Day 8
Shion sat on the floor of his room.
Silence weighed down the air, so heavy it felt like even the walls were holding their breath.
Scattered around him were old books, clothes, and boxes hidden under dust.
His hand stopped at something buried in the closet. A folded white uniform.
The collar still carried the stitched letters—"Amano."
Slowly, he lifted it. A thin cloud of dust rose into the air, as if forgotten memories were being forced awake.
For a brief moment, his eyes trembled with moisture.
"…It's still here."
As his fingers brushed along the seams, a sharp flash tore through his mind.
And suddenly—he was back there.
---
Dozens of students stood in line, all dressed in white gi.
The dojo carried a heavy stillness, filled only with discipline.
In the middle stood Shion—thirteen years old. His face unreadable, yet his presence cut sharper than the rest.
From across, kando's loud voice shook the room.
"Shion Amano! The injury you gave me—I'll take revenge today!"
Shion's reply was flat.
"…Stay true to your words."
Kando glared, lips curling.
"I'll crush you so bad, you'll wish you never crawled out of your mother's womb!"
The words pierced deeper than any strike. Shion's jaw tightened, his fists trembling.
"…You shouldn't have said that."
The coach's sharp voice rang out.
"Amano vs. Kando. Begin!"
---
Kando charged first, throwing wild punches and heavy kicks. His anger echoed with every strike.
Shion stayed calm. He blocked, endured, without countering—like an ocean quietly holding back raging waves.
Then came a sharp elbow strike.
And in that instant… something inside Shion cracked.
His hand shot out, gripping Kando's wrist.
Then—three swift punches in succession.
The first—straight to his chest.
The second—slammed into his shoulder joint.
The third—full force across his face.
Kando collapsed, motionless on the floor.
The dojo froze in shock.
"AMANO! Stop!!" the coach shouted.
But Shion didn't stop. His eyes held no rage, no joy. Only an empty, exhausted stare—like a machine that had lost control.
Whispers rose from the students.
"That's Amano…"
"He's lost it…"
---
The dojo emptied. Yet Shion still sat on the floor, fists clenched tight.
A woman stepped in—his housemaid. She glanced at Shion, then turned to the coach.
"…Who are you?" the coach asked.
Her voice was respectful.
"I work at the Amano household. I came in their place."
The coach sighed, his voice tired.
"I called his parents. They didn't come?"
"They're… busy," she answered softly. "Please, tell me instead."
The coach explained everything—the loss of control, the dangerous attack. His final words fell like a verdict.
"I'm sorry… but we can't train Shion anymore. I can't take responsibility."
Her eyes clouded with concern. But she said nothing.
---
Shion's eyes snapped open. The flashback ended.
The uniform was still in his hands, his grip crushing it tightly.
"…I shouldn't go back."
He stared at the cloth for a while, then folded it carefully—before dropping it into the trash.
For a moment, his gaze lingered on the bin. Expressionless. Something inside him felt like it had broken all over again.
A faint voice echoed from deep within.
"It was only a uniform… but it reminded me. There was a time I felt human."
"…Now, I'm only Shion Amano. And that's all I'll ever be."
---
The night grew darker.
Shion lay on his bed, eyes wide open. Sleep refused to come.
He stared at the ceiling, body heavy with exhaustion. Then slowly, his vision cleared, and he caught a glimpse of his own face in the dark.
.
A shadow appeared before him.
It was his own face… but darker.
"Evil Shion."
Expressionless, sitting silently on the chair beside his bed—as if it had always been waiting.
Shion's breath grew sharp. He tried to pull away—
But the dark figure grabbed his wrist. The grip was cold, unyielding.
"What… what are you doing? Let me go!" Shion's panicked voice broke the silence.
No answer.
The figure simply sank its teeth into his hand.
A piercing pain shot through him, as if his soul itself was being bitten. Blood seemed to pour, though none was real.
"AAAHHH!!" Shion screamed. Helpless. Terrified.
The figure drank deep from the illusion of his blood, its face unchanged.
Shion's cry ripped through the dark—
And he jolted awake.
---
His chest heaved, sweat dripping down his face.
Eyes wide, he looked at his hand. No wounds. No blood.
Yet his fingers trembled uncontrollably, the phantom pain still fresh.
All around him—silence.
Only a hollow emptiness filled the room.
Inside his heart… another crack had opened.
---
"The next day vanished—erased from time, as if it had never been born at all."
Next morning.
School resumed.
The school gates loomed in front of Shion.
He took a slow breath, then stepped inside.
The corridors buzzed with chatter, groups of students laughing and whispering.
But the moment Shion passed, their voices faltered. Eyes followed him… yet no one dared to speak.
No question.
No taunts.
Only silent stares.
It felt as though an invisible wall now separated him from everyone else.
In the back of someone's mind, a thought repeated—
"Souta Minami… he told them to everyone not bother him."
But even this forced "peace" pressed heavily on Shion.
To him, attention—whether harsh or quiet—was still unbearable.
---
Lunch break.
Shion sat alone in the corner of the sports ground, staring at the sky. His blank gaze seemed to disappear into the clouds.
"Heyyy, my firecracker!"
The booming voice shattered the quiet. Souta strolled over, brimming with energy.
Shion glanced at him, expression flat.
"…You've caused me trouble."
Souta blinked, taken aback. Then his tone softened, more serious.
"Because of me… maybe. But now no one will pressure you. That's my promise."
Shion lowered his eyes.
"…Okay."
Before the silence could stretch further—
"Yo! President! What's this, another fight invite?"
Ren appeared, grinning as always.
Souta snapped back instantly.
"Can't you ever shut your egret mouth?!"
Ren burst into laughter.
"Come on, it's a habit!"
Shion watched them bicker, their voices bouncing off each other like sparks. His tone was cold, but there was a faint curiosity in his eyes.
"…Do you two always argue like this?"
"Yeah!" both of them answered at the same time.
---
Evening.
The school day had ended. At the gates, Kasumi stood quietly, her fingers fidgeting with the strap of her bag.
She waited.
Her friend Yeamori spotted her.
"Kasumi? Who are you waiting for? Let's go home!"
Kasumi hesitated, eyes flickering.
"I… still have something to do. You go ahead."
Yeamori raised a brow.
"Oh? Should I stay too?"
"N-No, really. You should go."
But Yeamori leaned closer, smirking.
"Your cheeks are red… Don't tell me—you're waiting for Shion?"
Kasumi's face turned crimson.
"It's not like that! Just go already!"
Yeamori winked and walked off.
"Fine, fine. I'm going~"
Kasumi exhaled, her heart pounding.
Then—he appeared.
Shion stepped through the gate. Their eyes met.
"Kasumi…" he said simply.
Kasumi's breath caught. She stammered,
"I-I was just about to leave."
"…Okay."
The two of them walked side by side down the quiet street. The evening breeze drifted gently between them.
Kasumi gathered her courage.
"Shion… are you feeling more comfortable now?"
"…Somewhat. But why did the students change so suddenly?"
Kasumi's voice was soft.
"Because the president asked them to. He told everyone to treat you normally."
Shion lowered his gaze, a thought stirring inside.
"Souta Minami… he's different. People listen to him. They respect him."
---Chapter 8 end---