His long, pointed ears twitched, catching a sound that didn't belong—a faint, elusive noise, foreign even in its subtlety.
Usually, the world hummed through him: the soft cadence of voices, the distant shuffle of feet, the near-silent chorus of existing. But this... this sound stood apart. Alien. Intentional.
His foot tapped a relentless rhythm against the ground, his fingers drumming on his thigh like a nervous metronome. He could've ignored it. Should've. But curiosity clawed at him, pulling his gaze away from Orenji, who stood frozen, confused, in his wake.
To his surprise, the sound wasn't distant. It was coming from below.
He stepped toward the bridge's edge. The noise sharpened, no longer faint—it clung to the air, vibrating with urgency. Something primal stirred in him. A tension. A panic that didn't originate from him, nor from Orenji.
It was chemical—raw, instinctive fear bleeding into the air like a silent scream.
He gripped the railing, leaning over, scanning the shadows beneath. And then it hit him—not just the dread, but the familiarity of it. The aching return of that fear, the kind that had haunted him since his so-called liberation. His mind remained a shattered mirror, shards of memory slipping through every effort to make sense of who he was before.
"You're a pretty weird guy. You know that, right?" Orenji's voice pierced the fog, grounding him.
But the noise surged again—sharper, closer. A scuffle. Urgent. Real.
He spotted them in the alleyway: three teenagers circling a boy no older than eight, cornered, clutching something to his chest like a lifeline. The child's back was to the wall, small and shaking.
That was the source.
Kiel didn't hesitate. His fingers tightening around the cold metal, he vaulted the railing—and jumped.
"Oh no," Orenji breathed, horror washing over him. He bolted to the edge, his heart hammering as he peered down. Below, the street bustled with unaware pedestrians, going about their lives as though nothing was unraveling just meters above them.
Orenji leaned in a little too close, curiosity teetering on recklessness—until—
"'RENJI, YOU MORON!" the voice exploded behind him, sending him stumbling back. "What the heck do you think you're doing?!"
It was Yukira.
She stormed toward him, arms crossed tightly, exasperation radiating off her like heat. Her tangled red hair caught the sunlight, her expression caught somewhere between rage and disbelief.
"Wait, let me rephrase that—you're an idiot," she snapped. Normally, she found his absurdity amusing, but this? This was beyond laughable.
"Are you trying to unalive yourself? Seriously?! You pull this stunt now?"
He blinked. "How long have you been standing there?"
"Long enough to watch your dumbass attempt a swan dive." She sighed and shook her head. "If you're gonna off yourself, at least do it in battle or something. Go all out in a blaze of glory. That way, your corpse'll be a little less embarrassing."
She turned away with a dramatic sigh.
"I swear, everything gets ten times harder when I'm partnered with a walking disaster."
He got to his feet, brushing himself off. "Ha ha. Hilarious."
"What?" she said, spinning back around. "You thought I was joking?"
"Any progress lately?" he deflected, steering back to the mission.
"Oh, now you care about the mission?" she snapped. "While you were busy playing chicken with gravity, I was in the library—reading. Y'know, doing the job. Found a few leads buried in the stacks. I'll drop them off at your place after school, tomorrow. Shouldn't be too much of a problem."
She started to walk off.
"And hey! I wasn't dawdling," Orenji called after her, defensiveness creeping in.
"Oh yeah?" she tossed over her shoulder. "Then what were you doing back there?"
"I was… uh… I was—Shut up, Yukira!"
She smirked, shaking her head. "When it comes down to it, to being truly stupid, I mean, you never disappoint, Orenji."
---
The alley yawned before him, long and narrow like a straw—too tight to breathe in, too dark to think.
Someone had once joked it wasn't a place to walk into with a full stomach. Kiel couldn't remember who said it. Someone important. Someone whose name had been swallowed by time.
In the half-light, two teens restrained a younger boy, his head bowed, face bruised, his shirt torn. Every mark on his skin spoke of pain and the promise of more to come. The boy looked too exhausted to even cry.
"Hey, what was it again? How many bones are in the human body?" one of the bullies asked, tightening his grip on the kid.
"I dunno," came the reply, cold and eager. Knuckles cracked like gunfire. "Let's count."
The punch never landed.
Instead, a fist from nowhere exploded into the bully's jaw, sending him reeling.
That's one, Kiel thought, calm as ever.
All heads turned. The air thickened with silence. Kiel stepped forward, quiet and unmoving, a wall of presence. His eyes, unreadable. His purpose, clear.
The second thug stepped up, trying to posture. "Who the hell are you supposed to be?"
Kiel didn't answer. Didn't need to. His silence burned hotter than any words. The teen hesitated, his confidence wavering.
Leave him alone, Kiel's stillness said.
The boy blinked back tears. The two bullies hesitated, then retreated, dragging their bruised leader with them.
But the danger wasn't over.
And then he saw him—
Six feet of muscle and menace, his reputation roared louder than his voice ever needed to. Cold eyes locked on Kiel, unblinking.
Sean Brannigan Komastu.
The name alone had a gravity. A reputation. A threat.
And he was walking straight toward Kiel.
The real fight had just begun.