Nothing.
And then —
her laugh.
Free.
Warm.
"I've got you."
And then —
nothing again.
I was back in the backyard.
Warm light.
Her voice carrying across the grass like it owned the air.
Something was wrong.
You feel it before it happens.
Before the sky changes.
I just didn't know what to call it yet.
The tea on Hikaru's balcony was still steaming.
An hour later.
Still steaming.
(I noticed.
I always notice.
Just never in time.)
Then the door.
The drop.
Zain.
The kitchen.
Her.
I lived through it again.
Every second.
The cold of her hand.
The silence where her heartbeat should have been.
The chocolate on the floor —
still warm.
Dreams keep the things you want to forget.
I've stopped being surprised.
I held her face.
Called her name.
It came out wrong.
Too small.
Too late.
And then —
I felt him.
I turned.
Hikaru.
Standing at the far end of the kitchen.
Still.
Silent.
His eyes on her —
then on me.
Something was in his hand.
I already knew what.
(Don't look.
Don't—)
I looked.
He didn't move.
Didn't speak.
Just —
looked at me.
The way he always looked at me.
Like he was waiting for me to understand something
I wasn't ready to understand.
The kitchen went cold.
Not empty cold.
Watching cold.
I tried to move.
My legs didn't.
I tried to speak.
My voice didn't.
I tried to scream —
(Nothing.
Nothing came out.
Just air.
Just the sound of my own breathing —
loud,
violent,
wrong.)
The distance between us stayed the same.
No matter how hard I tried.
He just —
stood there.
Watching.
Waiting.
(The damned echo.
It wouldn't stop...
"You were always too late."
"You were always—"
.
.
.
I woke up.
Gasping.
Hands gripping the mattress hard enough to hurt.
(Breathe.
You're awake.
You're sixteen.
You're in Shou's place.
The room is dark.
Normal dark.
I checked.
I always check.
Normal.
I sat up.
Pressed my palms flat against my thighs.
Shirt soaked.
(At least it's not the pants.
Small victories.)
My throat was dry.
And this echo —
still there.
Quiet now.
But there.
You were always to...
(Yeah.
I know.
You can stop.)
I needed water.
I stood up.
Cold floor.
Good.
Real.
I opened the door —
stepped into the hallway —
and stopped.
Hikaru.
Standing at the end of it.
Still.
Silent.
(I shouldn't be seeing him here.)
Him.
The hallway behind him stretched —
longer than it should.
Much longer.
(Hallways don't do that.
I know this hallway.
I've walked it a thousand times.
Which means—)
His mouth opened.
"You're still here, Kai."
I ran.
Every step —
the distance stayed the same.
The hallway kept going.
His voice followed me into the walls —
Not behind me.
Not ahead.
Everywhere.
"You were always too late."
"You were always too late."
"You were alwa—"
(It wasn't his voice anymore... It was mine. )
—
I woke up.
Again.
This time —
the scream made it out.
All of it.
I sat there—
breathing like I'd just outrun something that didn't exist.
my heart filing a formal complaint against existence.
Dream inside a dream.
Of course.
Because one wasn't enough.
Very funny.
I'm not laughing.
Silence.
Then —
"Again?"
I turned my head.
Zain.
On the bed across from mine.
On his back.
Glasses off.
Eyes on the ceiling.
He'd been awake for a while.
(He always is.)
"Two history teachers," I said.
"You're getting dumber."
"I'm getting faster."
"That's the problem."
(Beat..)
"You're sweating."
"I'm warm."
"You smell."
"That's called effort."
"That's called a shower. Try it sometime."
(Beat...)
"Zain."
"Mm."
"Shut up."
"I didn't say anything."
"You were about to."
"I wasn't—"
"You had that look"
"I don't have a look."
"Yes, you have"
(Beat...)
"...Did they catch you?"
"Almost."
"Almost meaning yes?"
"Almost meaning almost."
"So yes."
"So almost."
still him...
"You were screaming."
...
"You okay?"
