Irreversible Sadism (GL) - Chapter 18

It is called incomplete metamorphosis.

While it refers to a condition where an adult insect has defects in its appearance, it is often used to describe individuals that have experienced some sort of abnormality during the process of a pupa transforming into an adult, resulting in a failure to successfully emerge.

When incomplete metamorphosis occurs, the worst-case scenario is that the insect may die without shedding its skin or become deformed. Cicadas, for example, often exhaust themselves during the molting process or fall from trees, perishing within their shells.

Deformities are particularly well-known in beetles and stag beetles. If they experience some sort of shock while in the pupal stage, or if the cavity known as the pupal chamber collapses during formation, they often emerge with twisted horns or wings that have been torn off.

There are instances where a pupa dies without ever emerging, and such pupae exhibit black discoloration between the segments of their abdomen. Normally, the colors of the eyes and wings would be visible through the shell, but due to a failure in formation, the larva inside becomes a mushy mass and rots away.

Moreover, it is not only cicadas, beetles, and stag beetles that experience incomplete metamorphosis.

Butterflies are also known to frequently undergo this condition.

A butterfly that has emerged will hang from a branch or similar structure to stretch its solidified wings, using gravity to help expand them. However, if there is nowhere to cling to, it cannot spread its wings, and they will harden in that state. Consequently, that butterfly will spend its life unable to fly, inevitably facing starvation.

Metamorphosis is, after all, the final trial for insects, and it is said that the emergence rate for swallowtail butterflies is less than one percent. Given the harshness of nature, it is understandable, but still disheartening.

There is one type of incomplete metamorphosis that I cannot comprehend.

There are no external injuries, and the surrounding environment is favorable. An individual that has securely formed its pupa in a safe place without being detected by predators sometimes fails to emerge for reasons unknown.

Inside the pupa, there is a liquid containing growth hormones and only a small amount of muscle. If there is a disruption in those growth hormones, incomplete metamorphosis can occur even without any external factors.

The swallowtail butterfly I kept was one such case.

I had researched the emergence process. I made sure it only consumed wild plants free of pesticides during its larval stage, and I provided a cardboard box that would be easy to cling to when it became a pupa. I ensured it received morning sunlight and placed a perch for it to grasp when it emerged.

However, the adult that emerged did not have its proper form.

At first, I thought it had no head.

But upon closer inspection, I realized it wasn’t that it lacked a head; rather, it was round. An adult butterfly should have a straw for sucking nectar and compound eyes for distinguishing flowers, but those were absent.

Instead, it had a jaw with fangs.

The butterfly that emerged had retained only the head of a larva.

The butterfly that successfully spread its wings flew around the room, expressing its joy at becoming an adult.

When I presented it with a tissue soaked in sugar water, it eagerly approached.

Yet, as it got closer, it seemed confused, wandering around with its face near the tissue.

That’s right; it lacked the trachea necessary for sucking water.

Without that, it would starve to death.

The butterfly desperately moved its jaw, searching for food.

In disbelief, I brought closer the leaves it had eaten as a larva.

To my surprise, the butterfly began to voraciously consume the leaves. It was determined to recover the energy it had expended during metamorphosis, devouring the leaves with single-minded focus.

The next day, when I returned from school, the butterfly was dead.

Its abdomen was swollen, and it had expelled a brown liquid from what appeared to be its excretory opening.

As a larva, the butterfly had organs for digesting leaves, but upon becoming an adult, those were lost along with the ability to eat leaves, replaced instead by a straw for sucking nectar and new trachea for converting it into nutrients.

However, this butterfly could not form a straw. Yet, its body was that of an adult, meaning its digestive organs had transformed to process nectar instead of leaves.

And yet, it had eaten leaves. It could only eat leaves.

What it needed to consume and what it could consume were mismatched.

Thus, it could not digest the leaves, and it died with its abdomen stuffed full.

…At that moment, I felt as if it were looking at me.

Since Ruri-chan told me, I had withdrawn from pain.

After all, there is a limit to the pain I can obtain on my own, and what I should consume could only be derived from Ruri-chan. Since Ruri-chan said she would no longer inflict pain, I had nothing left to eat.

Even so, I endured, believing that was what it meant to become an adult.

The scene I had admired as a child was far too distorted to speak of in public.

I love pain; I cannot be satisfied without it. I have no interest in anything that does not involve pain. Such childish whims must be discarded while I am still within the bounds of compulsory education.

I know that well. That’s why I also washed my hands of it alongside Ruri-chan.

And yet, day by day, the overwhelming urge to destroy this body piece by piece grew stronger, and enduring it in my daily life became a significant mental torment.

One day, I decided to jump from a height.

If I couldn’t do it by my own strength, I could borrow gravity. However, I did not want to die. I wanted to experience despair and pain so close to death that I would feel as if I were dying.

I scouted the rooftop, the fourth floor, and the third floor in order, concluding that the second floor was the most suitable.

The rooftop and fourth floor were out of the question; on the third floor, I might die depending on where I landed. I wouldn’t die on the first floor, but I wouldn’t feel any pain either. A slight dull ache wouldn’t satisfy me.

I could no longer endure it.

Like someone addicted to cigarettes or alcohol, unable to detach from them due to withdrawal symptoms.

I, too, could not detach from pain.

I endured and endured, but the more I held back, the more my heart seemed to boil over. My entire body itched, trembled, and my teeth began to chatter.

This had never happened before. Surely, since meeting Ruri-chan, I had become unhinged.

No, I had been unhinged from the beginning. It was just that realizing what I had been searching for truly existed had become an intense source of stress, leading me to let it go and give up.

I had no judgment to choose the time or place.

I leaned out of the second-floor window and threw myself out.

The impact with the ground was instantaneous, and the intense dull pain that followed was enough to strip away my consciousness.

A wave of bl00d flowed from somewhere, reaching my cheek.

In the fading haze of consciousness, I became certain.

Ah, I will… probably die by mistake while searching for pain like this.

If the second floor doesn’t work, then the third! Since I was fortunate enough to survive, this time from the rooftop! Surely, unimaginable pain awaits me! Yes! I want to try choking too! If I hook a belt on the doorknob, it might tighten just right!

And so, someday, surely.

In the not-so-distant future.

I will die without even feeling pain.

Just like that butterfly that became an adult with the head of a larva.

From now on, I will grow up while hiding this obsession with pain and enter society. As a human among a group, I will work, interact, fall in love, and strive to walk the right path as an adult.

But I lack the trachea to digest those experiences.

What I can digest is only pain.

Continuing to consume the activities of those who cannot digest, my abdomen will swell, and someday, like that butterfly, I will quietly die.

When did I fail to emerge?

I have no memory of being a pupa.

Why do I not have the trachea to suck nectar?

Even if it were gone, no one would be troubled; a worthless consciousness would simply snap.

Amidst the distant sound of sirens, I thought I heard a voice calling my name.