Falling Into the Void
Darkness.
A suffocating, endless abyss swallowed him whole. There was no ground beneath his feet, no sky above him—only an infinite expanse of nothingness. His body felt weightless, yet unbearably heavy, like he was sinking into an ocean of shadows.
At first, there was silence. But then, a sound—faint, distant—whispers.
They weren't coming from the void.
They were coming from within him.
"Kasumi..."
The name echoed in his mind, soft at first, then louder—until it became unbearable. His breath hitched. His chest ached. His fingers trembled, reaching out for something—anything—but there was nothing to hold on to.
And then the memories flooded in.
The Beginning of the End
A bright day. A nervous boy. A trembling confession.
"Kasumi... I love you."
She had smiled at him—warm, kind, her eyes filled with something he thought was affection. She had embraced him, whispered that she felt the same. In that moment, Ayato had believed that no matter what, they would always be together.
That belief became his everything.
He worked hard, studied late into the night, pushed himself beyond his limits—all for her. He wanted to be at her side, to walk the same path, to be worthy of her.
But the warmth of those days was an illusion.
The First Fracture
A whispered rumor. A friend's laugh. A website Ayato was never supposed to see.
He remembered staring at the screen, his heartbeat hammering in his ears. The girl in the video—her face, her voice—it was Kasumi.
At first, he refused to believe it. It had to be fake. Someone must have edited it, spread lies about her. But no matter how hard he tried to deny it, the truth was there, staring back at him.
His world cracked.
But even then, even when doubt gnawed at him, he still loved her.
"Maybe... maybe she was forced."
"Maybe she was tricked."
"Maybe... I can save her."
His mind grasped at excuses, anything to justify what he saw. He convinced himself that if he just tried harder, if he just proved himself, she would come back to him.
And then he met him.
The Devil's Bargain
Takaya Ajiro.
A charming smile. A mocking gaze. The man who had taken everything from him.
Their first meeting had been at the library. Ayato had seen Kasumi sitting with him, laughing, looking at him the way she used to look at Ayato.
"Who is he?" Ayato had asked, his voice shaking.
Kasumi had only smiled, brushing off the question. But Takaya had leaned forward, his voice smooth, amused—cruel.
"Ah, so you're the little cousin." "Cute." "Kasumi's told me all about you."
Something about the way he said it made Ayato's stomach twist. But he ignored it—he had to.
Takaya called himself her "coworker," but Ayato knew that wasn't true. He had seen the videos. He had seen what Takaya did to her.
Desperate to save her, Ayato had confronted him.
"Let her go."
Takaya had laughed. Then, his hand moved, and suddenly—cold steel pressed against Ayato's cheek.
A knife.
His heart stopped. He couldn't breathe.
Takaya had leaned in, his voice a whisper in his ear.
"She doesn't need you, little boy." "You're weak."
"But... if you're so desperate, let's make a deal."
A deal.
Once a month. One night with Kasumi. A chance to be with her—for a price.
Ayato had agreed.
Because no matter what it took, no matter how much he had to endure, he wouldn't lose her.
The Slow Descent
The first time was humiliating. He wasn't enough. He could see it in her eyes, the way she barely reacted to his touch. She wasn't there for him—she was tolerating him.
So he changed himself.
He trained. He endured. He pushed himself past every boundary. And when Takaya demanded more—he obeyed.
He told himself it was all worth it.
But month after month, the truth became clearer.
Kasumi wasn't being forced. She wasn't trapped.
She chose to be there.
And then, after seven months, she looked at him with cold, uncaring eyes and said—
"I'm tired of you." "Takaya, get rid of him."
Those words shattered the last pieces of his soul.
Takaya's fist came down on him like a hammer, each blow driving him further into the dirt. Kasumi stood by, watching.
She didn't speak. She didn't help.
She just stood there.
She let it happen.
The Breaking Point
Ayato's vision blurred as he returned to the void. His body felt numb, his mind broken beyond repair.
"It was all for nothing."
All the pain, all the sacrifices—none of it mattered.
He had loved her. He had worshiped her. He had given up everything, only to be tossed aside like trash.
Rage burned inside him.
He hated her. He hated Takaya. He hated himself.
But no matter how much he wanted to fight back, no matter how much he wanted to make them pay—
He was weak.
Useless.
And now, he was dying.
As his consciousness faded, the last thing he saw was his own reflection in the void—a hollow, broken boy who had lost everything.
Darkness. Endless, suffocating darkness.
It clung to Ayato like a second skin, thick and unyielding. The hollow void stretched in every direction, swallowing everything whole. There was no pain, no sound—just the unbearable weight of nothingness.
