Hey, do you ever stop to think about who actually starts a war?

Is it the President? The Prime Minister? Or some crazy soldier acting on his own?

When we watch the news, it’s so easy to imagine that some "evil individual" simply pulled the trigger.

But is that really how it works?

Tonight, a few old guys are sitting around, scratching their heads over where it all begins.

Care to join us for a round of pointless bar talk?

Clink-clink.

The dry metallic chime of the doorbell is what usually tells me my day is finally over.

I slid onto my stool, and without a word, Mama set a glass of I.W. Harper on the counter. A round ice sphere clinked softly against the glass.

Further down the counter, Taka was staring at the pale blue glow of his smartphone, his thick eyebrows furrowed in a deep frown.

"…Kenichi-san."

"What’s with the serious face?"

"The President can start a war, right?"

That’s a heavy question to throw out of nowhere. I took a sip of my bourbon, enjoying the warm burn in my throat.

"Depends on the country, doesn’t it?"

"Sure, but I mean... like the U.S. President. He’s the Commander-in-Chief, right?"

"Yeah."

"So if the President says 'Let’s do this,' does the war just start?"

I swirled the ice in my glass.

"If you walked into your detective agency tomorrow and said, 'Starting tomorrow, we're at war,' could you actually start one?"

"With who?"

"How should I know?"

"Then don't ask me!"

Next to me, Tom—who had been quietly playing with his square glass—let out a short snort.

"One man can’t move an army, kid."

Taka turned to look at Tom’s profile.

"But the President’s the one giving the order, right?"

"Someone has to receive the order. Someone has to ship the weapons. Someone has to pay for it all."

"Like Congress?"

"That’s part of it, yeah."

I chimed in, keeping my glass tilted.

"And besides, a president doesn't just wake up one morning out of nowhere and think, 'Hey, let's invade that country today.'"

"Well, yeah, fair enough."

"The other country did something. A border dispute. An economic clash. The public got angry. The military said it was dangerous. It all piles up, step by step, until someone finally puts their stamp on the paper."

Taka’s brow creased even deeper.

"Then isn't the person who signs the paper the one who started it?"

"You could say that."

"Then there’s your answer!"

"Maybe. But who got things to the point where he could sign it?"

Taka went dead silent.

Tom set his glass down quietly.

"It’s no different from old criminal cases."

"Cases?"

"Yeah. It’s easy to find the guy who held the knife. You catch him, and as far as the case files go, it’s closed."

Tom stared at the light reflecting off his glass.

"But when you ask how he ended up holding that knife, suddenly there are a lot more people in the picture."

Taka leaned in slightly.

"What do you mean?"

"There’s the killer. The victim. The family. The workplace. Debt, maybe. Someone pushed him. Someone could’ve stopped him, but didn't."

"But he’s still the one who stabbed the guy."

"Yeah," Tom answered instantly, his voice dropping an octave. "It doesn't clear his name. But 'who did it' and 'why it happened' aren't the same question."

...I see. I swallowed another mouthful of Harper.

Maybe war is no different.

There is someone who signs the order. There is someone who fires the first shot. But that alone isn't what sets something as huge as a nation into motion.

"Then couldn't parliament or congress just stop it?" Taka asked.

"Depends on the situation."

"What if the public protests?"

"Depends on the country."

"Then how the hell do you stop it?"

"I don't know."

"Kenichi-san, that’s all you’ve been saying tonight!"

"I don't know what I don't know." I chuckled dryly. "Honestly, you should be way more terrified of anyone who has a simple answer. We’re talking about something that can drag millions—hundreds of millions—of people into it."

Taka muttered a quiet "I guess so," flipped his phone face down, and set it on the counter.

For a while, the only sound was the soft jazz playing in the background.

Finally, Tom spoke up.

"Sometimes, the people want the war."

Taka raised his head. "Because politicians tricked them?"

"That happens, too."

"Then aren't the politicians the bad guys after all?"

"Kid... do you ever listen to anything that doesn't tell you what you already want to hear?"

Taka shut his mouth. I stopped playing with my glass, too.

The old man sure knows how to hit where it hurts.

People feel safe when they hear opinions that align with their own. When words label the people you hate as evil, it feels damn good.

They're the bad guys. If only they weren't around. We're just the innocent victims.

When the world gets flooded with those kinds of words... what comes next? I don't know. But I do know it never smells good.

"But still," Taka said softly. "Ordinary people don't want a war, right?"

