PROLOGUE – THE TABLEAt first glance, Yokosaki High looked like it had been hit by a small war.
Third-person.
The lunch courtyard was a graveyard of overturned chairs and dented metal tables. A trash can lay on its side, still smoldering. Someone's backpack was split open, notebooks soaking in a puddle of spilled juice and blood. A half-eaten sandwich drifted slowly across the concrete in a breeze that smelled like sweat and burnt rubber.
Groans leaked from under a bench where a second-year clutched his ribs and tried to remember which direction "up" was.
And in the middle of all that?
One table.
Untouched.
Four students sat there like they were on a different planet:
A red-haired boy with his hood half up, eyes pale and unreadable.
A tall kid with half-pink, half-black hair, chewing chips like nothing mattered.
A girl with violet-blue hair, skull clip in her bangs, blowing bubbles with her gum.
And a lean boy with long legs, calmly drinking through a juice box straw, pen spinning between his fingers.
A teacher skidded into the courtyard, eyes wide.
"What happened here!?"
The wind answered. No one else did.
The four at the table exchanged a glance — too quick to read from a distance, like something passing silently along a wire.
The red-haired boy finally spoke, voice low.
"You'll need to go back to the beginning for that."
White.
The courtyard, the blood, the broken bodies — all of it drowned in white.
They told me Yokosaki Island was a "fresh start."
They said it like that meant something. Like you step onto a different patch of concrete and suddenly you're a new person. All your old fights and stupid choices? Washed away by a ferry ride and a school brochure.
The ocean didn't care.
Waves slapped against the ferry's hull in the same rhythm they always had — steady, heavy, like a pulse too slow to be human. I leaned on the railing and let the wind shove my hair around, eyes on the strip of land hanging in the distance.
Yokosaki Island.
From here it didn't look like much. A bite-mark of city against the horizon. Clustered buildings, narrow streets, a skinny port that could've been any other port.
But this was where my grandparents had shoved all their hope.
Where they'd bought me an auto shop like they were buying me a future.
Where I was supposed to stop being the kid people whispered about and start being the kid who "fixes things."
Yeah. Sure.
I tightened my grip on the railing until the metal bit into my palm and forced myself to look away from the island.
When I blinked, I saw them instead.
Red Ash.
Ichigo's laugh came back first — too loud, mixing with the echo of fists on bone. Cameron shouting orders while Desiree's knee buried itself in someone's ribs. Aiden's grin, red knuckles shining under a streetlight. Hinami and Minami shoulder-to-shoulder, same smirk, mirrored stance. Sean vaulting a fence. Richard and Mike cracking jokes mid-fight. Eino's calm voice cutting through the noise. Seguen never saying anything but always being where it mattered.
We weren't a "gang," not the way adults said it. We weren't heroes either.
We were a crew that rose when the street called.
They put our name on walls in spray paint and police reports.
Red Ash.
We ruled everything that burned.
"Transfer student?"
The ferry's speaker crackled overhead, some bored voice talking about docking procedures and school schedules. I let it wash past.
Fresh start, they said.
All I could picture was a rooftop in the North and the way Ichigo's knuckles knocked against my shoulder that last night.
"You really leaving, huh?" he'd asked.
I hadn't answered then.
I hadn't had to.
The island grew bigger in front of me. No turning back now.
I exhaled slowly, the salt air filling my lungs.
"Yokosaki, huh," I muttered.
"Let's see what you burn."
FLASHBACK – THE TALKThe last real quiet I'd had was in my grandparents' living room.
Lamplight, soft and yellow, didn't match the weight in the air. A framed photo of my parents smiled down from the wall — my mom's arm around my dad's neck, both of them frozen mid-laugh. Someone had put a little red candle under the frame. It burned low, the wax puddling out like melted memory.
I sat on the couch, arms crossed, trying not to look at the photo.
