"I... I'm tired... somebody... help me..."
His breath came in ragged gasps as he spun around— only to find empty darkness staring back. No one was there. Yet the footsteps still echoed, relentless, hunting him through the endless maze of the hallway.
How long had it been? An hour? A lifetime?
He couldn't remember how many times he'd relived this nightmare. The same corridors, the same terror, the same crushing certainty that he'd never escape. Hell had no fire— just this.
An inescapable loop of dread.
"Ino..."
The voice was faint at first— distant, like an echo from a dream. But with each passing second, it grew sharper and clearer, until it cut through the haze of his exhaustion.
"Haaah—" Ino gasped, jolting upright as if yanked by an invisible force. His lungs burned, his heart hammered against his ribs.
"I said wake up!"Reality crashed over him. Blinking, Ino wiped his sweat and glanced around his room, the fading daylight was seeping through the curtains.
A dream? His fingers fumbled for his phone as the screen glaring bright in the dim room.
7:00 PM.Three hours. He'd been out for three hours. Before he could process it, his bedroom door flew open.
"I've been calling you for twenty minutes, idiot!"
Little Anta stood there, arms crossed, his usual scowl etched deep— but his eyes betrayed him. Wide. Worried.
"You were screaming like a dying goat!"
Ino chuckled as he reached out to ruffle Anta's hair. "Weirdo," Anta muttered, ducking away from his hand as the tension in his shoulders seemed to eased just a little.
"Sorry," Ino said softly offering a tired smile. "Just a weird dream. Don't worry about me."
"Whatever. Dinner's ready. Don't make me eat alone."
"Wouldn't dream ofit."
The two made their way to the living room, their footsteps soft against the worn wooden floor. Ino's gaze lingered over their small, cozy home— the tiny dining table with its single potted plant, the mismatched chairs, the open living area with its sagging sofas and the old TV humming quietly in the corner. It wasn't much, but it was theirs.
Anta moved deftly around the kitchenette, plating their food with the precision of someone who'd done it a thousand times before. They sat across from each other as the steam from their meal curls between them. The TV droned on in the background, until a sudden shift in tone caught Ino's attention.
"Breaking News: Four murders reported in Dulwich this week. The suspect remains at large. Authorities warn residents to avoid traveling alone at night. The killer appears to target entire households—families—leaving no survivors. Described as a hooded figure with a distinct cross and rose emblem on their back, the individual is considered extremely dangerous."
Ino's spoon hovered halfway to his mouth. "Dulwich… that's here." His eyes flicked to Anta. "They still haven't caught them?"
Anta didn't look up, pushing food around his bowl. "Dunno. Don't care. I only watch this stuff with you anyway."
Ino set his spoon down. "This is serious. Maybe you should skip school until—"
Clink.
Anta's spoon hit the bowl. He turned his face away from Ino, as his shoulders starts to tense.
"Ino."
His voice was quiet, but it cut through the room like a blade.
"I know you're worried. But if I stop going to school every time something dangerous happens, I'll never graduate. You know I have to keep my grades up, or else—" He bit off the words as guilt flash across his face.
Listening to Anta, Ino's expression darkened. "Anta, listen to me. You're all I have left." His voice was low, rough with the weight of years of fear.
"I can't lose you too."
The silence between them was suffocating.
Anta stood abruptly as the chair scrapes against the floor.
"I'm going to bed. School tomorrow."
He didn't meet Ino's eyes as he left, he knew yet he left. Maybe it was the best option at that time for him. His footsteps were heavy as he made his ways on the stairs.
Upstairs, Anta shut his door and leaned against it, his chest were tight like grasping his own heart. "Why did I say that?" Ino had given up everything for him— sleep, money, a normal life. And yet, all Anta could do was push back. The guilt was a cold, sinking thing in his stomach.
Downstairs, Ino stared at the empty chair across from him. The news continued to murmur warnings into the quiet room. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. "Just… stay safe,"he mumbled under his breath. As he washed the dishes, the water running over his hands, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was coming. He didn't want to jinx anything.
A month had passed without incident. Life had settled into its usual rhythm, and Ino had thrown himself into preparing for Anta's upcoming birthday and test results. Standing outside with a laundry basket in his hand, Ino checked his savings for the third time that day. His stomach dropped.
"Damn," He clenched his jaw, frustration bubbling up.
"I forgot to save money." He paced the yard, biting his thumbnail raw. A cake? Too simple. A cheap gift? Anta deserves better. Then—
"Ahhh, I've got it!"
Rushing inside, he changed into his best outfit— a white polo, black trousers, and the slightly frayed black coat he reserved for special occasions. He dashed out with his wallet lighter, but arms full by the time he returned: groceries, a small but decadent chocolate cake (Anta's favorite), and— his pride— a sleek leather schoolbag, the kind Anta's classmates flaunted but he'd never asked for.
Upstairs, Ino wrapped the gifts with meticulous care, smoothing out every wrinkle in the paper. "Three years since his last bag. He'll love this."
Downstairs, the table was set— food arranged just so, cake centered like a trophy. Ino stepped back, grinning. "Perfect." Then—
Knock. Knock. Ino froze.
. . . Anta had a key.
Knock. Knock.
Louder. Sharper.
His pulse jumped. That news report from last month flashed behind his eyes— some psycho in a hoodie with that creepy rose-cross symbol hunting families.
KNOCK. KNOCK.
"Who—?" Ino's fingers twitched toward the kitchen knife. The blade caught the light as he edged forward, bare feet silent on the floorboards.
KNOCK. KNOCK—
He wrenched the door open, arm raised—
"STUPID, IDIOT BRO—" They froze.
