The boy shouted one last time, louder this time. The sound echoed in the narrow alley like a desperate howl. Ehito stopped. Not because he was afraid. Not because he was impressed. Simply because he was tired — tired of hearing that irritating, pointless voice scratch at his ears like a broken record.
He turned slowly, his hands still buried deep in his pockets. His expression was blank, bored. His dark eyes were distant, like he had already predicted everything that was about to happen. A dull irritation flickered in his chest. Another idiot. Another moment wasted.
The guy stormed forward, shoulders tense, fists clenched, breathing heavy — like he'd been building up to this for days. His steps were heavy, loud, echoing in the silence of the backstreet. His eyes burned with hatred, with a pain he didn't try to hide. But behind all that rage, Ehito only saw a little boy pretending to be strong.
A breath escaped his lips. A sigh.
Then the boy charged, shouting with a ridiculous war cry that cracked halfway through. It wasn't intimidating. It was pathetic.
Ehito didn't move at first. He stood there, letting the wind from the charge brush against him, letting the moment stretch — like a pause in an orchestra before the first note.
He dodged the first punch by stepping to the side, not even looking. The attacker missed completely, stumbling forward from his own force.
Too slow.
Ehito grabbed his arm mid-motion, twisted it effortlessly, and with a flick of his wrist, slammed him to the ground. The thud echoed sharply. A gasp of pain followed — sharp, raw.
The concrete was cold beneath the boy's body. He tried to push up, but Ehito placed a foot on his back — not hard, just enough to say, "Stay down."
No expression. No anger. Just silence.
He squirmed, groaning, and Ehito let him roll over. Just curious. Just mildly entertained.
The boy stood again, wobbling, lips trembling with frustration. Then, another charge. Another desperate swing — this time a hook aimed at Ehito's head.
Ehito caught it.
With two fingers.
He looked the boy in the eye. Saw the panic rising.
Then three precise hits followed:
One to the stomach — winding him.
One to the shoulder — numbing it.
One behind the knee — collapsing him.
The boy dropped like a puppet with its strings cut.
It was boring.
Ehito crouched in front of him, face neutral.
"Why?" he asked simply.
The boy spat near his shoe, his eyes burning.
"My name is Natsuo."
Ehito blinked. That name… meant nothing.
He tilted his head slightly. "Okay. And?"
Natsuo's jaw clenched, his whole body trembling. His voice cracked.
"You… you don't remember me, do you?"
"Nope."
Natsuo growled, the sound laced with bitterness. "Of course you don't. But for him… for him, it changed everything."
Ehito raised an eyebrow. "Him?"
"My brother. Renji."
Silence.
Ehito searched his memory. The name was foggy — like a distant echo he couldn't quite catch.
Natsuo's fists dug into the gravel.
"You humiliated him. In the cafeteria. He tried to confront you in front of everyone. You didn't even raise your voice. You looked at him like he didn't exist, then tossed him across a table like trash. The whole cafeteria laughed. He hasn't come back to school since. Panic attacks. Shame. You ruined him."
Ehito was quiet for a moment. Then, finally, he spoke, his voice low.
"Oh. The loud guy with the fake confidence? Tried to threaten me with his friends? Hit the corner of the table with his face?"
Natsuo flinched.
Ehito's mouth curled into something resembling a smile — but it wasn't kind.
"I didn't ruin him. He chose the stage and tripped on his own ego."
"You destroyed him!" Natsuo barked.
"He destroyed himself," Ehito replied coldly.
Something cracked in Natsuo's expression — like a glass pane hit by a stone. He roared and charged again, his body fueled by grief more than strength.
This time, Ehito didn't move. He caught the punch mid-air, gripping it tight, locking eyes with him.
"You're angry. I get it. But anger without control is just noise."
He tightened his grip, and Natsuo yelped, falling again.
"You want me to suffer? You think I haven't? You think your brother's tears mean more than mine?"
He shoved him into the wall behind with a flick of his arm. The impact sent dust falling from the bricks. Natsuo slid to the ground, gasping, the fight draining from him.
"I've died, Natsuo. More than once. I've walked through pain you can't imagine. Buried friends. Lost parts of myself I'll never get back. And yet people like you still think I'm the villain in your little stories."
Natsuo looked up, tears threatening at the edge of his vision. His rage had begun to crack under the weight of Ehito's words.
"I just…" he whispered. "I just wanted to prove he was wrong. That no one's invincible. That even you could fall."
Ehito looked at the sky above — the narrow slice of it framed between the buildings. The stars hadn't come out yet. The light was dull, grey, fading.
"He was right about one thing," Ehito said softly. "I'm not normal."
He turned, hands still in his pockets, walking slowly toward the end of the alley. His steps were quiet. Heavy.
"But I'm tired, Natsuo. Tired of being tested."
He stopped just before the exit, glancing over his shoulder.
"You came. You fought. You lost. Go home. And if you really care about your brother, stay by his side. He needs someone. More than he needs revenge."
Then he was gone. Swallowed by the shadows.
Natsuo remained there, on his knees. Fists clenched. Defeated. But alive.
And for the first time since his brother fell, he wondered if maybe… maybe revenge wasn't strength.
Maybe it was weakness all along.
The silence in the alley grew heavier.
Natsuo sat there for a long time, the ache in his body drowned out by the storm in his chest. Ehito's words echoed inside him louder than any blow could have. His brother didn't need another fighter in his corner — he needed a brother. Someone who would sit with him when the nightmares came. Someone who wouldn't walk into battles just to feel useful.
A breeze passed through the alley. It was cold, but it carried something with it — a strange calm.
For the first time, Natsuo didn't feel hate.
He felt clarity.