The mist thickened again, swallowing Yuki whole. His limbs felt heavy, as though chained by unseen hands, but his vision sharpened as a new scene unfolded before him.
An alley stretched ahead—narrow, damp, and bathed in the sickly glow of flickering street lamps. Trash littered the ground, and the distant hum of traffic only made the silence of this backstreet more oppressive.
At the far end, a lonesome figure stood: a girl in a crisp, neatly ironed high school uniform. She looked painfully out of place in this alley, like a flower planted in cracked asphalt. Her cold eyes glimmered, indifferent yet sharp enough to pierce the shadows.
Surrounding her, four boys closed in, their greasy hair and cheap leather jackets marking them as the kind of delinquents who thrived on the helplessness of others. They spread their arms wide, forming a wall of flesh and arrogance, trapping her against the bricks.
Yuki's breath caught. His heart lurched violently, as if yanked backward into his chest.
—This memory.
His blood boiled the instant the first boy sneered.
"Hey, beauty… want to go on a date with me?" the delinquent leader asked, his voice thick with mockery. He bared his teeth in a grin, crooked and yellowed. "I'll give you everything you want. It'll be worth your while."
The girl's reply was razor-sharp and mercilessly cold. "No. I'm busy. If you'd kindly move aside."
Her tone struck harder than a slap. Even Yuki, watching from the third-person view forced upon him by the mist, felt a chill.
The delinquents stiffened. For a moment, their bravado cracked. They had expected fear—pleading eyes, trembling knees, or at the very least, a stutter. Instead, they were dismissed like insects.
Shame quickly burned into anger.
"Tch… you think you're too good for us, huh?" another boy spat, stepping closer, his breath reeking even in memory.
They tightened the circle.
The girl's frown deepened, her lips curling into the faintest smirk. "What do you want? Surely, you're not dumb enough to think this is just about a date. You're after more than that, aren't you?"
Her words cut their thin pride like a knife. Her refusal wasn't just rejection—it was mockery, and worse, it was confidence. She wasn't afraid. She wasn't trembling. She wasn't playing the role they had written for her.
The leader—"Black Bull," they called him—forced a laugh, loud and hollow. "You're clever. I like that. Makes it more fun. Of course, I wasn't just offering a meal. I'll take you anywhere you want, buy anything you want… in exchange for one little thing. You'll spend the night with me."
The words were crude, shameless. He even puffed his chest out, as if his indecency were a badge of honor.
For the first time, the girl smiled.
Not a shy smile. Not a smile of fear. But a smile so radiant, so deliberate, it silenced the alley for a heartbeat.
"Really?" she asked sweetly. "Then what if I asked you to buy out the largest mall in the city for me? Every shop. Every shelf. Would you still keep your promise?"
The boys blinked, dazed for a moment by her beauty. Then reality struck.
"You… bitch…" one of the followers hissed, his face twisted in rage.
"You think you're some kind of princess?!" another barked, spittle flying.
The leader's grin faltered. For a moment, he tried to swallow his humiliation, his lips twitching as though holding back curses. Then his mask shattered.
"Whore! You're nothing but a high-class whore pretending to be untouchable!" he roared. "Who gave you the right to talk like that?!"
He jerked his chin at his companions. "Boys! Let's show her her place. Hahaha!"
"Yes, boss!"
"Make it quick, then pass her over, yeah?" one of them jeered.
"Of course! We're brothers. We share everything," Black Bull answered, his laughter cracking the night air.
The alley filled with their voices—mockery, greed, and hunger.
Yuki's hands trembled. His vision blurred red.
Even though he knew this was a memory, he wanted—needed—to smash them into the ground again, to grind their bodies beneath his fists until their laughter was nothing but blood in their throats.
He remembered this night too well. The alley, the girl, the delinquents. He remembered the taste of fury on his tongue, the moment when his restraint had snapped. He had destroyed them once before, and now the scene replayed before him, gnawing at the fragile dam that held back his rage.
"…Bastards," he muttered through clenched teeth.
The mist pulsed, as though testing him, tempting him.
A voice drifted through—soft, mocking, familiar.
"Still the same as before, aren't you? That boiling anger… that urge to destroy. You've grown stronger, but your heart still clings to these moments. Tell me, Yuki—are you watching to accept your past, or to rewrite it?"
The words scraped against his mind. It was Faunus—or perhaps another shade of him. He couldn't tell anymore.
But the question stabbed deep.
To accept, or to rewrite?
His chest heaved. He felt as though he stood at the edge of two worlds—the one where he embraced this fury, let it consume him again, and the one where he stepped back and faced it with clarity.
The girl in the alley looked at the delinquents with a cold fire that had not dimmed even then. She hadn't begged. She hadn't cried. She had been defiant to the end.
Yuki clenched his fists.
He realized it now: it wasn't his place to rewrite this memory. The girl had already chosen how to face them. This scene wasn't about his fists, but about his acceptance.
"…I understand," he whispered, his voice shaking. "I wanted to crush them again. But that's not why I'm here. This memory isn't for vengeance. It's for me… to accept what was, not what I wish it to be."
The laughter of the delinquents warped, echoing through the alley like broken glass. The mist rose higher, devouring their shadows.
The girl turned her head. For the first time, her eyes met Yuki's directly—even though this was a memory, even though it should have been impossible. Her lips curved faintly, not into a smile, but into something softer.
A recognition.
And then the scene shattered.
The alley dissolved into mist, the voices vanished, and Yuki was left standing alone in the void.
But this time, his heart no longer burned with rage. It ached, yes—but with something heavier, calmer, and painfully real.
Acceptance.