"A Young man relives a wound that never truly healed."
---
The shards on the floor gleamed faintly, reflecting the dim light from the dusty classroom ceiling. The squeak of shoes echoed, followed by cruel laughter. In the center of the room, a girl in a torn school uniform knelt, trembling. Blood dripped from her temple. Her hands tried to cover her face, but there was no place to hide from the six looming shadows around her.
> "Come on! Eat this, you damn devil child!"
One of them—a tall girl with curly blonde hair—shoved the girl's hand, forcing shards of glass toward her lips.
In the corner of the room, someone stood frozen.
His messy hair clung to his forehead. His eyes—an odd gradient of blue and yellow—widened in horror, unable to look away. His body wouldn't move. His mouth couldn't open. He was paralyzed, forced to watch the hell that had become too familiar in silence.
That was his sister.
Akari.
He wanted to speak. To scream. But no sound came.
Only laughter filled the room, and—
> "Hold her down. I'll grab a rock!" someone said.
Another girl reached through the window, picking up a large stone without hesitation, as if this was nothing more than a game.
And just as the stone was raised above her head—
…Akira woke up.
His breath was ragged. Chest rising and falling.
Sweat dripped from his temple down to his chin.
He sat upright on a small bed with faded sheets, pulled out from a dream far too vivid.
Years had passed.
So why… why had the dream returned again and again lately?
His hands clutched the blanket. His teeth chattered—not from the cold night air, but from a guilt that refused to fade.
"Akari… I'm sorry…"
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hold back the tears.
But in the darkness of that tiny bedroom, only silence answered him.
A room with faded white walls, a dust-covered study desk, and a small world that hadn't changed in two whole years.
"AKIRA! IT'S MORNING, GO SHOWER!"
A loud voice shouted from the kitchen. Soft, but strict.
That voice snapped Akira back to reality—this world was still real.
The dream hadn't killed him yet.
He took a deep breath and slowly stood.
A small mirror in the corner showed his reflection: blue-yellow eyes, messy dark-brown hair, pale skin.
He looked like… a stranger.
"Damn it. I should've moved on by now…"
---
The scent of hot oil and sweet soy sauce greeted him the moment he opened his bedroom door.
That small kitchen radiated warmth—not just from the lit stove, but from the only person he still had left in this world: Aunt Fei.
"Took you long enough. You think hot water's free?"
Aunt Fei glanced over her shoulder while stirring fried rice in an old wok. Her voice was meant to sound stern, but her face still wore that familiar, gentle warmth.
Akira pulled out a chair and sat down, his thin black shirt clinging to his skin from the steam of the shower.
He hadn't said a word. His eyes lowered to the table—scarred with spoon marks, soy sauce stains, and old cigarette burns long abandoned since two years ago.
"Eat. So you don't look like a ghost every damn day."
Aunt Fei placed a plate of steaming fried rice in front of him, topped with a sunny-side-up egg.
Akira held the spoon. His hand felt cold. He began eating slowly, silently.
"Akira... you need to take it slow, get out of that place. It's not your fault. You were just—"
"Weak," Akira cut in softly.
His grip tightened around the spoon. His eyes stared blankly at the rice.
"I was there. I saw them push Akari. I saw them hit her. I saw… everything. But I just stood there."
"That was two years ago, kid," Aunt Fei said, taking a seat across from him.
"I know you blame yourself. But… you were just a high school student back then. You were traumatized. You were scared. That's human."
"But I'm not in high school anymore."
Akira looked up. His dual-colored eyes seemed darker than usual.
"I'm seventeen. Not in school. No job. No future. Can't even sue the ones who killed Akari because I have no money."
Silence fell over the kitchen.
Aunt Fei looked out the window. The sound of sparrows chirping on the power lines filled the still air.
"You're coming with me to the market tomorrow," she said, sipping her tea.
"Or at least go for a walk. Just around the block."
Akira swallowed his food.
"I… don't like crowded places."
"I know," Aunt Fei replied softly.
She gazed out again. A motorbike passed. Children's laughter echoed from the end of the alley.
"But you can't keep hiding in that room forever. The world won't wait for someone who never speaks."
Akira fell silent. Then slowly muttered:
"I've been looking for work."
"Good." Aunt Fei smiled into her cup. "Not because I told you to, but because you wanted to."
Akira only nodded.
He didn't want to say that, honestly, he had no idea what kind of job would suit someone like him.
