Tokyo, Japan – September 2025
Crim Kurushimi woke to the blare of his alarm, the sound cutting through the haze of another restless night. At seventeen, he carried a weight he couldn't name, his sharp features shadowed by thoughts he kept buried. He dragged himself out of bed, the mirror reflecting dark eyes and tousled hair that somehow worked. His navy school uniform hung loose on his lean frame, a testament to too many skipped meals after his mom's death a decade ago.
"Move it, Crim!" Axel's voice bounced from the hallway, bright and annoying as ever. His younger brother—born July 2, 2009, fifteen months his junior but in the same grade—leaned against the doorframe, already dressed. Axel's grin was infectious, his energy a stark contrast to Crim's quiet intensity.
"Hold your horses," Crim muttered, grabbing his bag. Downstairs, their dad, Adan Kurushimi, stood at the stove, flipping eggs with a precision that felt almost unnatural. He looked too young, barely twenty-five, his face unreadable as he slid plates across the counter. "Eat. You're not leaving hungry."
"Yes, sir," Axel said, mock-saluting. Crim just nodded, scarfing down his breakfast. Their mom, Asuka, had died when they were seven, leaving a hole Adan never filled with words. As they left, Adan's gaze lingered on Crim, heavy with something unspoken. "Stay out of trouble," he said, voice low.
The walk to school was a blur of Tokyo's morning chaos—cyclists weaving through commuters, the air sharp with autumn chill. Crim and Axel traded jabs, their steps in sync. "You ready for that history quiz?" Axel asked, dodging a salaryman.
"I'll crush it," Crim said, smirking. "Number one in the region, remember?"
Axel snorted. "Number two's catching up, big shot."
At school, they found their crew by the gates. Sato Kenji, hair gelled to perfection, was mid-rant about a girl he'd met at a convenience store. "She was totally into me!" he insisted, ignoring Suzuki Ichiro's eye-roll. Ichiro, all lean muscle and focus, looked ready to bolt for the dojo. The four had been tight since fourth grade, bound by shared detentions and a knack for chaos.
"Sato, you're dreaming," Ichiro said, adjusting his bag. "Crim, Axel, back me up."
Crim shrugged. "Let him dream. Reality'll hit soon enough."
Sato grinned, undeterred. "Speaking of reality, group date tonight. Karaoke, four girls, four guys. You're all in, right?"
Ichiro groaned. "Again?"
"It'll be epic!" Sato said. "Aimi, Yuna, Hana, Riko. Total catches. Crim, Axel, you're game, yeah?"
Crim exchanged a look with Axel, who shrugged. "Sure," Crim said. "But you're paying if it flops."
Halfway to class, they spotted trouble. A scrawny kid was backed against a wall in the courtyard, four punks—Takashi, Riku, Haruto, and Kenta—looming over him. His books were scattered, his face pale with fear.
Crim's fists clenched. "Oi," he called, striding over. "Pick on someone your own size."
Takashi, the biggest, sneered. "Buzz off, Kurushimi."
"Bathroom. Now," Crim said, voice like steel. The others followed, Axel cracking his knuckles, Ichiro's eyes narrowing. The bullies hesitated, then trailed them, knowing Crim's top-ranked status wasn't just academic.
In the bathroom, it was quick. Crim floored Takashi with a single jab to the jaw, clean and precise. Axel and Sato tag-teamed Riku, their chaotic energy overwhelming him. Ichiro, moving like a trained fighter, took down Haruto and Kenta with effortless strikes, his martial arts training evident in every motion. The punks fled, muttering curses.
"Nice," Axel said, high-fiving Sato. Ichiro just nodded, brushing off his hands.
Crim stared at the empty doorway, a strange unease settling in his gut.
The karaoke bar was a neon-lit haze, the air thick with pop music and teenage bravado. Aimi, Yuna, Hana, and Riko were already there, giggling over their drinks. Crim, Axel, and Ichiro drew their eyes instantly—girls always noticed them, their looks and confidence magnetic. Sato, though, wasn't so lucky.
"Crim, you're on the track team, right?" Aimi asked, leaning closer, her eyes bright. Yuna peppered Axel with questions about his art club, while Hana grilled Ichiro about his latest tournament. Sato tried to cut in, flashing his best grin. "Yo, Riko, you into music? I'm a killer at karaoke."
Riko glanced at him, unimpressed. "Not really," she said, turning back to Ichiro. The others smirked, Aimi whispering to Yuna, their laughter sharp. "Sato, maybe stick to the arcade," Hana said, her tone dripping with pity. Yuna added, "Yeah, this scene's not your thing."
Sato's smile faltered, his eyes dropping to the table. Crim's jaw tightened. "We're done here," he said, standing. Axel and Ichiro followed, no questions asked. Sato hesitated, then trailed after them, shoulders slumped.
"Jerks," Axel muttered as they stepped into the cool night air. Ichiro clapped Sato's back. "Forget 'em. You're better than that."
Sato forced a laugh. "Plenty of girls out there, right?"
Crim stayed silent, his unease growing. After a moment, he cleared his throat. "Ok, me and Axel are going to go home."
The group parted ways under the streetlights—Sato heading toward the subway with a wave, Ichiro vanishing into the shadows of a side street toward his dojo. Crim and Axel turned toward home, the walk quiet, the city's hum fading behind them.
At home, the house was dark, the silence oppressive. "Dad?" Crim called, pushing open the door. Axel followed, tossing his bag aside. No answer.
Suddenly, a wave of dizziness hit them both. Crim's vision blurred, the room spinning as his knees buckled. Axel grabbed at the wall, mumbling something incoherent before collapsing. Crim reached out, but darkness swallowed him too.
Crim's eyes snapped open. He was strapped to a metal table, ropes biting into his wrists. His mouth tasted of blood, a coppery sting on his tongue. Heart pounding wildly, fear gripped him like ice—he strained against the bindings in terror, his gaze falling to the floor. A pile of ash lay scattered beside him, gray and lifeless, catching the faint light.
His breath came in ragged gasps. What the hell is going on?