But then, something changed.
A sensation. Distant at first, like a whisper in the wind. His body, once numb and detached, began to stir. He could feel the faintest pulse of life, the slow return of his senses. He wasn't dead.
Then came the voice.
Soft at first, muffled and indistinct. But it called to him—his name, spoken again and again, pulling him back from the abyss.
"Ayato... hey, can you hear me?"
His eyelids twitched. A spark of awareness ignited within the void, and the world around him began to shift. Shadows bled into shapes. The suffocating blackness thinned into a dim haze.
And then—light.
A dull, sterile glow. Blurred, shifting forms. A rhythmic beeping in the distance. A hospital.
Ayato's breath hitched. His body ached, a deep, bone-deep soreness spreading through his limbs. Every movement felt sluggish, like he was trapped in a body that barely belonged to him.
Slowly, he forced his head to turn.
To his left, a nurse stood beside him, quietly checking his vitals. She barely acknowledged him, focused on her routine. Further away, on another hospital bed, lay a girl—her small, fragile form wrapped in bandages, a mask over her face as she slept. She looked like she had been through hell too.
Then, Ayato turned his head to the right—and saw him.
A man sat in a chair, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp and watchful. His clothes were stained with dried blood, his hands loosely clasped together.
The moment Ayato met his gaze, the man exhaled in relief.
"Hope you're okay now."
The voice was calm, steady—yet it carried an unspoken weight.
Ayato stared, blinking slowly, his mind still sluggish. This was the man who saved him. The man who pulled him out of that nightmare. Peter.
His lips parted, but no words came.
He was alive. But why?
And more importantly—what now?
The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor filled the silence.
Ayato sat in the dimly lit hospital room, his body aching with every small movement. The nurse had just left, leaving only him and Peter in the quiet space.
He let out a shaky breath and slowly pushed himself upright, wincing as the pain flared through his muscles. His left arm—wrapped tightly in bandages—hung at his side, useless and broken. A reminder of how weak he had become.
His right eye was still hazy, his vision unfocused, but not completely gone. He brought his hand up to his face, running his fingers gently over his swollen skin. The bruises had settled deep into his flesh, reminders of fists and boots that had stomped him into the dirt.
But none of it compared to what he saw next.
His hospital gown shifted slightly as he moved, and there—peeking out beneath the fabric—were the piercings.
Cold metal against tender skin. A sickening proof of what he had been turned into.
His breath caught in his throat. His fingers trembled as he reached up, hesitating before grazing the cold rings.
Disgust.
Hatred.
The overwhelming, suffocating urge to rip them out.
Ayato clenched his jaw, his hands balling into weak fists against the hospital sheets. How did it come to this? How did he let himself be reduced to something so... vile?
A bitter laugh almost escaped his lips, but he swallowed it down. His eyes stung, but no tears came. There was no point. Crying wouldn't change anything.
After a long pause, he finally spoke. His voice was low, strained—filled with disappointment in himself.
"...Thanks, sir. For saving me."
Peter, who had been watching silently the whole time, leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. His expression was unreadable, but his sharp eyes studied Ayato carefully, as if examining every broken piece of him.
Then, Peter scoffed.
"Don't thank me, boy."
His voice was calm, yet unforgiving.
"Besides—" Peter's gaze hardened. "We have a lot of work to do."
As the quiet of the hospital room lingered, the hum of the machines and soft flickers of the overhead lights were the only sounds filling the space. Ayato, still sitting upright on the bed, couldn't shake the feeling of self-doubt gnawing at his mind. His broken arm, the piercings that marked his body as symbols of his shame, the blurred vision in his right eye—it all felt like a reflection of his broken existence.
Peter, sitting across from him, broke the silence. His voice, as always, was cool, collected—like a quiet storm waiting to unleash.
"You're still here, Ayato," Peter said, leaning back slightly in his chair, his gaze fixed on Ayato. "A lot of people would have given up by now. But you're still breathing, still hanging on."
Ayato's hands trembled slightly. He could feel the weight of Peter's words, but the fear, the self-loathing—it still felt too heavy to shrug off. "I don't know if I can do anything else," Ayato whispered, his voice betraying his vulnerability. "What if... What if I'm just too far gone?"
Peter's lips curled into a subtle smirk, the kind that could make the toughest men second-guess their resolve. "Too far gone? Nah. You're just... still trying to figure out who you really are, that's all."
Ayato's eyes flickered with uncertainty. "And you think you can help me with that? After everything... all the things I've done?"
Peter's gaze softened, just for a moment, and then he leaned forward. The air between them seemed to crackle with intensity as Peter spoke, his voice calm but unmistakably authoritative.
