there wasn't a room for him. No door with his name, no bed, nothing. The realization hit him hard, a weight settling into his gut as if the floor had just dropped beneath his feet. What the hell, Takashi? He thought, feeling irritation rise up. Takashi always joked around, but not having a room was… unsettling.

He shook off the unease and made his way to the kitchen. If anything could make this place feel a little more grounded, it was food. But the kitchen didn't offer much comfort either. The shelves were stocked to the brim with military-grade rations and powdered mixes. The kind of stuff you see in survival videos—packed with calories and devoid of taste. And the weirdest thing? There were bags upon bags of plant seeds neatly lined up. Tomatoes, herbs, corn, even medicinal plants. It was as if someone was preparing for a very long stay, with every contingency accounted for. Just what the hell is going on here?

He leaned against the counter, trying to piece it all together when he heard the sound of a car starting. Instinctively, he walked to the window and peered outside. Rika wasn't looking as Takashi inside the car left; she was staring at the horizon, lost in her thoughts. Her brow furrowed, and she clasped her arm tightly as if she were bracing herself against some unseen fear. He watched as she shook her head, the movement slow and deliberate, as if convincing herself of something.

"Are you doing all of this because you're afraid?" The question formed in his mind before he could stop it. He never saw Rika like this—vulnerable, uncertain. It was a side of her she never let show. It made him question everything that had been happening, and what he was about to go through. If Rika was afraid, then that meant this wasn't just another round of training. It was something more. Something worse.

And she wasn't going to tell him. Not yet. Not until she thought he was ready.

But was he?

They did nothing until nightfall. Rika was off doing her own thing—probably setting up some new torture disguised as training—while Kozen sat in the living room and tried to keep his focus on this weird documentary about polyphasic sleep. The narrator had this flat, droning voice that was enough to lull him to sleep, ironically. It went on and on about polyphasic sleep being a way to break up traditional sleep into multiple short naps throughout the day. Something about maximizing wakefulness while keeping the body and mind refreshed.

The idea was that the body would adapt to getting enough rest in these condensed windows, allowing more waking hours and avoiding the vulnerability of long sleep periods. "Polyphasic sleep cycles have been used throughout history by notable figures to maximize productivity and maintain alertness," the voice continued. "The adaptation phase requires the body to become accustomed to fragmented rest, conditioning it to enter REM sleep rapidly and efficiently recover during short intervals."

They went on about how sailors, monks, and even military operatives trained to survive and thrive on these condensed sleep schedules. "If done right," the narrator droned, "you can get as little as two hours of core sleep a day while remaining fully alert."

They talked about techniques to train it—things like forcing yourself to wake up after 20 minutes, using external stimuli to jolt the brain into resetting, and incorporating controlled bursts of physical activity. It was so boring that Kozen didn't even realize he was dozing off. Eventually, the monotonous narration got to him, and without realizing it, he drifted off on the couch.

He woke up to a jarring shake. "Huh…?" He blinked rapidly, his vision hazy and his mind groggy. He couldn't even register when he'd fallen asleep.

"Get up," Rika's voice cut through his haze. He blinked again and turned to look at the clock. Barely twenty minutes had passed since he closed his eyes. How was that possible?

"Wha—what about sleep?" he mumbled, his words feeling thick and disconnected from his brain. Rika handed him a glass filled with a white liquid, the consistency thicker than water but thinner than a milkshake.

"We're starting your polyphasic sleep training," she said, the matter-of-fact tone offering no comfort. He grabbed the glass, too disoriented to question it, and downed the drink. Instantly, the taste hit him. It was bitter and vaguely chalky, the texture dry in his mouth despite being a liquid. It was like drinking a mix of cheap, instant coffee with a gritty aftertaste that stuck to his tongue.

"What the hell is this?" he grimaced, the words coming out sharper than he intended.

"Caffeine plus water," Rika replied as if that made perfect sense.

"What, like actual powdered caffeine?" he asked, disbelief cutting through his fatigue. It felt wrong, like a slap to the face when half-asleep. Before he could process the idea, she was already pulling him outside. It was 12:20 in the morning, the world around him silent except for the faint hum of cicadas.

"Start stretching," she ordered, taking out a clipboard and stopwatch like this was just another day at the office.

"You want me to do the obstacle course while half-asleep?" he muttered as he forced himself to stretch, his muscles groaning in protest. "Wouldn't it be better if I got a good night's sleep before doing this?"

"Good," Rika said, completely ignoring his question. She clicked the stopwatch, and the sharp beep cut through the darkness. "Now, start."

Kozen sighed, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle deep into his bones as he approached the course. The first few obstacles were brutal. His vision kept blurring, his eyelids felt heavy, and every step was like wading through knee-deep water. The world seemed to sway with every breath he took. The rope climb was the worst. His fingers slipped twice, and by the time he reached the top, his lungs were burning, and his head was spinning.

He dropped down, stumbling towards the next obstacle—a series of low hurdles. His legs felt like lead, and he struggled to keep his balance. Each jump was a gamble, and more than once, he almost face-planted into the dirt. By the time he reached the final obstacle, a tall wall with a rope, his breathing was ragged, and his stomach churned violently. The taste of that bitter liquid lingered in his mouth, mixing with the sour bile that crept up his throat.

As soon as he finished, he doubled over and threw up, his body violently rejecting the caffeine. Rika didn't react, didn't even look up. She just scribbled something on her clipboard, as if this was a normal part of training.

"I need to give you a check-up, and then we'll start with your conditioning and—"

"Rika," Kozen cut her off, trying to catch his breath. His chest felt tight, and his head was spinning. "Why are we doing this?"

She paused, her pen hovering over the paper. Her expression didn't change, but he could feel the weight of her gaze on him. After what felt like an eternity, she finally spoke. "Just trust me."

He clenched his fists, feeling frustration and exhaustion war inside him. Trust? The word felt heavy, like a stone in his gut. Trust went both ways, and yet here he was, half-dead and in the dark.

Trust goes both ways, Rika, he thought, but didn't say it out loud. He closed his eyes, trying not to feel like absolute shit, and waited for her to time him again. Somehow, he knew this was just the beginning, and the answers wouldn't come anytime soon.

Author Note: More chapters on [email protected]/LordCampione.