Someone who couldn't stand crowded rooms, who flinched at every loud sound, who felt… wrong—even from the moment he was born.
His eyes fell to the plate.
He knew Aunt Fei was trying her best to stay by his side—the only family still willing to care after everything crumbled.
> "Thank you, Auntie."
"Don't talk with rice in your mouth. You sound like a kid."
---
That afternoon, Akira stayed in his room.
He sat on his hard little bed, staring at the worn ceiling. His fingers swiped across the cracked screen of his phone.
He put on his headset, playing the usual playlist he used to calm his mind.
But then suddenly…
the song changed.
His sister's voice began to play—soft, bright, full of hope.
> "If you're here… I'm not afraid…"
> "Cheer up, I'm right here with you…"
> "Let the world see…"
> "That we're actually happy…"
Akira froze. That song wasn't part of his playlist.
He had deleted it a long time ago.
Tears welled up and slid down his cheeks.
The tightness in his chest returned.
Every memory, every sound, every trauma—flooded back.
Something felt… wrong.
Again.
---
The song kept playing in Akira's ears.
His sister Akari's soft voice echoed through the melody—singing lyrics they had written together two years ago.
It used to be a cheerful song, light and full of hope.
But now, every word sounded like a whisper from the grave.
> "If you're here… I'm not afraid… even if the world hates me..."
Akira bowed his head. His whole body trembled.
His hands clenched the edge of the blanket.
The song was like a dull knife, slicing open a wound that never healed.
His chest tightened.
Breathing became harder.
His vision blurred from tears he never asked for.
> "Why now…" he murmured.
It felt like the room was pressing down on him from all sides—
the walls closing in,
the ceiling lowering,
and the song growing louder, echoing like a reversed scream in his skull.
And when the final verse played—
> "...if you hold my hand, I won't fall again..."
Everything—
went dark.
Silent.
No sound. No feeling. No time.
Then, in the middle of that emptiness, a single speck of light appeared—
floating far above Akira's head.
He stood—or at least, he felt like he was standing.
There was no ground, no sky.
Only blackness. And the light.
His legs felt heavy.
But he walked.
Drawn toward the light like a magnet pulling his weightless body.
As he drew closer, the light expanded.
And then suddenly—
his vision exploded.
He saw a classroom.
Faded ceiling. Wooden desks. Iron chairs that were always too cold.
And in the center of it all—
Akari.
Her small body lay collapsed on the floor, surrounded by six people.
They circled her like starving beasts.
One of them held a rock.
Another kicked her in the stomach.
Akira—standing inside the dream—could only watch.
His feet were frozen.
His voice gone.
> "AKARI!!"
Nothing came out.
Not even to himself.
His mouth opened, but only emptiness followed.
Then, suddenly—
the pain.
His gut—felt like it had been kicked.
His eyes—stabbed by needles of light.
Blood—coated his tongue.
Whatever Akari felt…
Akira felt it too.
> "Feel this, you little devil."
The woman raised the rock she had been holding, and with a swift, brutal motion—
she struck Akari in the head.
> "NOOOO!!"
Akira screamed, his voice finally slipping through.
But he fell to his knees.
His body collapsed.
His eyes squeezed shut.
Tears poured endlessly.
"Akari... I'm sorry…"
His voice barely more than a whisper.
THUD
THUD
THUD
Someone was approaching.
Soft steps. The sound of a girl's shoes.
Akira opened his eyes.
There she stood—Akari.
Wearing her crumpled school uniform.
Her long hair tied to the side.
Those blue-and-yellow eyes stared down at his broken form.
> "You failed to protect me, big brother."
Her voice was soft. But sharp as glass.
Akira stared at her in disbelief.
> "I-I... I couldn't..."
Akari knelt down, gently cupping his face with her hands.
Her fingers were cold—but tender.
She wiped his tears.
> "You promised you'd always protect me. But you did nothing."
"You didn't run. You didn't scream."
> "You just watched, big brother."
Akira sobbed. His voice cracked.
But his mouth couldn't respond.
> "People like you don't deserve to make promises."
"You're just a demon hiding inside a human shell."
Akari smiled—
but her eyes were empty.
She leaned in closer.
Forehead to forehead.
> "You'd be better off in hell."
The voice changed—deeper, darker.
That wasn't Akari anymore.
And slowly…
her body merged into his.
A white light wrapped around them.
Akari vanished—
as if she had entered Akira's soul.
