Kabukicho never slept. Even in the drizzle, neon signs painted the streets in harsh streaks of red, blue, and green. Every puddle reflected the chaos: people moving too fast, drunk salarymen weaving through crowds, cigarette smoke curling from doorways. The air smelled of fried food, gasoline, and wet asphalt—a mix that clung to the lungs and lingered long after leaving the streets.
Shahaan hugged his hoodie tighter around himself, shoulders hunched, trying to blend in. At fifteen, he was small for his age, wiry but fragile-looking, with gray eyes that scanned constantly for threats. Most nights, he walked these streets alone, careful to avoid trouble, careful to avoid notice. He had learned the hard way that in Kabukicho, being invisible was the only shield you could rely on.
But invisibility didn't stop the bullies.
"Oi! New guy! Slow down!"
The voice cut through the drizzle. Shahaan froze mid-step, his sneakers squeaking against the slick asphalt. He recognized the group—a trio of older boys from his school. They always seemed to know where he walked, always waiting to remind him that he didn't belong.
Shahaan swallowed, his throat dry. He kept his gaze low, taking a careful step around a puddle. But the tallest boy stepped in front of him, blocking his path, cigarette dangling from his lips.
"Thought you could sneak past, huh? Think this is your street?"
Shahaan's heart pounded. He didn't answer. There was nothing to say. Words could provoke, hesitation could provoke, running could provoke. The safest option was always the least obvious: stay calm. Keep moving. But sometimes, the world didn't give you the calm you wanted.
A shove sent him against the damp wall. Water splashed across his face, his hoodie sticking to his skin.
"Relax, new guy," the tall one said with a smirk. "We're just making sure you know your place."
Shahaan's chest heaved. He wanted to disappear. He wanted the streets to swallow him whole and pretend he wasn't there. And yet, even as fear gripped him, there was a flicker in his mind—a whisper that said he couldn't always be afraid.
He didn't know how to act on it yet.
The alley ahead was narrow and slick, lined with trash bins and the faint smell of old cooking oil. Then, chaos intervened.
From the izakaya next door, a wooden chair flew into the alley, spinning through the air, as if the city itself had thrown it. It hit one of the bullies square in the shoulder. He yelped and stumbled back, cursing. The other two froze, momentarily stunned.
Shahaan didn't hesitate. Adrenaline surged, and he ran, bare instinct guiding him. Wet asphalt slapped against his sneakers as he weaved through side streets, ducking under low-hanging signs and splashing through puddles. His lungs burned, but fear kept him moving faster than he thought possible.
He rounded a corner and skidded to a stop in front of a small dojo tucked between a ramen shop and a closed arcade. Its wooden door was old, paint peeling, but a warm, golden light spilled out into the alley. The sound of a bell inside echoed faintly, rhythmic and calm.
The door opened slowly, and a figure stepped out.
Tall, broad-shouldered, and exuding a quiet confidence, the man's gray eyes caught the neon glow. He studied Shahaan for a long moment before speaking.
"You're running like a frightened rat," he said. Calm. Almost amused. "Name's Kaito Mizushima. But I think you've got fire in you."
Shahaan swallowed, chest heaving, unsure how to respond. The fear that had dominated him all his life mingled now with something unfamiliar: curiosity.
"I… I wasn't—" he began, but Kaito held up a hand, stopping him.
"Not here to lecture. You survived tonight. That's what matters." The man's gaze softened slightly. "But you can't keep running forever. You need to learn to fight. To defend yourself. And maybe… to stand for more than just survival."
Shahaan stared at him, unsure. Rain ran down his hair and stung his eyes. The alley felt smaller now, less like a trap and more like a doorway. He didn't know what he was stepping into, only that something had shifted.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, a warning whispered. Life in Kabukicho was relentless. And one day, it would demand everything from him.
But for the first time in a long time, Shahaan didn't want to hide.
He nodded slowly, letting the words sink in. Maybe, just maybe, he was ready to learn how to fight—not just with his fists, but with everything he had.