"I don't think you're broken, Ayato. I think you're just lost. But everybody gets a second chance, even you. People... they think they've reached the end of the road, but there's always another turn. You just have to take it." He paused, eyes narrowing slightly as he studied Ayato. "You want a chance at something real? You want to start over? I can offer you that. But it comes with a cost."
Ayato, his body stiff with unease, shifted in place. "A cost?"
Peter didn't miss a beat. "A small one. If you want to make a change, you've got to be willing to walk the line. And you're gonna have to prove it. You've been living in the shadows for so long, Ayato, it's time to step into the light. The question is, are you willing to take the first step?"
Ayato, still hesitant, nervously bit his lip. His eyes flicked downward to his chest, to the piercings he hated, symbols of everything he regretted. Peter noticed his gaze and nodded.
"Those things... they don't belong to you," Peter said, his tone colder now, but not unkind. "Take one off. Right now. Show me you're serious. It's a small thing, but it'll be your first step."
Ayato's heart raced in his chest. "But..." he stammered, looking at the piercing on his left nipple. "What if I can't... What if I'm not ready?"
Peter didn't answer right away. He simply stared at Ayato, his eyes sharp and unwavering, waiting for him to make the decision.
After what felt like an eternity, Ayato's hand shook as he slowly reached up and took hold of the piercing. With a trembling breath, he pulled it out, the cold metal slipping free from his skin. He handed it to Peter with hesitation.
Peter took it without a word, his hand steady despite the weight of the moment. He slowly closed his fingers around the small piece of metal, concealing it in his palm. His eyes flicked to Ayato, watching him carefully as if waiting for something.
Without a word, Peter slid his other hand into his jacket pocket, his fingers curling around whatever he was reaching for inside. Ayato felt his pulse quicken. The tension in the room was palpable, but Peter didn't rush. He took his time.
A few seconds passed, and then Peter pulled his hand out of his pocket. His fist was still clenched tightly, concealing whatever was inside. He didn't open it—not yet.
Ayato's breath caught in his throat. "What is that?"
Peter's voice dropped to a low whisper, full of quiet promise. "Something... to help you start over. Something to give you power."
Ayato's eyes darted to Peter's hand, but the older man just shook his head.
"Not yet," Peter said, the edge of mystery hanging in his voice. "When you're ready, Ayato, when you've earned it... You'll see what's in my hand. But until then, let's focus on what matters. You have a chance to change things. Don't let it slip away."
Ayato was left staring at Peter's closed fist, feeling a swirl of confusion, hope, and fear all at once. But one thing was certain: this was a path he never imagined walking... and Peter was offering him a chance to walk it with him.
Ayato sat in silence, his chest rising and falling with shaky breaths. His fingers twitched slightly, still feeling the phantom sting of the piercing he had removed. Across from him, Peter leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. The air between them was thick with unspoken words, heavy with the weight of a decision that would change everything.
Then, Peter spoke.
"Now," his voice was calm but carried the force of an impending storm, "you have two choices."
Ayato looked up, locking eyes with him. Peter lifted his left hand—the one holding the discarded piercing.
"One," Peter continued, his tone steady, "you take this back, and you stay like this. You remain the person you were before I found you. You go back to a life where you're powerless, where you keep running in circles, never breaking free. And if you choose this… you might never see me again."
Ayato swallowed hard. His throat was dry. He already knew he didn't want that.
Then Peter raised his other hand, the one that remained tightly closed.
"But here," Peter said, his voice dropping slightly, making Ayato lean in without realizing, "in this hand… is your future."
The way he said it made Ayato's breath hitch.
"It won't be easy," Peter warned, his voice laced with quiet intensity. "It will push you to your limits. It might even make you cough up blood. But I guarantee you this—strength, power, respect. The ability to fight back, to stand on your own two feet… and protect yourself."
The words sank deep into Ayato's bones.
"Now…" Peter leaned forward slightly, his sharp eyes piercing into Ayato's soul. "Choose."
Ayato's heart pounded in his chest. The answer was clear, but something in him still hesitated. The fear of the unknown, the fear of failure—it clawed at him. But then… he remembered. The pain, the betrayal, the helplessness of that night. He thought of Kasumi turning her back on him. He thought of Takaya and his cruel laughter.
No more.
Ayato took a slow breath, his fingers curling into a fist at his side. Then, he exhaled.
"This one," he said, his voice almost a whisper as he pointed at Peter's closed fist.
For a moment, everything was still.
Then—
SLAP!
The impact sent a sharp sting across Ayato's cheek. His head snapped to the side, his eyes wide with shock. The burn of the slap made his skin tingle, but before he could even process what just happened, a wave of fury surged through him.
