Part One
The first thing Renji Akira remembered was the sound of screams.
Not the playful kind that echoed in schoolyards, but the raw, desperate howls of people fighting to stay alive.
He was ten years old that night. Tokyo was bathed not in the warm glow of streetlights but in a violent storm of fire and fractured stone. A shadow moved like a phantom through the city, and every step it took sent ripples of fear through the air.
Akira's small hand was being pulled so tightly he thought his bones might break.
His mother's grip.
Her voice, breathless but sharp:
"Akira, don't let go. Whatever happens, don't let go."
His father followed just behind them, face hardened, body turned to shield them from flying debris. The ground shook with the echo of another Resonance clash—waves of invisible energy colliding, twisting the night into chaos.
Akira didn't understand what Resonance really was back then. All he knew was that people whispered about it—the power born from the deepest emotions of the heart. Some used it to protect, to heal, to build. Others… twisted it, letting hatred and despair turn it into destruction.
And tonight, destruction ruled.
They cut through alleys, feet splashing through puddles from the earlier rain. Akira's lungs burned. He tried not to cry, but his voice trembled:
"Mom… Dad… why are they chasing us? We didn't do anything wrong!"
His father's voice came low, steady, but urgent.
"Because the Black Choir doesn't need a reason."
Akira blinked. The Black Choir. He had heard whispers of them from the older kids. A cult, some said. Others claimed they were a secret society that sang the world into ruin. But this was no rumor. These were men in black hoods, their eyes glowing with Resonance madness, and they were real.
His mother's hand tightened. "Akira, listen to me. Whatever happens… you have to live. Promise me you'll live."
"I–I don't understand—"
"Promise!"
The desperation in her voice made him nod, though his throat was too tight to answer.
A sudden blast rocked the alley. Akira stumbled, his small body thrown against the wall. His vision blurred. Through the haze he saw them—three figures in black robes blocking the path, their voices low and eerie.
"The world must return to chaos. The weak… should not exist."
Akira's father stepped forward, shielding his wife and son. His eyes burned with determination even though his hands trembled.
"Akira," he whispered over his shoulder. "No matter what… you run."
The boy's chest ached. "But, Dad—"
"Run!"
The clash was instant. Resonance clashed against Resonance—except his father's was faint, flickering compared to the overwhelming wave of darkness from the Choir. There was a blinding flash of light, the sound of glass shattering, his mother screaming—
And then, nothing.
The last thing Akira saw was his parents standing like walls before him, unyielding even as the shadows consumed them.
A Week Later – Funeral
Rain. Always rain.
The scent of wet earth clung to the air as incense burned beside black-and-white photographs of his parents. Akira sat alone in the corner of the tatami room, his small hands clenched in his lap. People came and went, bowing their heads, whispering condolences that never reached his ears.
He only heard fragments.
"Poor child… both parents gone."
"Resonance… it destroyed them."
"The Black Choir grows bolder."
Every word sank into him like stones tied to his chest.
He wanted to scream. To demand why no one stopped them, why the Hane Agency hadn't come in time, why the world kept spinning while his had shattered. But his throat stayed silent.
A familiar voice broke the fog.
"…Akira."
He turned. Standing there was Ryo Takamine—his childhood friend, the boy from next door, the one who never cried even when he broke his arm climbing rooftops.
Ryo's dark eyes studied him, sharp even at their young age. He didn't kneel or pat Akira's shoulder like the adults. He just stood there, fists stuffed into his pockets.
"I heard what happened. If it were me…" His voice was steady, almost too steady. "…I would've fought them. One day, I'll be strong enough to kill people like that."
Akira's lips trembled. He wanted to tell him he was wrong, that fighting them was impossible, that his father had tried and failed. But what came out was different.
"…I just… I just want to protect. I don't want anyone else to cry like this."
For the first time, Ryo's expression softened. A smirk tugged at his lips, but his eyes were serious.
"Then you'll need to be stronger than anyone. Words alone won't save people."
Akira stared at him. In that moment, he didn't see the boy next door—he saw the rival he would chase for the rest of his life.
Five Years Later – Age Fifteen
The streets of Tokyo looked normal again. The neon signs buzzed, vendors shouted over sizzling food, and teenagers in uniforms laughed as they spilled out of shops. But to Akira, every corner of the city still whispered of that night.
He sat at a small food stall, steam rising from bowls of ramen. Beside him sat Ryo, taller now, his posture sharp, movements deliberate. Even at fifteen, Ryo's presence turned heads.
They ate in silence for a while. Finally, Akira spoke.
