The morning sunlight spilled through the cracked classroom window, stretching across dusty desks like liquid amber. Each beam trembled in the wake of the chatter, crawling over papers, chairs, and restless bodies. Then—CRACK!—a sudden sharp note tore through the haze of noise. The window shuddered violently, spiderweb fractures racing across the glass, yet the commotion barely registered in the collective consciousness of the room. Everyone but one noticed.
Stone.
Perched in the far corner, his elbow resting on the desk, his chin propped on his hand, he watched the fracture with unblinking green eyes—eyes that glinted with an unsettling precision. Sharp. Cold. Piercing. They dissected the chaos around him like a scalpel through flesh. Messy black curls fell across his forehead, brushing against high cheekbones and a jawline that had learned to carry silence like armor.
"Whoever took care of that bird as an egg… must have dropped it more than once," he muttered under his breath. The words were soft, almost lost to the rumble of whispers, but they carried a weight in the emptiness of his corner.
The classroom was alive with feverish energy. Students clustered into packs, voices rising and falling in waves of gossip and speculation. The upcoming Qualifiers Round had painted the air with tension thick enough to taste. Groups whispered about injuries, strategies, and hidden strengths, their eyes darting toward one another with suspicion and calculation.
Stone's gaze fell upon one such cluster. Their faces twisted when they realized he was watching.
"It's him… the one whose mom was hospitalized…" one sneered.
"What kind of disease could do that?" another jeered, teeth bared like predators.
Stone didn't flinch. He rarely did. He simply tilted his head, letting a faint smirk ghost across his lips. He reached for his phone, checking the time—9:21. The teacher was late. The room churned in restless anticipation, a storm yet unbroken.
Then the door slammed open, sending a ripple of air through the room. Silence fell for a heartbeat, and all eyes snapped toward the entrance.
Ben Katana appeared, pale, chest heaving, as though he had sprinted through a hurricane. Sweat beaded his temple, traced lines down his face, yet his eyes—those sharp, dark orbs—were alight with urgency. He strode forward and slammed his hands onto Stone's desk with the force of a drumbeat.
"Yo, Stone… it's—it's today… the Qualifiers Round," he gasped. Words caught in his throat as he struggled for air.
Stone raised an eyebrow, expression unreadable.
"You forgot, didn't you?" His voice was calm, a knife gliding across tension.
Ben groaned, shoulders sagging. "Yeah…"
Stone leaned back, green eyes drifting once more to the cracked window. "Don't worry. I handled it two days ago. Registration? Done."
Ben blinked, awe and exhaustion warring on his face. Stone's smirk deepened. "That championship… it's ours. Fate sealed. And the others? They'll choke on the gate we've built for them."
Ben grinned, shaking his head. "Win? Let them keep dreaming."
---
Later, the streets outside the school had shifted into something darker, sharper. Shadows pooled in corners, whispers skittered across alleys, and the air smelled faintly of iron and decay. Stone and Ben moved like ghosts, the world around them reduced to silhouettes of potential death.
Red eyes flared in the darkness—demons, snarling and twisted, clawing toward the night.
Ben cracked his knuckles, grin wide and mischievous. "Ready to get messy, Stone?"
Stone's lips curled in response. "Always."
Ben darted forward, fists a blur, striking sinew and bone with practiced violence. Each hit resonated, a percussive rhythm in the silence of the alley.
Stone followed, green light crackling around his hands like molten jade. A wave of emerald energy tore through the closest pair of demons, throwing them into the wall with a deafening crash.
"Nice shot," Ben laughed, ducking under a swipe of claws.
Stone dodged another attack, a teasing smirk on his lips. "Not bad yourself. But we're just getting started."
They moved as one, a synchronized rhythm of laughter and blood, weaving between death with effortless grace.
"Hey, Ben… you sure you're not rusty? That one barely grazed you."
Ben's grin widened. "Just letting you shine, spotlight king."
A demon lunged for Ben again. Stone twisted midair, whip of energy snapping out, sending it sprawling. "Got your back. Always."
Ben's expression softened, a rare seriousness flickering in his dark eyes. "You always have mine."
The last creature fell, writhing in shadow and emerald light.
Breathing hard, adrenaline still coursing, the two exchanged a look—equal parts triumph and exhaustion.
"Race you back to my place," Ben challenged, already moving.
Stone laughed, a low, genuine sound. "You're on."
---
Stone's apartment was warm, a sanctuary from chaos. Cinnamon and vanilla clung to the air, soft light spilling across bookshelves and well-worn furniture. His mother moved in the kitchen, careful hands setting down a small birthday cake. Her green eyes, fierce yet tender, followed the boys with a quiet affection.
Ben kicked off his shoes, grin wide. "Happy birthday, ma'am. You survived another year of this idiot."
Stone rolled his eyes, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "She's too patient."
His mother's smile was gentle, eyes flicking to Ben. "Thank you, Ben. You're always welcome here."
Ben nodded, warmth in his gaze. "Wouldn't miss it."
The room breathed with quiet laughter, the fragile comfort of home holding back the storm waiting just outside.
Stone leaned back, looking out the window. The sunlight felt softer here, safer. For a moment, the world's chaos seemed far away, and the day stretched on with the promise of laughter, blood, and inevitability.