My grandpa sat across from me, hands folded, back perfectly straight even though his hair had gone all white. Grandma hovered near the kitchen archway, wiping her hands on a dish towel like she needed something to do or she'd start crying.
"There's a vocational program on Yokosaki," Grandpa said, voice soft but steady. "They take kids with skill. Not just grades."
"You mean delinquents," I said.
His mouth twitched. Not quite a smile, not quite annoyance.
"I mean kids who know how to work with their hands," he corrected. "Auto mechanics. Welding. Real trades. Real things." He nodded at my hands. "You've got that. Hands that build, not just break."
I looked down at my knuckles. The scars on them didn't agree with him.
Grandma stepped forward, eyes shining too bright.
"Your parents wanted more for you, Akira," she said. "Ever since the accident you've been… drifting. They wouldn't want that. Neither do we."
Drifting.
That's one way to talk around "street fights" and "crew wars."
I reached for the table without thinking, fingers brushing against the folded pamphlet sitting there.
YOKOSAKI VOCATIONAL HIGH – AUTO MECHANICS PROGRAM.
On the cover: some staged photo of students in clean overalls smiling over an engine that looked like it'd never seen a real problem in its life.
I snorted.
"A trade school, huh?" I asked. "You really think I can just… fix things?"
Grandpa didn't flinch.
"Start small," he said. "Fix an engine. Fix a day." His gaze didn't waver from mine. "See where it takes you."
He slid another paper forward — not glossy this time. A printed contract. A receipt.
"We bought a small auto shop on Yokosaki," he added. "It's in your name. You run it, you keep it. Something real. Something that's yours."
The words hit harder than I wanted them to.
I glanced at the photo of my parents again. My dad had grease on his cheek in it. Mom was laughing at him like she'd caught him doing something dumb.
My chest hurt.
I clicked my tongue and looked away.
"…Fine," I said finally. "I'll try."
Grandma's shoulders sagged with relief. Grandpa just nodded, like he'd expected that answer all along.
When they left me alone, the candle under my parents' frame had burned all the way down. Just a small coil of smoke rising, twisting, fading into the ceiling.
Later, I'd stood on the front porch, listening to the city at night.
The North never really slept. Sirens somewhere distant. Laughter over on Fourth Street. The faint thump of bass from a car that cost more than the house I was standing in.
I leaned on the railing, wind cold against my face, and told the dark, "I'm leaving."
It didn't answer.
The street didn't care.
But I knew someone would.
FLASHBACK – FAREWELL ON THE DOCKSIf you want to know what Red Ash looked like, picture this:
Pre-dawn fog. Dock lights buzzing. Sea air sharp enough to cut your lungs.
And a half-circle of kids who didn't know how to be anything but dangerous.
Ichigo stood in the center of them, hands in his pockets, hair a mess, eyes too awake for the hour. Eino was next to him, calm as always, hands tucked into his coat. Desiree leaned on Cameron's shoulder like she'd fall asleep if she stopped smirking. Aiden bounced on his heels like he'd fight the ocean if it splashed him wrong. Hinami and Minami mirrored each other without thinking. Sean sat on a crate, tapping his heel. Richard and Mike argued lightly about something dumb in the background. Seguen… just watched. Quiet. Always watching.
None of them said anything at first.
The ferry horn groaned somewhere behind me, impatient.
Ichigo broke the silence.
"You really leaving, huh?" he asked quietly.
I shrugged, adjusting the strap of the duffel digging into my shoulder.
"Grandparents say there's a school on some island," I said. "Bought me an auto shop out there. Figure I should try to make something clean before I completely screw it up."
Eino snorted softly.
"You? Clean?" he said. "That'll be the day."
Laughter rippled through the group, small and thin, fighting the fog.
Cameron clapped my shoulder.
"You earned it, man," he said. "The streets don't need you forever."
"Speak for yourself," Aiden cut in. "He made these streets."
