⛧
Tok.
The sound of the front door closing broke the silence that had settled after Ashen left.
"I really think he's changing for the better. Why don't you believe in him, Hans?"
Akidia still seemed hung up on her husband's refusal to trust their son.
"He's also your son, isn't he?"
Hans massaged the bridge of his nose before answering. He knew how irrational she could get when it came to her children.
"Honey, I want to believe him; he's my son, just like you said, but it's not that simple."
He sighed wearily. "That child tends not to value what comes easily to him…" His hand dragged through his hair. "If I forgive him too fast, he might just fall back into the same old sloth. With you and Lapis doting on him, it falls on me to play the bad guy."
He shot a playful glare at his wife and daughter.
Akidia offered a sheepish smile. "So that's how it was! I really believed your acting back there, you bad husband!"
"...No, I wasn't acting back then," Hans muttered.
"I'm going after him."
Lapis suddenly took a step forward, but didn't get far before a firm hand landed on her shoulder.
"Where to, my young lady?" Hans asked with an even smile.
"I wanna be by Bro Bro's side! He must be super depressed right now, I can feel it!"
"No."
"C'mon daaad, please~"
"Not now. At least give him a day. Be a good girl and stay here with your mom."
"...Fiiine~"
⛧
Ashen wandered aimlessly through the streets.
After leaving his family's home, he first went back to his apartment, but staying there felt suffocating… every corner of the flat reminded him of Alice.
So he grabbed his headphones and decided to go for a walk. After what he had been through, even such an ordinary activity felt pleasant, especially here in Esperra; it was almost comforting.
Of course, comfort never lasted these days. His conscience made sure of that, dragging him back into the kitchen with every step. His mind replayed Hans's glare, his mother's tears, Lapis's small, shaking hands.
He cranked up the volume on his headphones.
"♪ No sorry left in my chest,
No prayer strong enough to fix my mess.
If I choke on guilt, let it burn my throat—
At least I know I paid for every note."
Ashen shut his eyes, letting the beat drown out his thoughts… but his mind had other plans.
It replayed his worst mistakes, the kind no apology could ever erase. Things that would have gotten most men disowned… if they had a family less forgiving than his.
"Haah…" His sigh was heavy, but he kept walking, forcing himself to shove down the guilt that clawed up his throat.
"♪ Hate me, love me, curse my name,
I lit my world, now I own the flame.
So if I rise or if I rot—
I'm still the one who takes the shot."
He stopped when he realized where his aimless steps had brought him: one of Esperra's less savory districts.
He knew this place well; he had haunted it back before Seravelle, back before his guilty conscience caught up to him and started acting up.
The sun was dipping now, shadows stretching long and dark across the pavement. Time to leave. He had no interest in stirring up trouble tonight.
Unfortunately, trouble had other plans. Even with his music still blasting, he felt three presences fall in behind him.
The trio had the usual low-life look: jagged haircuts, cheap tank tops, flip-flops, and the kind of tattoos that tried too hard to look menacing but ended up looking ugly instead.
At first, they didn't recognize him. Then one of them squinted, connected the dots, and muttered,
"Hey… isn't that Ash?"
"Ash, who?" one of the others frowned.
"Ashen. You know, the Ashen."
"Ah!" the third guy grinned, "You mean that crazy motherfucker?"
"♪ In my head, I'm a fighter, my chest a live wire,
My soul's the matchstick, my rage is the fire.
♫ Hard-headed, hot-headed, been called worse names,
Let 'em talk~ I got critics for days, but none of them feel my pain."
Ashen smirked faintly, almost amused. Perfect. Just when he thought the day couldn't get any worse, fate decided to hand him an outlet.
The three thugs closed in, laughter dripping with mockery.
"Yo, Ashy-boy," the one with the shaved eyebrows jeered, waving his cigarette like a conductor's baton.
"Thought you vanished, man. Where you been hidin'? Six months gone, and you missin' two games already. You know how pissed the boss is?"
