I've always wondered if sorrow has a way of sniffing me out, like a hound tracking a wounded animal. My name's Halil Bozkurt—Halil, meaning "friend," and Bozkurt, the "gray wolf" of Turkish myth. A nice name, right? Strong, noble, maybe even a little cool. But names don't shield you from the world's cruelty. I never knew my parents. My first memories are of cold orphanage walls, the creak of rusty bedsprings, and the sharp sting of fists from kids who thought they could break me. By twelve, I was done with that place. I ran, fought, survived—because if you're alone in this world, you learn to take responsibility for yourself. That's how I clawed my way into a scholarship, aced exams, and landed in high school abroad. But no matter how far I run, sorrow always finds me. And it all started with her—Risa.
The air in the high school corridor was thick with the chatter of students, their voices a chaotic hum that grated on my nerves. I was sixteen, a wiry kid with a chip on my shoulder and a fire in my chest that never seemed to cool. My dark hair fell messily over my eyes, and my fists were still bruised from the last time someone thought they could mock the orphan kid with the funny name.
"Oi, Bozkurt! What kind of name is that? You some kind of dog?" a voice sneered from behind me. I didn't need to turn to know it was Mr Anyway (whose name doesn't matter), the resident jackass who thought picking on me was a personality trait. His cronies snickered, egging him on.
Patience, Halil. Patience.
I kept walking, my sneakers squeaking against the polished floor. But Mert wasn't done. "Hey, I'm talking to you, wolf boy! Bark for us!"
My vision blurred red. Before I knew it, my fist was swinging. A clean headbutt, and Mert hit the ground like a sack of potatoes, out cold. The corridor went silent, his friends gaping like fish. I didn't stick around to gloat. I stormed off, my heart pounding, anger coursing through me like wildfire. I was so caught up in my own head that I didn't see her until it was too late.
Crash.
I collided with someone, hard. My momentum sent us both stumbling, and I barely caught myself against the wall. "Hah! Watch where you're going, you—" I started, my temper flaring.
Then I saw her.
Red-orange hair spilled over her shoulders like a sunset, framing a face with delicate freckles dusting her cheeks. Her green eyes sparkled with a mix of surprise and amusement, and at 1.63 meters, she was a vision that stopped me dead. My mouth hung open, words dying in my throat.
"Are you always this charming, or is it just for me?" she teased, her voice light but with a playful edge that made my face burn.
"I—I didn't mean—" I stammered, my usual bravado crumbling. "Sorry, I just… I wasn't looking."
She smiled, and it was like the world slowed down. "It's okay. I'm Risa. And you're…?"
"Halil. Halil Bozkurt," I managed, my voice steadier now. Her name echoed in my mind. Risa. It felt like a melody I'd been waiting to hear my whole life.
"Well, Halil Bozkurt," she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, "maybe next time, try not to tackle me in the hallway, okay?"
I grinned, despite myself. "No promises."
That was the moment I knew I was done for. Risa wasn't just beautiful—she was a spark, a warmth I hadn't felt in years. For the first time, I thought maybe, just maybe, I could be more than the kid who fought his way through life alone.
Over the next few weeks, Risa became a constant in my world. We'd talk between classes, her laughter cutting through the noise of my thoughts. She had this way of making everything feel lighter, like the weight of my past didn't matter when she was around. I wasn't blind to her beauty—her curves, the way her school uniform hugged her figure, the occasional glimpse of skin when she stretched or leaned close. I'd be lying if I said it didn't drive me a little crazy. But it wasn't just that. It was her kindness, her fire, the way she'd roll her eyes at my dumb jokes but still laugh.
I wasn't the only one who noticed her, though. Mr Anyway and his gang hadn't forgotten my headbutt, and they were itching for payback. One night, after a late movie at the cinema, it came to a head.
Risa and I were walking home, the streetlights casting long shadows on the pavement. She was teasing me about my terrible taste in action flicks when I heard footsteps behind us. Too many. Too close.
"Halil," Risa whispered, her hand brushing mine. "Trouble."
I turned, and there they were—Mert and a pack of ten thugs, their faces twisted with smug confidence. One of them held a bat, another a chain. Mert smirked, cracking his knuckles. "Time to teach you a lesson, wolf boy."
My blood boiled, but I kept my cool. "Risa, stay back," I said, stepping in front of her.
"Like hell I will," she shot back, her green eyes flashing. "We're in this together."
