Silence.
It was the only thing that remained after the flames.
Hiro was still there. Standing. Frozen. His gaze lost on what was left of the temple. The ashes still swirled in the air, carrying with them the acrid smell of burnt wood and charred flesh. The reddish glow of the dying embers barely illuminated the blackened shapes of what had been his home, his family.
He didn't move. He didn't cry. He didn't feel anything anymore.
The police had arrived at dawn. They had put up yellow banners and were trying to keep the curious away. But Hiro, he remained there, frozen in a scene that didn't seem real.
"Poor child..." whispered an old lady.
"He has no one now..."
"A fire like this... It's not normal. »
The conversations were rising, but everything seemed distant to him, as if they came from a world he could no longer reach. Every word, every sound, everything was as if filtered through a thick veil.
A firm hand gripped his shoulder, roughly pulling him from his immobility. A policeman with a tired look stood before him.
"Listen, kid, you can't stay here. You have to come with us."
No response.
The policeman exchanged a look with one of his colleagues, uncertain.
"He's completely in shock… We're going to have to take him."
Hiro felt another, softer hand rest on his arm.
"Hiro…"
A trembling voice. Yume.
She was there, her eyes clouded with tears, her body shaking with emotion. She had run here as soon as she heard the news. Her kimono was crumpled, her hair a mess.
"Hiro, come. Come with me…"
But Hiro didn't move. His body refused to move, his mind trapped in the flames of the night before.
Yume moved closer, placing her hands on his cold cheeks.
"Hiro… please…"
He didn't even look at her. He was empty. As if dead inside.
The policeman sighed and gestured to his colleagues.
"We can't leave him like this. We're going to have to take him."
They gently took his arm, trying to guide him out of the rubble. Hiro didn't resist. He didn't do anything. His feet dragged on the ground as they led him away from the temple, away from the still-smoldering ashes of his past life.
He didn't even look back.
The police station was a cold, impersonal place. Hiro sat on a chair, his arms dangling, his gaze empty. The sounds of typewriters and low conversations created a mechanical and distant atmosphere. Everything seemed unreal.
The officers talked among themselves, trying to figure out what to do with him.
"He has no family anymore. We'll have to contact an orphanage."
"The kid doesn't even speak. Not a word since we found him."
"A shock like that… It's normal. He lost everything in one night."
Yume stayed by his side. Her fingers nervously gripped the fabric of her dress. She didn't want to leave. She didn't want to leave him alone.
"Hiro…"
She wanted to say something, anything, but no words seemed enough. How could she fix what had been broken inside him?
A door opened abruptly. A man in a suit entered, his expression serious.
"We found a solution for him." A temporary foster home."
A silence fell over the room.
"He'll have to leave town."
Yume's eyes widened.
"What?! No! He can stay here! I can take care of him!"
The man shook his head.
"It's not that simple. He needs to be taken care of in a stable setting."
Yume turned to Hiro, panicked. She knelt down in front of him, her gaze pleading.
"Hiro... say something... please..."
But he said nothing. His gaze was still empty, lost in an abyss that no one could reach.
The police officers began preparing for his departure, filling out forms, making calls. Everything was done without him, as if he were just an object that had to be moved. He didn't react when they put a bag with a few things on his shoulders.
When he was finally led to a waiting car, Yume ran after him.
"Hiro!"
But he didn't turn around.
She stopped, her fists clenched, tears rolling down her cheeks.
And then, he was taken away, leaving behind the only person who still wanted to save him.
10 years later
Time had flown by, taking with it the innocence of the child that Hiro had been. Ten years had passed since that fateful night, a decade during which he had slowly learned to survive in a world that didn't wait for him. But deep down, nothing had changed. He was still that boy frozen in time, unable to forget, unable to move on.
Hiro now lived in Kuoh, a seemingly ordinary city, but whose secrets he still didn't know. After several temporary placement in different foster homes, he had finally been placed under the guardianship of a couple unable to have children. They were good people, neither too kind nor too indifferent. They offered him a roof over his head, food, and a few rules to follow. In exchange, he had to behave normally.
And that's what he did.
His mutism from the early years had finally disappeared, not because he was getting better, but because he had understood that if he wanted to avoid being constantly questioned, he had to play the role expected of him.
The obligation to go to high school
His guardians had long tolerated that he receive a private education, but after years, they had finally insisted: he had to enroll in high school and follow a traditional path. They weren't wrong. He couldn't stay isolated forever.
That's how he was transferred to Kuoh Academy.
An establishment known for its prestigious history and recently opened to boys. A logical transition, but for Hiro, it represented a new test. He would have to adapt, play a more complex role than ever.
The day he entered high school, the weather was overcast. A gray sky, a perfect reflection of his state of mind.
He walked calmly through the corridors, his bag slung over his shoulder, following a teacher who escorted him to his new class. With each step, he felt the weight of the curious glances that landed on him. Rumors about new arrivals always circulated quickly in a high school.
Hiro entered the classroom to the murmurs of his future classmates. About twenty students were already seated, their eyes fixed on him. He knew that in such an environment, the slightest misstep would mark the minds.