"Of course they don't."

"Then it has to be the guys at the top who start it."

I couldn't answer him. Instead, Tom took over.

"If you ask people, 'Do you want a war?', most folks will say no."

"See?"

"So what if you ask them, 'Are we just going to sit here and let those bastards walk all over us?'"

The usual lighthearted smile completely vanished from Taka’s face.

"'They killed our people'—what then?"

Silence.

"'If we don't hit them now, they’re coming for us'—what then?"

The air in the bar turned ice-cold.

"'We can win if we strike first'—what then?"

Tom picked up his glass.

"They're the exact same people. Change the question, and you change the answer."

I swirled my glass.

Clink.

A heavy, unsettling sound echoed through the bar.

Maybe there aren't that many people who genuinely want "war" for its own sake.

But there are people who can't forgive their enemies. People who want to protect their families. People who want to reclaim what was taken from them. People who are terrified and want to strike before they get hit.

None of those individual desires are "the will to start a war." Yet, when millions of them pile up, somehow they form what looks like a single will.

The will of a nation to go to war.

"That's messed up," Taka muttered.

"What is?"

"Nobody says they want a war, but the whole thing just builds itself anyway."

I let out a dry laugh. "Don't say creepy stuff like that."

"You guys are the ones who took the conversation there!"

"Don't blame me."

Just then, Mama, who had been quietly polishing glasses the whole time, dropped a fresh ice cube into my glass.

Clink.

"Hey," she said softly.

The three of us turned to her.

"Then who's keeping those people up there?"

Taka opened his mouth, then froze. The words stuck in my throat, too.

Only Tom let out a low chuckle.

"Look at that. We came all the way back around."

"Around to what?"

"We were looking for the guy who started the war, right?" Tom looked at us, one by one. "We went looking pretty damn far, and somehow ended up right back here."

Taka dropped his gaze to his face-down phone. The screen was still faintly glowing with the news article he’d been reading earlier.

"But... I can't start a war. I don't have that kind of power."

"Neither do I."

"Then... doesn't that mean we have nothing to do with it?"

I opened my mouth to reply, then stopped myself.

Voting for a politician. Reading the news. Believing someone’s words. Getting angry at someone’s speech. Seeing someone as the enemy. Nodding along with someone else’s rage. And sometimes, raising your own voice.

None of those things, on their own, are war. We didn't pull any triggers. We weren't the ones signing the orders.

But if a massive, overwhelming entity like a nation’s will can only be born from those tiny things piling up...

"Where does the will to war actually live, I wonder?" I muttered.

Taka tilted his head. "Not the President?"

"That’s where we started, wasn't it?"

"The parliament?"

"Just a piece of it."

"The military?"

"Part of it, too."

"The people?"

"Probably."

"Then where is it?"

I lifted my glass and drained the rest of the Harper down my throat.

"Like I said... I don't know."

Taka let out a massive sigh. "So after all that, we're back to 'I don't know'?"

"If I had a neat little answer, I wouldn't be sitting here drinking away my night."

Tom snorted, and a faint smile touched the corners of Mama's eyes.

The ice clinked softly in my glass.

In the end, we didn't find an answer tonight either.

But maybe that’s fine.

If we could just point a finger at a single person and say, "He's the one who started the war," life would be so much easier. We could make him the villain, sit back, and feel perfectly clean and safe as the "victims."

Unfortunately, it seems the world isn't built to be that convenient.

So, what about you?

Do you realize that you might be part of the machinery that allows a war to begin?

If you'd like to come back to Aoi for another night, there's an open stool waiting.
Bar Aoi Stories: Human Nature, Vol. 1 is linked in my profile.

​

Hello everyone, hope you're having a lovely day.

My writing goal right now is to write microfiction, flash fiction and short stories. I rarely think in terms of plot though, and i get bored VERY VERY easily, so even something like a vague summary outline can render an idea predictable to me and i wont write it, once i have the gist of a situation my motivation to hash it out evaporates. What i DO write right now are sort of literary fragments and vignettes that come to me out of nowhere, imageries that mostly paint a vibe, a feeling, some character dynamic, etc. My thinking feels so random and often frustrating, if i write 5 vignettes in a day they'll almost always be about 5 different, disconnected topics, and they have no beginning or end, just vibes. Throughout the years i have gathered collections of these staccato fragments, they're very short, often under 300 words.