Desiree rolled her eyes at him, but there was something sad at the edges of her smile.
"Don't forget us when you go play student," she said.
"You kidding?" I asked. "When I call, we rise again."
That wiped the sadness from their faces. Replaced it with something sharp. Solid.
"Till then," I added, gaze sweeping them. "Lay low. Don't get caught."
Hinami made a face. "You say that like we're not better at this than you."
"Please," Minami said. "He's just trying to sound responsible."
Ichigo stepped in close, fist bump ready, the crease of a smirk at his mouth.
"Don't make me come drag your ass back," he said.
"You could try," I answered.
We bumped fists — solid, heavy, final.
Then I turned and walked up the ferry ramp, the duffel pulling at my shoulder like the past refusing to let go.
I didn't look back until I was on deck.
By then they were already shrinking, swallowed by fog. Just shapes on a dock, standing where the land ended and everything else started.
That was the day everything began to fade.
PRESENT – ARRIVALThe ferry groaned as it bumped against the Yokosaki dock.
"Passengers, please disembark in an orderly fashion—"
The announcement echoed, pointless. Everyone moved at their own pace anyway. I slung the duffel onto my shoulder and stepped off the ramp.
Yokosaki hit different up close.
The skyline was a weird blend — old buildings with new signs. Narrow streets branching off like veins. Laundry hanging from apartment balconies. A crane swinging lazily somewhere near what I guessed was the industrial district. The ocean wrapped around it all, close enough that the air tasted like salt and gasoline.
I pulled the folded brochure from my pocket.
Same smiling kids in coveralls. Same fake clean engine.
YOKOSAKI VOCATIONAL HIGH – AUTO MECHANICS PROGRAM.
I shook my head and stuffed it away.
"Funny thing about new starts," I thought. "They never stay clean for long."
The bus that crawled up to the school was loud, half full, and smelled like cheap deodorant and old fabric. I stood instead of sitting, one hand on the overhead rail, eyes on the city as it rolled past.
Kids in uniforms loitering by convenience stores. A couple of guys in different school jackets staring a little too long at the bus as it passed. A stray dog asleep in front of a shuttered arcade.
I felt the island watching me back.
When the bus finally hissed to a stop at the school gate, I stepped off and stared up.
Yokosaki Vocational High was… bigger than I expected. Not pretty. Not ugly. Just… there. Four floors. Concrete courtyard. Rusted fence. A banner near the entrance tried to look inspirational.
"YOUR FUTURE STARTS WITH YOUR HANDS."
I almost laughed.
"Mine already did," I thought.
I walked through the gates.
FIRST DAYThe first thing I noticed was noise.
Not the good kind — not the roar of a crowd when a fight hits its peak, or the crack of a fist on bone. This was layered: teachers yelling about tardiness, kids shouting across the courtyard, sneakers slapping concrete.
Eyes.
People noticed new blood fast. Heads turned. Whispers started.
"Who's that?"
"Look at his hair…"
"Transfer, maybe?"
I kept my pace steady, duffel on my shoulder, hoodie half zipped.
A basketball hit my back.
I stopped.
It wasn't a hard hit. More like a "notice me" than an attack. The ball rolled off to the side. I turned slowly.
A group of boys in half-assed uniforms lounged a few meters away. One of them had that look — the "I've never been hit hard enough" look.
"Hey, new guy," he called. "You lost?"
The old me would've smiled, maybe rolled my shoulders, enjoyed the itch of a warm-up.
The me standing here had grandparents, a shop, and a promise to at least pretend to take this seriously.
I walked over, picked up the ball, weighed it in my hand.
"Nah," I said, flicking it back to him with just enough spin that he fumbled the catch. "Just finding my footing."
He stared like he was trying to decide if I'd just disrespected him.
Before he could finish that thought, a sharp voice cut across the courtyard.
"You there! Get to class!"
A teacher in a tired suit glared in our direction.