The teacher clapped his hands to attract the class's attention.
"Well, we have a new student today." I ask that you give him a warm welcome.
All eyes converged on him. Hiro, for his part, remained impassive, his mask in place.
"Introduce yourself to the class."
Hiro raised his eyes slightly and complied in a neutral tone.
"My name is Hiro. I come from another school and I transferred here recently. I hope we get along well."
Simple. Direct. Harmless.
The teacher nodded in satisfaction before pointing to an empty seat towards the back of the class.
"You can sit over there."
Hiro walked unhurriedly towards his seat, aware that some students continued to observe him curiously. He ignored them. He wasn't here to make friends. He simply had to go with the flow and disappear into the crowd.
In a corner of the classroom, a small group was whispering while glancing at him.
"This new guy is really weird, did you see how he hardly speaks?"
"Yeah, but he's not unpleasant. He's just... distant."
"Maybe he's shy?"
"No, it's something else. His gaze is too cold, as if he were analyzing everything. It's scary."
Hiro heard them without really paying attention. He was used to this kind of conversation. He knew that his behavior raised questions, but he didn't care. He wasn't here to make friends. He just had to fit in without attracting too much attention.
The teacher tapped his desk lightly, restoring silence to the class.
"Okay, now that we've finished the introductions, we'll move on to the practical workshop of the day. Today, we have a cooking class. You'll be in pairs to prepare a simple dish. Everything is already set up in the practical room. Go calmly."
A shiver ran through Hiro. Cooking.
He had never been passionate about it, but the idea of such a trivial exercise didn't scare him. However, a vague unease grew in him as he stood up to follow the other students.
The entrance to the cooking room
The practical room was large, equipped with several cooking stations. The students quickly split into pairs, looking for partners. Hiro, for his part, stayed back for a moment, until a boy with glasses approached.
"Have you ever cooked before?" he asked with an uncertain smile.
Hiro simply nodded. Yes.
"Cool! I'm pretty bad at it, so I'm counting on you."
Hiro didn't answer. These kinds of interactions were enough for him. They were simple, without ulterior motives.
The teacher's instructions echoed through the room.
"Today, we're going to prepare a basic recipe: stir-fried vegetables with grilled meat. Follow the steps carefully. Anyone who has any questions, don't hesitate to come see me. Get started."
Hiro got to work without wasting any time. He grabbed a knife and began to cut the vegetables with precision. His movements were fluid, automatic. He didn't think about anything else. Focusing on a simple task helped him keep his mind steady.
But as he glanced at the nearby hotplate, everything changed.
A thin smoke rose from a pan where a student had just placed a piece of meat. The sizzle of fat, the thick smell of cooking flesh...
Hiro felt his heart skip a beat.
The scene around him blurred. The smell... that smell...
He was no longer in a classroom.
He was in the ruins of the burning temple, ten years ago.
The smell of grilled meat transformed in his mind into the atrocious smell of burning flesh. He heard his mother's distorted screams again, the creaking of collapsing beams, the unbearable heat of the flames licking at his skin.
His fingers lost their grip on the knife. The metal fell heavily onto the counter with a metallic sound that rang in his ears like a funeral knell.
Around him, the room seemed to fade away.
He was suffocating.
His stomach tightened abruptly. He backed away hastily, nearly colliding with another student.
"Hey, what's wrong?!"
Hiro didn't answer. He rushed out of the room, staggering toward the bathroom. He swung open a stall door and leaned over the bowl, vomiting violently.
The room was silent, except for the echoes of his panting breaths. Hiro ran a trembling hand over his face, feeling the cold sweat bead on his skin.
He had lost control.
For years he had been trying to maintain his mask, to crush every painful memory under the weight of routine. But that simple smell... had shattered everything in a second.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure.
Suddenly, the bathroom door burst open.
"Dude, what's wrong with you?!"
He slowly looked up and saw three familiar figures standing in the doorway.
Issei Hyoudou, Motohama, and Matsuda.
The three boys, known for their loud conversations and obsession with girls, stared at him with a mixture of bewilderment and worry.
Motohama adjusted his glasses. "We saw you running out of the room in a panic, and honestly, you looked like you had just seen a ghost."
Hiro remained silent.
Matsuda crossed his arms. "If it's a food problem, man, you should have said so before we started cooking!" he joked, laughing nervously. "No but seriously, are you okay? You look like one of those people."
Issei, for his part, was looking at Hiro with a slightly more serious look. "If you're sick or something, you need to go to the infirmary, huh."
Hiro shook his head slightly, searching for words. He knew he had to give an answer. He couldn't let anything show.
"I just got dizzy. It'll pass."
The three boys exchanged a look.
"Dude, you look like you saw something weird," Motohama murmured, intrigued.
Issei shrugged. "Well, never mind, it happens. Just don't snap at us, huh."
Hiro forced himself to keep a neutral expression. "Thanks, but I'm fine."
The three boys eventually shrugged and left the bathroom, talking among themselves.
Hiro stood there for a moment, listening to the last echoes of their voices fade away.
He closed his eyes and prayed that he wouldn't be noticed or known as weird.