(He already knew the answer He just needed to hear me lie )
"Don't."
"I'm just—"
"Zain."
"...Fine."
"Your shirt is soaked."
"I know."
"Just saying."
"I know."
"Okay."
He dropped it.
Like always.
We get close —
then pretend we didn't.
"Zain."
"What."
"You're still annoying."
"I know."
"Good."
(His mouth moved.
Small. Quick. Real.
Gone before I could pretend I didn't see it.
I saw it.
That's enough.)
"What time is it?" I said.
"Five minutes before Shou knocks."
"How do you know?"
"Because it's always five minutes before Shou."
(True.
The man doesn't own a clock.
He IS the clock.)
Silence.
"What's today's speech?" I said.
Zain thought for a second.
"Weakness is a choice."
"That was Monday."
"He recycles."
"Efficient."
"Environmentally friendly of him."
"Tuesday was good," Zain said.
"Which one?"
"Pain is just your body talking to your brain."
"And his advice?"
"Hang up."
"Solid strategy."
(Beat...)
"My personal favorite," I said, "was the one about the ground."
"'If you fall, the ground wins'?"
"The ground always wins, Zain."
"Don't tell him that."
"He knows."
"He just pretends we don't."
"You think he ever smiles?" Zain said.
"Shou?"
"Yeah."
(I thought about it.
Genuinely thought about it.
Nothing came.)
"No," I said.
"Not even alone?"
"Especially not then."
(Beat..)
"That's terrifying," Zain said.
"That's Tuesday morning," I said.
Shou knocked at 5:45.
Three times.
(Not a greeting. A countdown.)
We looked at each other.
"Weakness is a choice," Zain said.
"Then choose silence," I said.
And got up.
Shou looked at us the way he always does.
Like we're a problem he's still deciding how to solve.
His eyes moved to me.
Stayed there.
Half a second longer than Zain.
(He knows.
He always knows.
The man spent twenty years reading situations that could get him
killed.
My face at five in the morning is not a challenge.)
"Five minutes," he said.
The door closed.
Zain looked at me.
"He definitely heard you."
"He hears everything."
"You think he's going to say something?"
(I thought about it.)
"No," I said.
"How do you know?"
"Because Shou doesn't say things."
"He says things."
"He says words. That's different."
(Beat.)
"Fair," Zain said.
We ran first.
Five kilometers.
Pre-dawn.
The city still dark around us.
Cold air.
(I like this part.
Before the world wakes up.
Before it gets loud and full of people
who look at you like they expect something.
At five in the morning —
everyone's just trying to keep moving.
My kind of crowd.)
Zain ran beside me.
(He's done that since we were kids.
Some things don't need explaining.)
Combat drills after.
Shou demonstrated once.
(Once.
That's all you get.
I've never been too slow.
Not once.
It's the only thing I'm quietly proud of.
I'd never say that out loud.
Shou would just make it harder.)
Midway through —
he stopped.
Looked at me.
"With me."
He came harder than usual.
First hit —
I blocked.
Second —
I took it.
One step back.
No more.
(I'm not weak.
I'm tired.
There's a difference.)
(He can tell the difference
That's why he doesn't go easy .)
Third —
I caught his wrist.
Held it.
One second.
Let go.
Stepped back into position.
Shou looked at me.
Two seconds.
"Pain is just weakness leaving the body."
(Great. Fantastic. I'll put that on my gravestone. "Here lies Kai. He was almost empty.")
(Eight words.
From Shou —
that's a novel.
What it actually means —
I see you.
Keep going.
He'd never say that.
He doesn't have to.)
He turned and walked away.
Zain appeared beside me.
"Pain is just weakness leaving the body," he whispered.
"Don't."
"Very motivational."
"Zain."
"I feel inspired."
"I will end you."
"That would prove his point."
(I almost laughed.
Almost.
Didn't.
But it was close.)
School was —
school.
Grey.
Ordinary.
Completely indifferent to the fact that some of us barely survived the night.
(Good.
Indifferent is fine.
Indifferent doesn't ask questions.)