---
THUD
Akira landed hard onto the grass of a sudden garden—
a place from his childhood.
Where he and Akari once played.
Now quiet.
Empty.
Like a memory fading into dust.
He screamed.
As loud as he could.
His sobs tore from his throat, raw and broken.
Then suddenly—
the sound of chains.
From all over his body, black chains burst forth—appearing from nowhere—wrapping tightly around him.
The chains felt alive—creaking, snarling, moving like wild serpents.
> Clank—clank—clank.
They coiled around Akira's torso, then slithered up—
to his chest,
to his neck,
to his face—
One final chain crept toward his mouth, about to silence him completely, when—
> "AKIRAAAA…"
The voice pierced faintly through the distance.
A white light stung his tightly shut eyelids.
His breath came in short gasps, like someone resurfacing from deep underwater—not waking from a dream.
Cold sweat soaked his back, even though the room shouldn't have been this warm.
He opened his eyes.
A familiar ceiling.
Faded curtains.
A dusty desk.
He was back in the real world.
But his heart wasn't.
His chest still ached.
His eyes still burned.
Was that just… a dream?
But it didn't feel like one.
He could still hear Akari's crying.
The sound of breaking glass.
The thunder of his own heartbeat smashing against his ribs.
"Yo."
Someone was sitting beside his bed.
Akira looked up in surprise.
A stranger sat casually in a foldable chair.
His hair was dark blue, tied loosely, and his face had a light, almost playful expression.
But beneath his right eye was a small yellow star tattoo.
He looked more like someone who just finished a cup of coffee than someone visiting a trauma survivor.
"You're awake. Good," the man said.
Near the door stood a woman.
Shoulder-length black hair, pale gray eyes like overcast rain that never stopped.
Her face was firm—almost expressionless.
Akira shivered.
He tried to sit up, but his body felt limp.
No pain.
No dizziness.
Just… weightless.
Too weightless.
"Who are you…?" he asked softly.
The man didn't answer right away.
He crossed his legs.
"That's what we should be asking. But the fact that you woke up so quickly... already tells us something."
The woman spoke next. Her voice was flat and even.
"It means you're not a Falseborn."
Akira frowned.
"A… what?"
The man raised a finger and wiggled it.
"Easy. You're not ready to handle everything at once. But let me explain slowly…"
He stood, walked to the dusty desk near the window, poured a glass of water, and handed it to Akira.
"Drink. You need fluids. Your system was... destabilized."
Akira accepted the glass, his hands trembling slightly.
The water cooled his throat.
For a moment—he felt human again.
The man stared at him, voice steady.
"You entered something called the Voidline."
"Void… what?"
The woman stepped in. Her tone was clear, sharp.
"The Voidline is an echo of rotting emotions. A shadow cast by the world's collective trauma. When emotions become too strong and are never released, the world vomits them into another plane."
"And those who get lost inside…" the man interrupted, "...break."
"They become what we call Falseborn."
Akira's eyes slowly widened.
The man came closer, gentler now—like a teacher explaining to a first grader.
"Falseborn are people who failed to stabilize their emotions.
Chains meant to seal their power grow wild instead—tearing through their bodies…
Turning them into monsters.
Monsters made of their own trauma."
"And you... survived it," the woman added, her tone slightly impressed.
"Most lose themselves completely. Or... become Falseborn."
Akira said nothing.
But his body trembled faintly.
Somehow, it all made sense.
Too much sense.
The man glanced at the woman, then sighed.
"Alright, let's skip ahead a bit. Mind if I check something?"
Akira looked at him, confused.
Without waiting for permission, the man gently pulled down the collar of Akira's shirt.
"Wha—" Akira flinched, trying to pull away.
"Relax. Just look."
Across his chest—
spanning from below the ribs, curling over his shoulder and down his back—
was a glowing symbol.
A chain.
Etched into his skin like a burn, but not painful.
Its hue shimmered faintly—blue and violet—like moonlight soaked in memory.
"Since… when?" Akira whispered.
"That's called a Chainseal," the man said.
"A mark that appears when you touch the Voidline and survive it. It only forms from your deepest trauma."
The woman lifted her chin slightly.
"The chain is unique. Two branches. Blue and violet.
It means your trauma is... complex:
loss, betrayal, and guilt."
Akira didn't answer.
But his breath shortened again.
The man stepped toward the window.
"Normally, first-time users don't make it through this phase.
Their bodies explode. Or their souls get swallowed."
