He laid the girl down for a moment, gently prying open her mouth to see how deeply she had bitten herself.
Just minutes earlier, he had been dozing on a pile of rocks when he heard it—a faint cry for help.
Annoyed at first, he stirred awake, but then the realization hit him.
"There are survivors…?"
From where he stood, it had seemed impossible. Not a single human should have survived the cataclysm. He assumed only a handful of lucky ones had escaped. But that echo of desperation proved him wrong.
What he didn't know was that nearly a week had passed since the massive earthquake. Japan, though scarred, had not been annihilated to the core like Europe, which had been swallowed whole by the mighty waves of the ocean.
His keen ears locked onto the voice's direction. Knowing someone was in danger, he ran—so fast that for a moment his body blurred.
Surprised by his own speed, he slowed slightly, struggling to balance momentum and direction. He leapt from slab to slab of shattered concrete, until finally he reached the scene.
An innocent girl was being cornered by criminals—escaped prisoners, judging by their uniforms. He was late, but not too late. A rusted pipe lay near his feet; he hurled it hard, the metal rod slamming into the ground between the girl and her attacker.
Anger boiled within him. He rushed in, fists flying, kicking their asses with strength that seemed absurd for someone his age.
And now—here he was.
He examined the girl's wounds. They weren't too deep, but her shoulder was cut, and her tongue had bled heavily.
"Fainting from blood loss…" he muttered.
He turned to the unconscious men, ripping their clothes in half to make bandages.
"This will help."
He wrapped the cloth tightly around her shoulder. Once satisfied, he slid his arms beneath her, lifting her with a gentle princess carry.
"There must be a clinic nearby…"
Tokyo was in ruins, rubble and corpses everywhere. But he knew the city's streets. Turning right, he carried her on, leaving the three men lying broken on the cracked road.
.
.
.
The girl slowly opened her eyes. Her vision was blurred again. Instinctively, she reached for her glasses—finding them nearby—and let out a shaky breath of relief. But something felt… off.
'Is it just me, or… is it clearer than before?'
She set the thought aside, slipping her glasses on. Looking around, she realized she was inside a clinic—or what was left of one. Cracked walls, debris, and broken concrete surrounded her.
"Is this… a clinic? How did I get here…?"
Then the memories returned. She touched her right shoulder and felt the bandage wrapped there. The faint scent of antiseptic stung her nose.
"He… helped me?" she whispered, only to wince at the sting in her tongue.
Turning her head, she saw him—the boy—sleeping in a chair near a gaping hole in the wall. Red rays of sunset spilled through, painting his figure in light.
Where there had once been nothing but collapsed rubble, now there was a path.
'Did he clear all that, just to bring me here…?'
Heavy chunks of concrete had been stacked aside. She couldn't help but marvel.
She stood, adjusting her glasses. The fading light caught her long black hair, making her brown eyes glimmer faintly. Her face was baby-like, her lips small, her features delicate. She wasn't breathtakingly beautiful, but undeniably cute.
She stepped outside. The criminals were nowhere to be seen. A long sigh of relief escaped her.
Uuuu…
Her stomach growled. Hunger hit her like a slap, reminding her of how weak she was. She searched the clinic, but found nothing—only a few medicines and a mountain of surgical masks.
'Haah… I'm starving…'She crouched, hugging her knees, exhaustion weighing on her.
The noise stirred Aiden awake. He stretched with a long yawn, arms rising above his head.
"Ahh…"
The girl jumped slightly, caught staring.
"S…sorry, I woke you?" she asked timidly.
"Haha, no. Just a light nap," Aiden said with a grin. "You're hungry, right? Let's go find some food and water. It'll be dark soon."
Her face softened into a small smile as she nodded. For days she had wandered alone—surrounded only by corpses and the reek of death. She had been starving, weak, injured. She had thought fate cursed her—meeting criminals first. But looking at the strong back of the boy who saved her… maybe she wasn't cursed after all.
"Wait… umm… excuse me…" she said hesitantly. "I still don't know your name…"
Aiden turned back. "Yeah, sorry. My name's Ando Aiden. Just call me Aiden." He smiled.
"O…okay. My name is Tadahashi Emi. You can… call me Emi." She looked away, shy.
"…Okay," he replied simply.
And then—silence. Both stood awkwardly, unsure what to say.
Aiden, a lifelong introvert, had always preferred manga and web novels to people. Socializing wasn't his strength. He wanted to talk more, but had no idea how. Emi, though usually social, always struggled with strangers.
"Umm… let's go find some food," Aiden finally suggested.
"Y…yes," she agreed.
They stepped out of the clinic together, Aiden leading, Emi close behind.
He glanced sideways toward where he had left the three men—but they were gone. For a moment, he thought about checking. But hunger gnawed at him too; he hadn't eaten since morning.
.
.
.
A muscular man limped down a ruined street, his head bandaged with strips of cloth torn from his own sleeves.
"It's already late…" he muttered.
It was him—the scarred man who had fought Aiden. His cheek still throbbed where Aiden's fist had sent him flying. He remembered those eyes—predatory, warning him.
A shiver ran down his spine. Still, he pressed on, toward a three-story building that leaned precariously but remained standing.
As he neared, the sound of screams reached him.
"Please! Leave my daughter alone, I beg you!" a man cried.
"No… please… no more…" a woman sobbed.
"Sorry! We're sorry! We searched everywhere, but we only found this one girl!" came the desperate pleas of children.
The scarred man entered. And what he saw was hell on earth.
Men enslaved, beaten into obedience. Children bullied into servitude, forced to obey or starve. Women reduced to prey.
His fellow convicts—the same ones he had escaped with—were the perpetrators. Some still flaunted their prison rags; others wore whatever they'd looted off the living or the dead.
In this new world, without law, police, or government—it was paradise for monsters.
"Ohh… scarface, you came back," sneered a black-bearded man, bald head glistening under the lamplight. Sweat drenched his bulk. His tank top barely contained his enormous belly, and he wore nothing else.
He was busy. Busy with his "duties."
The scarred man's gaze hardened, but he said nothing, walking past.
"Haha… not a talker, huh?" the bearded man chuckled, unbothered.
The scarred man climbed the stairs, ignoring the laughter behind him.
"Oh, those little shits found a new girl," a fat inmate said.
"Alright! First the leader gets her, then it's our turn!" another leered, tall and slim.
"Yeah… and trust me, she's a beauty. Saw 'em dragging her in. Way better than these scraps," a tattoo-faced thug added with a grin.
The scarred man sighed heavily as he ascended. His companions were changing, becoming worse than he remembered. Their inner demons had clawed free.
At first, he hadn't blamed them. Years locked in cells, rotting—it was no wonder they snapped. At first, it was just stealing, beating, venting. But now…
He paused at the landing, looking down at the chaos below.
"This is getting out of hand," he muttered in his hoarse, gravelly voice.
Turning, he knocked on the cracked door above.
Knock. Knock.
"Come in," a deep voice answered from inside.