Takemaru was at his desk when I walked in.
He looked up.
"You look terrible."
"Thank you."
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
(Technically. Biologically. Existentially — debatable. But we don't talk about that. )
(He wanted to say something else.
I could see it.
He decided not to.
Smart.
He was always the smart one.
Just hid it behind the worrying.)
Shin dropped in four minutes late.
Early for him.
"You look like you lost a fight in your sleep."
"I won."
"You sure?"
(No.
I never win.
I just keep showing up.)
"Obviously," I said.
He grinned.
(Same grin.
Eight years and it hasn't changed.
I used to find it annoying.
Now —
it's something to count on.
Don't tell him that.)
Last period.
I was staring at the board —
or somewhere behind it —
when Ryan sat beside me.
(Ryan.
First year, same class.
Easy to be around.
The kind of person who makes silence feel less heavy.
I still haven't decided what I think of him.
And I decide things fast.
Always have.
The fact that he takes longer —
I noticed.
Filed it away.
Somewhere.)
"You're doing the stare," he said.
"What stare."
"The one that means you're somewhere else entirely."
"I'm here."
"Sensei said mitochondria five times."
"Riveting."
(Beat.)
"You sleep okay?" he said.
(Casual.
Too casual.
The kind of question you ask without thinking.
Except —
why that question.
Why now.
Filed.)
"Fine," I said.
"You sure? You look—"
"Fine, Ryan."
He nodded.
Looked back at the board.
(He dropped it too fast.
People who ask because they care —
they push a little.
He didn't.
Filed that too.)
The bell rang.
I went to my locker.
Routine.
Normal.
Dialed the combination —
opened it —
and stopped.
A ring.
Small.
Silver.
Sitting in the middle of the shelf like it belonged there.
(It doesn't.)
(Cool. Cool cool cool. Everything is fine. This is fine
The ring is fine. I am fine. None of this is fine.)
(Think. Who has this combination. Who has been here. Who—)
I picked it up.
Something about it felt —
important.
Wrong kind of important.
I turned it over.
The symbol on the outside —
small,
precise —
hit me somewhere I couldn't name.
(I know this.
From somewhere.
From the part of my memory I don't visit on purpose.)
My chest tightened.
I turned it over again.
Inside the band —
three words.
Engraved.
Small.
"We found you."
(Oh.)
(There it is.)
(Okay.
Okay.
You've had worse.
...Have you?)
(The thing sitting between my ribs just got heavier.)
"That's a cool ring."
(Ryan.)
"The symbol on it especially—"
(I'm not listening.
I'm trying to breathe.
I'm doing both badly.)
"—where'd you get it?"
I closed my hand around the ring.
Slow.
Natural.
"Shou gave it to me," I said.
(My voice came out normal.
Impressive, honestly.)
"For what?"
(For surviving.
For showing up.
For still being here.
Pick one.)
"Training thing," I said. "Don't worry about it."
He looked at me.
One second.
(Two.
I counted.
People who believe you —
they look away faster.
He didn't.)
"Cool," he said.
He smiled.
"See you tomorrow, Kai."
And walked away.
But before he turned the corner —
just for half a second —
he glanced at my hand.
Not my face.
My hand.
The one holding the ring.
(Filed.)
I closed my locker.
And stood there.
The hallway moving around me like I wasn't there.
(We found you.
Three words.
What does this mean?)
I turned it over again.
The symbol.
(I know this.
From somewhere.
From a long time ago.
From a place I swore I'd never go back to.)
....
The hallway was loud.
Alive.
I wasn't.
(I was somewhere else. Somewhere cold. Somewhere that smelled like copper… and old chocolate.)
Eight years—
and the door is still open.
Not broken.
Not forgotten.
Waiting.
I looked at the ring one last time.
(We found you.)
Not a threat.
A statement.
Of course you did.
My fingers tightened around it.
(You never really left.
That's the problem.)
"Alright," I said to no one.
"I'm coming back."
This time—
I won't look away
(To be continued)