I didn't have time to argue. The first guy lunged, swinging his bat. I ducked, grabbed his wrist, and twisted, sending him sprawling. The next one came at me with a chain, but I sidestepped, snatching it from his hands and whipping it across his legs. Two down, eight to go. I was fast, fueled by anger and something deeper—Risa's presence at my side.
But then I heard her gasp. I spun just in time to see a glint of steel. One of the thugs, a wiry guy I hadn't noticed, had a knife—and he was aiming for me. Before I could react, Risa threw herself between us.
"No!" I shouted, but it was too late. The blade sank into her stomach, and she crumpled, blood staining her shirt.
Time stopped. My vision tunneled, the world reduced to Risa's pale face and the crimson spreading across her. The thugs froze, their bravado vanishing as they realized what they'd done. I didn't care. Rage exploded in me, raw and primal. I tackled the knife-wielder, my fists a blur, not stopping until he was a heap on the ground.
"Risa!" I dropped to my knees beside her, tearing off my shirt and pressing it against the wound. Her eyes fluttered, pain etching her features, but she managed a weak smile. "You… really know how to show a girl a good time…"
"Don't talk," I growled, my voice shaking. "You're gonna be fine. I'm getting you to a hospital."
I scooped her up, her weight light in my arms, and ran. My legs burned, my lungs screamed, but I didn't stop. Something surged inside me—a strength I didn't know I had, like my body was pushing beyond its limits. I didn't question it. All that mattered was Risa.
The hospital's fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as I burst through the doors, blood-soaked and shouting for help. "She's hurt! Somebody, please!" Nurses swarmed, taking Risa from my arms and rushing her to surgery. I stood there, trembling, my shirtless chest heaving, until the world spun and darkness closed in.
A voice cut through the void, deep and resonant, like thunder rolling across a storm.
"Each power has a price. You're still too weak, kid. If you don't grow stronger, those you love will keep suffering."
I jolted awake, an IV dripping into my arm, the sterile smell of the hospital grounding me. My head throbbed, but I didn't care. "Risa," I croaked, struggling to sit up.
A nurse appeared, her expression firm but kind. "Stop. You'll collapse again if you move. Your girlfriend's resting. A doctor will update you soon."
Relief hit me like a wave, but it was short-lived. Ten minutes later, a doctor approached, his face grim. "Young-man, you're looking better. It wasn't easy getting you to bed—you're stronger than you look."
"How's Risa?" I demanded, my voice hoarse. "Please, tell me she's okay."
The doctor sighed, and my stomach dropped. "The knife wound allowed us to catch something else. Your girlfriend has cancer. Advanced. She didn't know until now. We're doing everything we can, but… she has three to four months, at most."
The word "cancer" hit like a sledgehammer. My world shattered, systems collapsing under the weight of it. I barely registered sinking back onto the bed, my vision blurring as the doctor's voice faded.
When I came to, I stumbled to Risa's room. She was there, pale but alive, her green eyes glistening with tears. Before I could speak, she smiled weakly. "Who made you cry?" I said, trying to sound tough, but my voice cracked. "Tell me, and I'll—"
She pressed a finger to my lips, silencing me. "I know you'd do anything for me, Halil. But you know why I'm crying." Her voice broke. "I wanted more time with you."
I wrapped my arms around her, tears streaming down my face. "You'll have it," I whispered, even though I knew it was a lie. "I'm not letting you go."
The next three months were a blur of stolen moments. I learned to play the guitar for her, strumming clumsy tunes that made her laugh. I drew her silly sketches, capturing her freckles and that radiant smile. We talked about everything and nothing, her warmth filling the cracks in my broken heart. But the clock kept ticking.
Her final day came too soon. She lay in the hospital bed, her hand weak in mine, but her smile was as bright as ever. "You don't know how happy you've made me," she whispered, coughing. "You're the most wonderful man I've ever met. I wish we had more time." She paused, her eyes locking onto mine. "My last wish… don't forget me, but don't close your heart. You deserve to be loved, Halil."
She closed her eyes, and the world went silent.
I took a two-year break from school, drowning my grief in sweat and pain. Push-ups, squats, runs—10, 100, 1000, it didn't matter. The numbers were just noise. The world felt too small, too heavy. I needed to escape.
One night, scrolling aimlessly online, an ad caught my eye: "Come to Kuoh High School in Japan! We value your potential, not just your scores. Scholarships available!"
Japan. The other side of the world. A fresh start, far from the ghosts of my past. I had nothing left to lose. With a deep breath, I clicked the link, my heart pounding with something I hadn't felt in years—hope.
So... what's next, Halil Bozkurt? Are you ready... real?