He turned, gave a faint smile.
"But you came back."
"You're not a Falseborn.
You're a Chainseal bearer.
And that… means you have a choice."
The woman opened her mouth to speak—
but decided against it.
Akira remained silent.
One question echoed in his mind—
But before he could ask it—
tok! tok! tok!
The door burst open.
> "AKIRA!"
The voice struck like thunder—
cutting clean through the tension in the room.
A middle-aged woman burst into the bedroom, breath ragged, face pale with panic.
Her graying hair was a mess from rushing in.
It was Aunt Fei.
She rushed to Akira's side and wrapped him in a tight embrace, like she feared he would disappear if she didn't hold him hard enough.
"Oh God… you're awake… you're awake, sweetheart…"
Her voice trembled—
but it was filled with overwhelming relief.
Akira flinched slightly—
but he didn't pull away.
For the first time that morning,
he felt alive.
The woman with storm-gray eyes leaned quietly against the wall, resisting the urge to speak.
The blue-haired man, Aoi, folded his arms and simply watched.
"What happened?" Aunt Fei pulled back, cupping Akira's face in both hands.
"You were screaming! When I ran in, you were—god—you were clawing your own face until it bled. It looked like… like you were possessed…"
Akira's brows furrowed.
He instinctively touched his cheek—
but there was nothing there.
No wounds. No scabs. No blood.
His skin was… whole.
"I…"
Aoi stepped in quickly, saving Akira from drowning in his own confusion.
"He's stable now. The injuries… have been treated."
Aunt Fei looked at them with hesitation, her eyes flickering with distrust.
"Thank you. I mean it. If you hadn't come by earlier… given me that brochure… I don't even want to think what might've happened."
She gave a small bow. "I'm truly, truly grateful."
The gray-eyed woman responded in her calm, even tone.
"It's our duty, ma'am."
Aunt Fei hesitated.
Then, more carefully:
"I'm sorry… but who exactly are you two? I'm still uneasy about strangers—even ones who've helped us."
Aoi offered a faint smile.
"Well, the house's security system let us in, didn't it?"
Aunt Fei sighed heavily and sat on the edge of the bed.
"What matters is he's awake now. I'll… go make something to drink."
She stood up and shot them a sharp look.
"But you two… don't do anything reckless."
She left the room and shut the door behind her.
The silence that followed felt calmer…
but heavier.
Akira clutched the blanket tightly in his fists.
"Aunt Fei doesn't know what happened," he said quietly.
"And… I don't either."
"That's okay," Aoi replied.
"But there's one thing you need to understand.
You're no longer just an ordinary person."
He pulled up the chair again and sat.
From his pocket, he drew out a small medallion—
shaped like a broken ring, with a chain symbol engraved in its center.
The woman stepped away from the wall and approached.
"I know it's too soon," she said, her voice flat but not cold.
"But there are two things you must understand."
She raised two fingers.
"One. The world as you know it… is incomplete.
There are cracks. Rifts. Voidlines—dangerous zones where human trauma takes form."
"Two. Your Chainseal has awakened.
And that means… you can see those cracks.
You can enter them."
Akira stared at her.
"But… I didn't ask for this. I don't want it."
"We know," Aoi said gently.
"But the fact that you survived your Chainseal awakening… that's extremely rare."
The woman continued.
"People with trauma that deep usually lose control.
They don't come back.
They explode.
They turn into Falseborn."
Akira whispered the word under his breath.
"Falseborn…"
Aoi's tone grew darker.
"Do you know why they're dangerous?
Because they're not just monsters.
They're humans who failed to confront their memories.
Their chains grew wild—shredding their minds, deforming their bodies."
"They kill without reason, but every blow they strike—
is soaked in memory.
Every wound they cause…
is a fragment of their own pain."
The woman pointed directly at Akira's chest, where the Chainseal had burned itself into his skin.
"If you'd been trapped in that vision just a little longer…
you would've become one of them."
Akira shut his eyes.
Akari's face.
The melody.
The taste of blood.
All of it was too real.
"So… what now?
What am I supposed to do?"
Aoi rose and walked toward the window.
"You're an active Chainseal bearer.
And that means…"
He turned, a small smile on his face.
"We've come to recruit you."
The woman finally gave her name.
"We're from Division 8 — Silent Bind."
"Only those who've survived the collapse of their own soul…
can fight back against the collapse of the world."
TO BE CONTINUED.