"Every time I walk these streets… I see them. The people with Resonance. Walking like they own the world." He slurped his noodles, scowling. "And then there's me."
Ryo didn't look up. He tore into the boiled egg with his chopsticks. "You still chasing that stupid dream?"
Akira frowned. "What dream?"
"That thing you always say. 'I want to protect everyone.'" Ryo mimicked his voice in a mocking tone, then leaned back. "You don't even have Resonance, Akira."
Akira slammed his chopsticks down. "I don't care. If I give up, then my parents really died for nothing."
For the first time, Ryo met his eyes. His gaze was sharp, almost cutting.
"…Then you better prepare yourself. Because people without power… they're the first to die."
The words stung, but Akira didn't flinch. Instead, he met his friend's gaze with equal fire.
"Then I'll just have to find another way."
The cicadas screamed across the coastal town of Hane, their endless cries filling the humid summer air. A salty wind drifted through narrow streets lined with paper lanterns and old wooden houses. On one of those streets stood a house quieter than the rest. Too quiet.
Inside, a boy sat curled up on the tatami floor, arms hugging his knees. His name was Renji Akira, just ten years old. His messy black hair fell across his eyes, but his gaze was fixed on the sliding paper door in front of him.
The voices outside weren't kind.
> "Both parents gone in a single night…"
"They say it was Resonance. Dangerous, uncontrollable."
"The Arata family… cursed, maybe. Best not to get close."
Akira pressed his forehead against his knees. He didn't cry. He couldn't. His chest felt heavy, but his eyes stayed dry.
The creak of sandals against the wooden porch broke the stillness. The paper door slid open.
A tall man stepped in, his presence filling the room like a storm cloud. His black uniform bore the silver feather emblem of the Hane Japan Resonance Agency. A scar ran down his cheek, and his eyes were steel sharp.
"Renji Akira," the man said. "I am Captain Takeshi Arakawa of the Kurogane Force. I knew your parents."
Akira's lips trembled. "Are they… really gone?"
Takeshi crouched down so his massive frame wouldn't tower over the boy. His voice was calm but carried the weight of truth. "Yes. They fell in battle last night. But they did not die in vain. They protected this town—and you."
Akira's fists tightened. "…What killed them?"
Takeshi's jaw clenched. "The Black Choir."
The name made the air colder. Akira had heard it whispered before. A cult. A nightmare. A shadow that twisted Resonance users into something monstrous.
"They came here?" Akira asked, his voice small.
"Yes," Takeshi said. "Your parents stood against them until the end. Without them, Hane would already be ash."
The boy's chest burned with something unfamiliar. Anger, grief, and something fiercer, though he didn't have a name for it.
---
The silence was cut by a scoff at the doorway.
"Tch. That's just a nice story for the weak."
Akira's head snapped up. A boy his age leaned casually against the frame, smirking. His hair was jet-black but smoother than Akira's messy strands, his eyes sharp like a hawk. A faint shimmer of blue flickered around his clenched fists.
"Kaito," Akira muttered.
Kaito Moriyama. Neighbor. Friend. Rival. Unlike Akira, Kaito had already awakened his Resonance. He bragged about it every chance he got.
"You shouldn't be here," Takeshi said, his tone hard.
"I came to check on him," Kaito said with a shrug. "Not my fault you talk like the end of some war movie."
Akira glared at him. "Why are you here, Kaito? To gloat?"
Kaito's smirk widened. "Maybe. Or maybe to remind you that crying won't change anything. Your parents were fighters, weren't they? They wouldn't want you hiding like a scared rabbit."
Akira's chest twisted. He wanted to snap back, to hit him, but words failed.
---
Takeshi's voice cut through, iron-strong. "Both of you. Listen well."
The two boys froze under his gaze.
"The Black Choir is rising. The world is shifting. Even the strongest forces in Japan can't protect every village. That is why we train the next generation."
Akira lifted his head. "…Train?"
Takeshi nodded. "Yes. When the time comes, you'll be old enough to enter an Academy. There, you'll learn to awaken your spirit, if you have the will."
Kaito crossed his arms, blue light sparking faintly around his knuckles. "Then I'll be ahead of him. I've already started."
Akira's teeth clenched. He hated the smug way Kaito said it.
Takeshi's gaze turned toward Akira again, steady and heavy as stone. "Your parents left you more than blood. They left you a choice. Remember this, Akira: the weak who rise are stronger than the strong who never fall."
The words etched themselves into his chest, searing deeper than grief.
Outside, the cicadas screamed louder, the world vibrating as if echoing unseen Resonance.
And inside that small wooden house, under a burning summer sky, Akira's childhood ended.
---