The afternoon sun was relentless. Its pale light spilled across the pavement like molten glass, burning into the eyes of a slim figure dragging his feet out of Kanzaki High school's gates.
Each step felt like wading through tar. The boy's shoulders hung low, his uniform wrinkled and faintly stained with old chalk dust and sweat. His brown hair was an unkempt mess, the kind of carelessness born from laziness.
But it was his eyes that told the real story. They were brown, dull, and weighed down by the heavy baggage of sleepless nights. The dark circles beneath them looked etched into his skin, as if fatigue had become a permanent part of him.
He let out a breath that was more groan than sigh.
I just want to go home.
The world didn't care. Students milled around him, laughing, gossiping, their voices blurring into a meaningless buzz. They seemed alive in ways he couldn't remember being.
His route home took him through a narrow alleyway he had crossed countless times before. At the end lay the comfort of a busy street—crowds, cars, noise. Normal life.
But midway through the alley, the world fractured.
A sharp cry rang out. Shouts. The scrape of shoes against concrete.
He slowed, turning his head. Three boys loomed in a loose circle around a smaller figure curled tightly against the ground. His arms shielded his head while his uniform trembled with each shuddering breath.
The sight lit a spark of recognition. The three standing figures—lanky, confident, their postures dripping with mockery—were second-years from Kanzaki High. Their reputations were infamous. Mischief was their polite label. In reality, they were predators who fed on weakness.
The boy on the ground was harder to place. Dark green hair cut in a bowl-shape, his thin shoulders shaking. Near him lay a dissected frog, its body grotesquely torn open, blood soaking into the concrete. A pair of rusted scissors glistened faintly red in the light.
"Disgusting freak," sneered one of the second-years, a tall blond with a buzz cut. His face had the kind of handsome sharpness that made teachers overlook his cruelty.
Something twisted at the corner of my mouth. A small smirk. A suppressed laugh.
Should I intervene? The thought was more amusement than conviction. My lips curled into a crooked grin.
"Nah. I ain't a hero."
I stepped forward, intent on passing by.
But then it happened. A fragile, trembling voice cut through the alley, slicing into my ears.
"Someone… Please help me."
The plea was quiet, but it carried. For a heartbeat, everything seemed to freeze.
I closed my eyes, exhaling a frustrated hiss.
God damn it.
My feet turned of their own accord. Step by step, I walked toward the second-years. I hated this. I hated how predictable I was. I wasn't a savior. I wasn't some knight in shining armor. But leaving him there—leaving that voice unanswered—sat like poison in my chest.
What if I had kept walking that day?
Would my life have improved?
"Hey!" My voice cut the air, flat and emotionless. "Leave the kid alone."
The blond turned, irritation already stamped on his face. His gaze sharpened as recognition hit.
"Natsuo. How about you mind your business and walk away? Or do you wanna be next?"
I met his stare without flinching. My glare was colder than I expected it to be.
I've always hated people like this. Leeches. Vultures. People who find joy in making others' lives miserable.
The two other second-years—one with dyed red hair, the other with a garish yellow—shifted uneasily, pausing their torment to look my way.
"Who the hell are you glaring at, huh?" The redhead spat.
Silence stretched. Then my fist answered for me.
I drove it straight into the blond's chest with all the force I could muster. The impact reverberated up my arm, and the boy stumbled back, gasping for air.
Retaliation was instant.
The yellow-haired one swung, a wild arc I barely ducked under. Pain blossomed in my jaw as the red-haired third caught me with a clean punch. My vision jolted, the world momentarily blurring.
By the time I steadied myself, the blond had recovered. He charged, slamming me into the wall hard enough to rattle my bones. My breath caught as I slid down to the concrete.
Instinct screamed louder than pain. I lashed out, my fist connecting squarely with his face. There was a sickening crunch. Blood trickled from his crooked nose, his eyes wide in shock.
I didn't let him recover. My foot slammed into his stomach, folding him over and sending him crashing to the ground.
The other two exchanged a glance. Fight or flight. They chose the latter. Grabbing their blond leader by the shoulders, they dragged him away in a frantic retreat.
"We gotta get outta here!" the yellow-haired one shouted as they fled toward the street.
The alley fell quiet, save for the distant hum of traffic.
I turned. The boy was still curled up, clutching his head as if the blows hadn't stopped. The dissected frog lay between us, a grotesque witness to the scene.
I crouched beside him, my voice softer this time. "Hey. It's over. They're gone. You can get up now."
Slowly, hesitantly, the boy uncurled. His green hair framed a pale, nervous face. Fear still lingered in his eyes, but it was fading, giving way to something else—relief.
"Tha–Thank you… for helping me." His voice shook. "My name is Haruki."
For a moment, silence stretched. My eyes drifted back to the frog's limp, bloody form. A question pressed itself to my tongue.
"Why were they after you?"
Haruki faltered. His lips pressed shut, then opened again. His hand trembled as he pointed at the grotesque corpse beside him.
"They were bullying me… because I was dissecting a frog."