Silence wrapped around him like a heavy cloak, settling in the wake of the fierce contest. His eyes—once a steely blue—gradually softened, returning to their natural amber hue, mirroring a mixture of exhaustion and quiet disbelief.
Sprawled across the ground, drenched in sweat, the Kaiju drew in ragged breaths—each one a testament to the battle he had just endured. Yet inside him, the storm raged on, refusing to subside.
A cry erupted, triumphant and clear, shattering the fragile stillness that had settled. It was real. Victory—his victory—had been secured.
Mouth agape, his gaze shifted to the scoreboard. There it was, undeniable proof in bold digits: his efforts had turned the tide. He had done it. Against all odds, he had changed the game.
For the first time in years, something flickered within him—hope.
Wincing, he struggled upright, clutching at his aching sides. Sweat streamed down his face. The world blurred, narrowed. He blinked hard, trying to steady himself.
What just happened?
How… did I do that?
---
Seated on a nearby bench, his thoughts spiraled, a whirlwind of questions battering his already weary mind. Each detail sharpened, replaying the pivotal moment again and again.
A dull ache throbbed behind his eyes, familiar and persistent, accompanied by fleeting flashes of memory. Then, like a puzzle piece clicking into place, clarity emerged.
He had felt this before.
It had happened again. But this time… this time, it had happened when it mattered most.
Footsteps approached. Orenji strolled over, a familiar smirk tugging at his lips.
"All right!" he exclaimed, plopping down beside him. "You're not such a klutz anymore."
"A klutz? I was never one of those," the boy replied with a quick glance, eyes searching for a reaction. "I may not be the picture of grace, but hey—I got the job done." He gestured for emphasis, then paused. "Wait… you still can't read hand signs, can you?"
Orenji blinked. "Nope."
Oh. Right.
Noticing the boy's slumped shoulders and brooding silence, Orenji let out a light sigh. "Let's just agree to disagree—you were a goof."
"What? All right, fine." The Kaiju raised his hands in mock defeat, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Maybe I was a goof. But now I'm a pro, right?"
Orenji raised an eyebrow. "Okay? Sure?"
"You want a rematch?" the boy signed, raising two fingers curiously.
"You mean like, round two?"
He nodded but quickly shook his head. Thank you, but I'll pass. He signed deftly, already lacing his shoes with practiced precision. Standing, he stretched, relishing the freedom his sneakers offered—so different from the confining skates.
"You're leaving already? Oh, come on, just one more game," Orenji pleaded, grinning.
The Kaiju touched his chin thoughtfully before signing, Tempting… but no.
A beat passed.
"Then I'll come with you," Orenji declared.
The Kaiju blinked, clearly taken aback.
"What? I've got somewhere to be too," Orenji added, slipping off his skates. Then, as if remembering something, he looked up. "Wait—I never got your name." A boyish grin spread across his face. "I'm Orenji. And you are…?"
The Kaiju froze.
No one ever asked. To him, the hoodie he wore was a shield—a disguise that let him disappear in plain sight.
"It's just a name," Orenji prompted gently. "Nothing crazy."
Still uncertain, the Kaiju weighed the consequences. Giving a name felt... oddly intimate. But he shrugged it off. Why not?
He vanished briefly, then returned holding an alphabet chart. Orenji looked at it, confused, but the Kaiju was already scanning the grid. His finger hovered over the letter K… then moved to I.
"So… K-I?" Orenji asked.
The Kaiju hesitated, then continued, selecting E, then finally L.
"K-I-E-L?" Orenji ventured aloud.
The Kaiju rubbed his eyes, thoughtful.
"So, Kiel?" Orenji repeated.
A slow, steady nod confirmed it.
"That's… actually kinda cool," Orenji said, holding out his hand. "Nice to meet you, Kiel."
Their hands met in a firm shake.
---
The wind carried the scent of evening, a soft breeze drifting through the golden light of dusk. The sun dipped low, bleeding warm colors across the sky. In that tranquil moment, the world felt… peaceful.
Kiel gazed out at the fading horizon. The sunset stirred something in him—a familiarity, a sense of home he rarely found. In its fleeting beauty, he found:
Warmth he longed for.
Colors he missed.
Hope he lost.
And the faith he needed.
"Kiel," he repeated, testing the sound. "Yeah… I like that. Solid name. Like a rock—immovable."
He turned, eyes curious. "So, what brings you here?"
Kiel tilted his head, unsure how to respond.
"I mean, you said you're not from around here. So… what are you doing in Stonehaven?" Orenji asked, leaning in.
A thousand lies surfaced, practiced and polished. But Kiel paused.
"Um, well…" he began, unsure. "I'm not exactly sure. Just… searching for something, I guess."
He trailed off. The truth was messier—buried in trauma and guarded behind a lifetime of caution. He wasn't ready to share.
But the memory of the game resurfaced. The rush of adrenaline. The way the crowd roared. The disbelief on his opponents' faces. He had faced down a team of six and emerged victorious.
The thrill was still fresh.
They walked on in silence, weaving through the bustling heart of Stonehaven. The city pulsed with energy, its streets winding like the chambers of a heart, alive with motion.
The people, carefree and bright, laughed and strolled without worry. Kiel watched them quietly, envy gnawing at his chest. If only they knew what it was like—to walk free, without fear or masks.
To them, he looked like any other teenager. But inside, chains still clung to his spirit.
Being a Kaiju meant living a lie. To survive, he had to blend in, endure the ache of rejection, and carry a label that branded him inhuman. It wasn't the life he'd dreamed of—it was the only life he had.
You either surrender… or fight.
And Kiel had always chosen to fight.
"I'll tell you something," Orenji broke the silence. "Around here, powers are everything—elemental manipulation, unique abilities, all that. My mom pushed me into Claive Academy even though I didn't have a single gift."
Kiel flinched slightly, a rare moment of vulnerability tightening in his chest. He wished he could explain—tell Orenji how hard it was to speak, how words sat trapped in his throat like stones. But he said nothing.
Orenji mistook the silence for indifference.
"You wouldn't get it," he muttered. "Forget I said anything."
He started to turn away.
But Kiel was listening.
He always listened.
Orenji's voice softened. "It's just… sometimes I feel like I'm not enough. Like I have to keep proving I matter. Rollerball distracts me. Reminds me I'm capable of something. That maybe, just maybe, I belong."
Kiel's throat tightened. The sound of boots echoing on the stone bridge snapped him back. Two officers approached.
His breath caught.
The dream. The fear. It all surged up again. Who's after me? Why? What did I do?
The memory of fire, of blood, clung to him like a curse.
He tucked his hands deep into his pockets, his shoulders slouched, his head down. He didn't move until they passed.
Unnoticed.
Safe—for now.
"I probably shouldn't dump all this on you," Orenji murmured. "You wouldn't understand."
Kiel turned away, hiding the emotion in his eyes.
But he understood more than anyone ever would.