The group backed off with lazy shrugs.
I turned and kept walking.
CLASSROOM 2-BThey stuck me in Class 2-B.
Second-year.
Someone up in administration had looked at my file, shrugged at the gaps, and decided "close enough."
The teacher introduced me without much enthusiasm.
"We have a transfer today," he announced, scratching his balding head with a marker. "Akira… Kurogane."
Dozens of eyes turned toward me.
I shoved my hands in my pockets.
"Yo," I said.
A couple kids flinched at the pale of my eyes. They always do, the first time.
The teacher didn't bother asking me to "share a fun fact" or anything dumb like that. He just pointed at an empty seat near the window.
"Sit there. Try not to add to my problems."
Fair enough.
I slid into the seat. The desk was carved up with names and symbols from who-knows-how-many years of bored kids. Outside the window, I could see part of the courtyard, the fence, and a slice of the city beyond.
As the teacher droned about something I'd stopped caring about years ago, I let my mind drift.
North. Rooftops. Red Ash.
Ichigo's text from last night sat unread in my messages.
"You good out there, boss?"
I hadn't replied yet.
I wasn't sure what "good" even meant here.
LUNCH – STRANGERSThey didn't assign me a lunch table. Obviously.
The cafeteria was a loud mess of steel tables, plastic trays, and territorial looks. Every group had its own gravitational pull.
I grabbed whatever food was closest and walked straight through all of it.
Eyes tracked me. Some sizing me up. Some already deciding they didn't want to get involved.
A girl with violet-blue hair and a skull clip watched me over the top of her phone, gum popping between her teeth. A tall kid with half-pink, half-black hair leaned back on two chair legs, laughing at something someone had said, eyes flicking my way for half a second.
A guy by the window sat with earbuds in, ignoring everyone, pen spinning between his fingers like he was born with it there.
I clocked all of them without looking directly.
Loners recognize other loners, even in a crowd.
I took an empty table near the back, sat down, and ate like I always do in new places — fast enough to leave if I had to, relaxed enough not to look like I was ready to bolt.
That's when I felt it.
Not a stare. A thread.
Someone watching like they were trying to solve a puzzle, not start a fight.
I looked up, just for a heartbeat.
The girl with the skull clip smirked at me like she'd just found a new game.
The tall kid narrowed his eyes, assessing.
The guy with the earbuds didn't look up, but the spin of his pen stuttered for half a second.
I went back to my food.
We existed in the same room, orbiting without touching.
For now.
ROOFTOP – SUNSETBy the time the last bell rang, the weight of the day sat heavy between my shoulder blades.
I found the rooftop access without asking. Schools are all the same if you know what you're looking for — forgotten stairwells, doors teachers pretend not to notice.
The wind slapped my hoodie as I stepped out. The city spread around the school like someone had dropped a box of buildings and let them land where they wanted.
The sky above Yokosaki bled orange into red, clouds catching the light like ash caught fire.
I walked to the fence, hands in my pockets, and let it all soak in.
Down below, the courtyard buzzed with kids leaving, yelling, living. Somewhere behind me, teachers probably complained about budgets and violence and kids like me.
My phone buzzed.
Ichigo.
Again.
"You good out there, boss?"
I stared at the screen for a long moment.
On the glass, faintly reflected, I could see my own face — same hair, same pale eyes, same kid who used to stand on a different rooftop in a different city and feel invincible.
Yokosaki hadn't changed that.
Not yet.
I typed back.
"For now."
Hit send.
Slid the phone away.
The wind picked up, tugging at my hood.
"They think this place will change me," I thought.
Maybe it would.
Maybe it wouldn't.
What they didn't know was what I'd had to leave behind to step onto this island.
Or what would come looking for me when it realized I was gone.
The sun sank lower, the sky deepening into the color of cooling embers.
Yokosaki's lights flickered on one by one.
I watched until the rooftop shadows swallowed my shoes.