It seemed he would remember this forever. He didn't look particularly old, but he was a wise and far-sighted old man, his blue eyes gazing thoughtfully at the green treetops, lost in thoughts of the distant past. We all have to make difficult decisions sooner or later. And it's good when there's at least some hope that the consequences will be good.
Just yesterday, he was his best friend, and today he managed to confess his true purpose in hunting a member of the Yasai family. This blond man shattered the entire picture of the previously woven world of a man who was nothing more than a resource to him.
...
Sibo walked down the street with his hands in the pockets of his denim jacket.
He turned down an alley to take a shortcut. He was in such a foul mood that he would have preferred to walk across the bridge. That always calmed Sibo down. He didn't want to pass this mood on to Bati. So Sibo trudged on, occasionally huffing like a hedgehog, grumbling under his breath, and constantly replaying his thoughts in his head. He walked and walked, gradually coming to his senses. He stood on the bridge, staring blankly into the distance, gradually calming down. He was even ready for a casserole—in Bati's company, when the universe proved unpredictable, and Murphy's Law existed and was inevitably invoked by fate at the most inopportune moments.
He was almost home. Just two alleys left—that's it! And it wasn't even evening, much less night... Several burly ragged men with pipe ends in their hands blocked the road like a human barrier. Sibo turned and froze: there was another couple standing behind him. And another one. What... What's going on? "Guys, I've got nothing," he warned. It's a shame to lose the phone, of course. But Sibo loved to fight. And he was in the right mood. The main thing was that nothing was broken. But why had they put him in this box? Sibo honestly didn't understand. He was a pauper, frankly. Everyone here was like that!
Now he remembered Bati and his efforts to bring Sibo's frail body into shape. It was Bati who had forced him to eat on schedule, not when inspiration had failed him; it was he who had kicked and urged him on, shoving dumbbells into his little paws and guiding him toward the mini-stadium where people had constructed something resembling exercise machines from pipes and boards. As a result of this truly heroic effort, Sibo's ailments receded. He first recovered from his constant runny nose and tachycardia, healed his nerves, and began to grow. In a couple of years, he had transformed from a mere sapling into a rather handsome guy with a decent figure. Sure, he wasn't exactly a muscular man, but there was something about his bones that reminded him of an adult. something Sibo secretly took pride in. He was still a long way from Bati, even out of shape…
Sibo looked around and raised his hands, clenching his fists. His heart pounded; something about this attack was wrong. He didn't know these guys, even though he knew every dog in the area. "So what?" he asked. "Six against one? You're going to come at me one at a time?" The thugs charged without the usual shouts, threats, and bravado. Silently, which was unexpectedly frightening. Sibo managed to dodge the first blow, parry the second and third, even land a good punch on the most brazen of them and kick a loser in the balls. Then someone's fist slammed into his side, and Sibo doubled over, expecting to be grabbed and kicked, but it didn't happen. A couple of shouts, blows... And silence. "Open your eyes, weakling," came a hoarse voice. Sibo opened his eyes and slowly straightened up, clutching his side: he could feel the throbbing pain and the growing bruise. The main thing was not to hurt anything. The sight was staggering: the bandits lay like a fallen army, twisted and lifeless. But there was no blood in sight.