They stared at each other, twin expressions of shock. Ino with his wild-haired, knife clutched like a serial killer and Anta with his backpack slipping off his shoulder, mouth hanging open.
A beat. A cricket chirped somewhere.
"You…" Ino's voice cracked. "Since when do you knock?"
Anta's gaze dropped to the blade, then back up. "Uh, since I live here?" He raised an eyebrow. "The hell, Ino. Since when do you answer doors like a serial killer?"
The knife clattered onto the counter as Ino's ears burned. "There's a murderer loose! You can't just—"
A giggle cut him off. Anta held up empty hands. "Lost my keys. Had to knock." His smirk widened. "Heh. You looked ready to piss yourself."
"I… heard the news. Got paranoid."
Ino exhaled as his tension unraveling. He stepped aside, gesturing to the decorated table behind him. "With that killer still out there..." His voice trailed off as he stepped aside. "Just... come in."
Anta's eyes widened as he took in the spread— the cake, the food, the wrapped box with his name on it. For a second, he looked like he was about to cry.
"You..." His voice cracked. "Idiot." The word came out wet and wobbly as he crashed into Ino, arms locking like vise grips around his ribs.
Ino chuckled, returning the bruising hug. "So?"
Anta didn't need to ask what he meant, he shoved away first, already reaching into his bag. "Here." He thrust the test paper from his bag and slapped it against Ino's chest.
"Perfect. Obviously."
Ino scanned the page from top to bottom there were only top marks in every subject. He ruffled Anta's hair, laughing as his brother squawked in protest. "Getting cocky now, huh?"
Anta smoothed his hair back, nose in the air. "It was easy." But the way his eyes shone betrayed his pride.
Ino whistled. "Damn. Getting full of yourself, aren't—" He froze mid-sentence his eyes widening in mock horror as Ino's started to grin widely. "Wow. The mighty Antares is too busy being brilliant to remember what day it is?"
Anta blinked. "What—"
"TADAAAA!" Ino swept his arm toward the dining table— now transformed into a birthday spread.
The chocolate cake glistened under the lights was surrounded by all of Anta's favorite dishes.
For three full seconds, Anta didn't move. Then— "You... made all this?"
Ino shrugged as he was suddenly self-conscious. "I mean. It's decent, right?"
Anta moved so fast Ino barely registered the hug coming. Small hands fisted in his shirt as a face pressed against his chest. Just as quickly, Anta wrenched away, stomping toward the table.
"It's decent," he muttered his ears was burning red, looking away from Ino's face.
Ino's laughter filled the room as he knelt to eye-level, pulling his brother into one last squeeze. "Love you too, kid."
Candlelight danced in Anta's wide eyes as he blew out the flames. A wish unspoken, but Ino could guess— something about grades, or maybe that new video game he'd been eyeing.
They dug into the cake, elbows bumping as their conversation wandered. Anta recounted his teacher's latest meltdown ("She threw a chalkboard eraser, Ino! A fucking eraser!"), while Ino shared the café horror story of the day ("Lady wanted oat milk steamed to exactly 63.5°C—who the hell owns a milk thermometer?").
Between bites, Ino caught himself staring.
When had Anta's baby fat sharpened into angles? When had his laughter deepened from squeaky giggles to this warm, rolling sound? The realization hit like a punch to the ribs— he's growing up.
"Shit, seven already." Ino stood, stacking plates. "Help me clean, then check my room."
Anta's spoon froze mid-air. "...Why?"
"Because," Ino lobbed the sponge at his head, "dishes first, mysteries second."
...
Upstairs, the package sat center-stage on Ino's rumpled bedsheets. Anta slowly approached it like a live grenade.
"Is this—"
"Open it before I change my mind," Ino lied.
Wrapping paper tore. Then— silence.
The leather bag shone like liquid amber in the lamplight, its brass buckles gleaming. Anta touched it like it might vanish— first with just fingertips, then clutching the straps like a lifeline.
"Lawson's... window..." His voice splintered. "This costs more than our electric bill."
Ino shrugged. "Your old one was held together by duct tape and hope."
A tremor ran through Anta's shoulders. "Dumbass," he choked out, face buried in the bag's smooth surface. "Should've bought yourself new shoes first."
Ino hauled him into a headlock, noogie-ing away the impending waterworks. "Too late, nerd. Now promise you'll actually use it instead of worshipping it like some sacred relic."
Anta's answering laugh was damp but real. After a bit, he hesitated at the doorway, fingers tightening around the new bag's straps.
"Thank you," he mumbled, not meeting Ino's eyes. "For... everything." The words came out awkward but sincere.
Ino ruffled his hair. "Yeah, yeah. Don't go getting mushy on me now."
Anta swatted his hand away, but the usual scowl didn't reach his eyes. "I'm serious, idiot. I'll... take good care of it." He turned quickly, but not fast enough to hide the flush creeping up his neck.
"Get some sleep, superstar," Ino called after him, smiling at the way Anta's shoulders hunched at the nickname.
The house settled into comfortable silence as Ino tidied up. He paused at Anta's slightly ajar door, hearing the faint rustle of his brother carefully arranging the new bag on his desk. The warmth in his chest almost distracted him from the pile of trashes still waiting downstairs.
Almost.
"Ugh, adulting never ends," he groaned, stretching as he headed for the kitchen. His socked foot had just touched the top stair when— A shadow moved.
Ino barely registered the glint of metal before searing pain ripped across his arm. He stumbled back, crimson already blooming through his sleeve.
At the base of the stairs, a figure tilted its head. The hood's deep shadows couldn't hide the embroidered insignia - a rose intertwined with a cross.
"Shit—"
[END OF CHAPTER 1]