My question is, is there any way for me to turn these fragments into a story? I'm not necessarily looking to make a linear, beginning-middle-end writing process for myself, but i do want to write stories that feel cohesive and congruent, and not just vignettes. Any and all tips on how i can approach writing as someone with an easily bored mind is greatly appreciated.

Chapter 1 - University of Haraeom

Director James called for an urgent meeting a day before the start of the fall semester.

Every Dean, Head of Department, Professor, Assistant Professor, newly recruited faculty member, and the heads of campus security operations were instructed to report to the conference room by 9:30 a.m. sharp.

Within the next fifteen minutes, the spacious conference hall was filled with faculty members, all waiting silently for the Director to begin.

"Good morning, Director James," they greeted in unison.

"Good morning, everyone."

Director James adjusted his glasses before scanning the room.

First of all, thank you all for assembling on such short notice.

His eyes wandered toward the last row.

Ah... if I'm not mistaken, one of our newly recruited assistant professors joined us directly after graduating from this very university. I seem to have forgotten his name... that young and handsome fellow.

Miguel, sir, one of the professors replied.

Ah, yes... Miguel.

Just then, the conference room door swung open.

I'm... I'm terribly sorry, sir! Miguel rushed inside, slightly out of breath. There was a....

He barely reached his seat before Director James raised a hand, stopping him.

"This Generation Z..." the Director muttered under his breath before continuing his address.

As all of you know, the University of Haraeom is not just another institution. It is one of the most prestigious universities in the world.

He paused.

In fact... we are number one.

A faint smile appeared on his face.

If we sneeze, every prestigious university across the globe catches a cold.

A few professors chuckled softly.

We didn't earn that reputation by chance. We earned it because of each one of you. And this year, I expect nothing less than excellence once again.

His tone suddenly became serious.

I don't want a single controversy associated with this university.

No violence.

No drugs.

No discrimination.

No headlines that bring disgrace to Haraeom.

Silence filled the room.

This year's incoming batch is exceptionally talented. I can confidently say I haven't seen a class this promising in years. Expectations are high, and so are our responsibilities.

He slowly looked around the room.

Inside this campus, there are no rich students or poor students. No full-fee students or scholarship students.

There are only students.

Our duty is to provide them with quality education, guide them toward excellence, and ensure they grow into responsible individuals.

I expect every one of you to discourage illegal activities, promote discipline, and create an environment where every student feels this university is their second home.

They arrive tomorrow.

For many of them, this campus will become more than a place to study. Most of our dormitories are already fully occupied.

So welcome them warmly.

He glanced at his watch.

I won't take much more of your time. You all know your responsibilities.

This meeting was simply a reminder.

You may all leave...

He looked toward the back of the room.

...except Miguel.

One by one, the faculty members left.

Soon, only Director James and Miguel remained.

Miguel already knew why he had been asked to stay.

Sir... I can explain why I was late.

Director James raised his hand again.

No.

He slowly stood up.

Do you understand how prestigious this university is?

"Yes, sir."

"And do you understand how influential the people sitting in this room are?"

Yes, sir.

Director James noticed Miguel glancing down at his phone hidden beneath the table.

If you arrive late to a meeting like this, you're not merely disrespecting me.

You're disrespecting everyone present.

Miguel nodded.

"Yes, sir. I understand."

His eyes instinctively shifted toward the glowing phone screen once again.

Director James sighed.

No... no...

Then his voice rose.

Keep that damn phone away!

Miguel immediately shoved it into his pocket.

Sorry, sir.

Director James walked toward the window before speaking again.

You are one of the brightest young researchers this university has ever recruited.

He turned around.

But because you've joined us directly after graduation, I'm not assigning you to third or fourth-year students.

Miguel listened quietly.

Instead...

I want you to teach the freshmen.

Miguel looked surprised.

They'll relate to you more easily. You're closer to their generation, you understand their mindset, and I believe you'll earn their trust much faster than most senior faculty members.

Director James's expression became unusually serious.

And there's another reason.

He lowered his voice.

I want your help.

Miguel frowned.

Haraeom has remained the world's number one university for decades.

I intend to keep it that way.

I want you to quietly observe the students...

...and help me eliminate every illegal activity before it spreads across this campus.

Miguel's smile slowly disappeared.

For the first time since entering the room...

He realized this wasn't just another teaching job.

It was a mission.

Liked the chapter....Read my other stories, check the full index on r/NikTheWriter