"What the hell?!" Ayato spat, his anger taking over. Without thinking, he clenched his fists and swung at Peter, aiming straight for his jaw.
But—
Peter caught his fist mid-air, effortlessly stopping the strike as if it were nothing.
Ayato's breath hitched. He tensed, fully expecting a counterattack, a brutal backhand or a sharp blow to the ribs. He braced himself for pain.
But it never came.
Instead—
Peter smiled. Not a smirk, not a condescending grin, but a warm, knowing smile.
"Good," Peter said softly. "You've still got some fight left in you."
Ayato, still frozen in shock, slowly lowered his arm. His heart was pounding, not from fear, but from something else. Something unfamiliar.
Hope.
Peter let go of his fist and stood up, adjusting his coat. He turned towards the door, his footsteps calm and confident.
As he reached the exit, he paused just long enough to glance over his shoulder.
"Welcome to the S.H. Club."
And with that, Peter left the room, leaving Ayato staring after him, his mind racing with a thousand thoughts.
For the first time in a long time… he felt like something had truly changed.
And he had no idea what came next.
Ayato sat in silence, his mind still spinning from Peter's words. The room felt empty now, almost too quiet. He wasn't sure what had just happened—what he had just chosen—but something inside him told him there was no going back.
A soft knock at the door snapped him out of his thoughts.
The nurse from before walked in, holding a clipboard. "Alright, Ayato, I need to check on you again."
Ayato just nodded, his expression blank.
She moved to his bedside and began running a few tests—checking his pulse, monitoring his breathing, feeling the structure of his injured arm. Ayato sat still, letting her work.
After a few moments, she scribbled something on the clipboard and spoke in a professional yet reassuring tone. "Your arm should fully recover within a month. The damage wasn't as severe as we first thought—no broken bones, just fractures and heavy bruising."
Ayato glanced down at his arm, still wrapped in thick bandages. One month…
The nurse continued, "As for your right eye, it's just swelling from the bruising. The blurriness is normal, but if it doesn't get better in a few days, come back for a check-up."
He nodded again. He wasn't sure why, but everything she said sounded distant, like background noise in a dream.
Then, the moment she turned away, it all came rushing back.
The memories. The pain. The humiliation.
His fingers twitched. He looked down at his left hand, where the cold metal piercing still rested in his palm.
The thing he once wore without hesitation.
The thing that symbolized everything he hated about himself.
His grip tightened around it. His breathing grew heavy.
Why did I let myself become this?
The anger bubbled inside him, burning through his veins like wildfire. Before he even realized what he was doing, his arm snapped forward.
CLANK!
The piercing shot across the room, spinning like a bullet before slamming into the window.
A sharp crack split through the glass.
Ayato didn't look. He didn't need to. His chest was heaving, his fingers still curled from the force of the throw. The sound of the impact echoed in the room, but the only thing louder was the storm raging in his head.
The nurse gasped and turned back, her eyes widening as she noticed the crack in the glass—and the piercing lodged in it, sticking out like a tiny dagger.
She sighed, crossing her arms. "That was unnecessary."
Ayato blinked, finally coming back to his senses. His anger melted into shame as he realized what he had just done.
"S-Sorry…" he muttered, lowering his head.
The nurse sighed again but shook her head, letting it go. "Just… get some rest."
She walked out, leaving Ayato alone once more.
He let out a slow breath, staring at his trembling hands.
The piercing was still in the window, a permanent mark of his frustration.
But maybe… just maybe… it was also a sign.
A sign that he had finally started to let go.
On the Other Side of the Door…
Peter stood just outside the hospital room, his figure partially concealed by the shadows of the dimly lit hallway. Through the narrow glass panel of the door, he watched everything unfold.
His eyes stayed fixed on Ayato—how he clenched his fist, his fingers trembling slightly as old memories clawed their way back into his mind. He saw the way Ayato's breathing grew unsteady, the storm building inside him, the sheer frustration that twisted his face.
And then… it happened.
The piercing shot from Ayato's hand like a bullet, slicing through the air before slamming into the window with enough force to leave a crack on the glass.
Peter's gaze sharpened.
That wasn't just a reckless throw.
The angle. The speed. The force behind it.
It was instinct.
His lips curled into a faint smirk. Now we're talking.
For a few seconds, he remained still, studying the scene like a puzzle coming together in his mind. Then, slowly, he turned, slipping his hands into his pockets as he walked down the hallway. His boots tapped softly against the floor, fading into the distance.
Just before he disappeared into the shadows, his voice echoed in a whisper, meant only for himself.
"Bingo."
To Be Continued…