The tallest of the bunch cracked his knuckles with a grin too wide for his face. "Yeah, we had ourselves some nice rounds, but nooo, Mister Russian Roulette Legend had to skip out. Kinda selfish, don't ya think?"
The third, wiry with teeth stained by years of cheap smokes, leaned in close enough for Ashen to smell the reek of sweat and alcohol.
"Boss still talks about that night, y'know. Says nobody spun the cylinder like you. One pull, no hesitation, barrel to the temple like you were born for it. That's why he calls you Mister Russian Roulette Legend."
Ashen's jaw tightened. His stomach twisted at the memory: the revolver's cold steel, the cheers, the rush that hit him harder than any drug. His one game, his one insane stunt… and it branded him forever.
He smirked thinly, hiding the bile rising in his throat. "Legend, huh? You guys really set the bar low. Guess you've gotta, considering the company you keep."
"Smartass prick!" Eyebrow-boy shoved him. "You think you're better than us? Walkin' around like some clean-slate motherfucker?"
Ashen's laugh came bitter. 'Better? I can barely stand myself.'
Out loud, he only muttered, "Better than you? That's not much of a competition, is it?"
That did it. The tall one swung first.
"GRRAAH!" His fist cut the air, but Ashen slipped sideways, fluid as water. His counterpunch crunched against ribs with a sharp THUD!
The man staggered back, spitting a curse.
Eyebrow-man rushed in next, aiming a sloppy hook.
Ashen ducked low, his knuckles slamming into the thug's gut.
"OOF!"
The air fled the man's lungs, and he doubled over with a strangled gasp.
"Fuckin' bastard!" The wiry one snarled, whipping out a knife.
He lunged with a wild stab, but Ashen caught his wrist, twisted, and smashed his elbow down.
CRACK!
The thug screamed, blade clattering to the ground.
The alley filled with noise; the dull smack of fists meeting flesh, the sharp intake of breath, curses slurred through pain.
"Shit—!"
"Motherfucker!"
"Cocksuckin'—AAAH!"
Ashen moved like a predator; every dodge and strike flowed effortlessly. Inside, though, his chest burned.
Each grunt, each scream dragged him back to that revolver, that night. 'Have I really changed…? Or is it just a different trigger with the same pull…'
Within moments, two lay unconscious in the gutter, broken bodies twitching.
The third dangled helplessly in Ashen's grip, his feet barely scraping the ground as Ashen drew his fist back again.
But a familiar sound froze him in his tracks—
Click. Clack. Click. Clack.
High heels cut through the alley's filth like a metronome. The sound didn't belong here, not with the piss-stained bricks and reek of blood. And neither did she.
Lucia stepped into view, pencil skirt clinging to her hips, white shirt crisp with its top button undone just enough to tease her blessed cleavage.
Her arms folded under her ample bosom as she halted at the alley's mouth, a silhouette of elegance against grime.
Ashen froze mid-swing. His fist hovered above the thug's face, sweat dripping from his jaw.
Two bodies lay limp at his feet; the third whimpered in his hand. There was no explaining his way out of this.
"…Ah, shit."
Lucia's lips curved the faintest fraction, her tone dry, but still somehow amused. "Shit, indeed."
"Ha-haha… I can explain…"
She tilted her head, "Honestly, Ashen. Did you miss the training grounds so much you decided to start a sparring session with Esperra's finest?"
Ashen let the thug drop, rubbing the back of his neck with a crooked grin that didn't reach his eyes. "What can I say? I thought I'd left my fan club behind."
Her heels clicked closer, unfazed by the blood and stench. "You were supposed to stay out of trouble until tomorrow. I even considered checking on you tonight… though I told myself I was being paranoid. Looks like paranoia's just good scheduling with you."
She stopped in front of him, her perfume cutting through the stench of blood and sweat.
Her eyes flicked over the carnage, then back to his face, like a scientist studying a failed specimen.
"Tell me, Ashen… is this your idea of restraint, or did you just miss the sound of bones breaking?"
Ashen swallowed, forcing his smirk back into place even as his gut twisted. 'Perfect. Beating up rats and already caught by the cat.'
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