"Stop!"
He knew the truth—there were no towering black buildings around him, no shattered red-tinted windows.
The cold wind lashed against his skin, sharp and unforgiving, while a thin mist coiled around his legs.
Was this all just an illusion? A fabrication of his mind? Or… was this a new beginning?
He stood on a rooftop, the cracked stone beneath him barely holding together. The person before him was silent.
His black hair was darker than the night itself.
"Do you… do you think this makes any sense?" Her voice was hollow, his words grasping at something, anything, to anchor himself in reality. Staring at a distant electric pole, it was the only thing he managed to say.
His pants were torn, shredded up to his thighs. His clothes weren't in any better shape.
"I… I don't know, alright?!"
The other person barely reacted, as if he's words were meaningless noise. It felt like talking to a wall. Then, the person chuckled, bringing a hand to their head.
"You don't know? Don't make me laugh! You! It's all because of you!"
The dream—if it even was a dream—ended.
But its echoes refused to leave. His head still throbbed, and the dizziness lingered.
—
Nam wandered through the school corridors. Today was the cultural festival.
Last time, the teachers had forced him to participate, but this time, he had a plan.
Because this time, his brother was with him.
Though, watching over him felt more like a chore. Despite being a typical festival, his brother had already run off to buy ice cream, leaving Nam alone for now.
A haunted house caught his attention.
"Really? They couldn't come up with a better theme?"
It was the most overused concept—an abandoned hospital. He had already seen everything the last time, so he didn't bother stopping.
His black shirt was a little uncomfortable, but manageable. His pants, cream-colored and loose, were much better.
The school halls were packed with decorations, banners, and the constant hum of voices.
"Discounts! Twenty-five percent off!"
"Haunted house—come test your courage!"
"Fortune readings! Get your future told!"
Everywhere he looked, posters advertised events and booths.
He passed by a classroom turned into a maid café.
Tables and chairs filled the room, drowning in an overwhelming amount of pink. He ignored it and kept walking. The entire school had gone all out—except for his class.
"Nam!"
Anm returned, holding a small plastic bag. He handed Nam a lollipop while unwrapping his own chocolate ice cream.
"Your change."
Nam held out his hand, still staring ahead. Anm grumbled as he shoved the coins into his palm.
"I told you to pick out the best spots. Did you?"
Nam had already forgotten that he was supposed to check them beforehand.
"They're all boring."
Anm let out an exasperated sigh before taking a bite of his ice cream. His hair was as black as Nam's, and even his outfit was similar.
"I don't think I'll ever figure out what you actually like," he muttered, then brightened. "Your class did something with swords, right? Let's go check it out!"
Nam had already placed the lollipop in his mouth, letting the sweet taste distract him as they walked down the gleaming tiled floors. He glanced at a window and sighed.
"Yeah, yeah. Let's go."
Unlike the other attractions, his class had set up a sword-fighting event.
They made their way through the white corridors, stopping at a door labeled 23-History.
Nam hesitated.
Should I even go in?
Inside, desks had been pushed together to form a makeshift ring, surrounded by ropes. Students clashed wooden swords, though only one of them looked like he knew what he was doing.
Acchi.
A top history student, but also someone talented in sports.
The teacher's desk had been shoved to the side, now stacked with wooden swords. The room wasn't too crowded—mostly just classmates hanging around.
Anm's eyes lit up as he eagerly watched the fights. Nam, however, quietly picked up one of the wooden swords.
Acchi was dominating. His tactic was simple—go for the legs first. If the opponent didn't fall, he'd aim for the upper body. But most of the time, a single leg strike was enough.
The moment his opponent hit the ground, Acchi smirked.
Nam observed quietly.
Acchi had deliberately tied back his dark cinnamon-colored hair, but his brown eyes still weren't fully visible from this distance.
Then, Acchi's voice rang through the corridor.
"Hey, you! Fight me!"
Nam instinctively turned to look at the window, assuming he wasn't the one being called.
But then—a hand landed on his shoulder.
Before he even knew what had happened, he was standing in the ring. A wooden sword in his grip.
"Huh? W-wait, what?!"
Acchi wasted no time. He launched forward, bringing his sword down with force.
Nam barely dodged by stepping back, but only because the ring was too small for proper movement.
Is this sword dull?
Acchi adjusted, shifting his stance. This time, he aimed for the torso. He lunged, swinging wide.
A mistake.
Nam raised his sword in a defensive stance, easily blocking the strike. Then, in a single, fluid motion, he swept Acchi's legs out from under him.
Acchi crashed onto the floor.
His mind blanked for a moment.
Like searching for water in an endless desert, he desperately tried to pinpoint where he had gone wrong.
"H-how did that happen?"
From where he lay, the only thing he could see was Nam's cold, unreadable gaze.
"Your legs were wide open. Your head was defenseless. And there were plenty more mistakes," Nam muttered.
But Acchi just lay there, processing his defeat.