The room was a tomb of failed expectations. Heavy curtains choked out the daylight, leaving the spacious chamber in a stagnant gloom. On one side, a pristine bed sat flush against the wall; on the other, a high-end computer glowed mockingly next to a report card bleeding with red ink—circles and crosses marking every academic sin. A massive bookshelf held hundreds of volumes like silent judges, while at the centre, sixteen-year-old Satoshi Kobayashi slumped in his chair, his eyes fixed hopelessly on the ceiling.
Buzz. Buzz.
His phone jolted him from his trance. He reached for it with leaden limbs.
"Oi, Satoshi! Why the hell didn't you wait after school?" The voice on the other end was frantic but familiar. "Get to the mountain hideout. HURRY!"
The line went dead, and for the first time in days, a genuine smile twitched on Satoshi's lips.
At the hideout—a skeletal structure of wood nestled between four ancient trees—Satoshi found Yamato wrestling with the entrance.
"Tie the rope a bit higher, Yamato, or the whole thing will sag," Satoshi called out with a grin.
Yamato adjusted the knot, wiping sweat from his brow. "Wow, I've been fighting this for fifteen minutes, and you solve it in seconds. You've got a literal eye for detail, man."
"Cut the flattery," Satoshi countered, his eyes shining with rare curiosity. "Tell me your test scores first."
Yamato's face fell. He looked at the dirt, shifting his weight. Satoshi's heart sank; he knew the sting of failure too well. "Yamato… forget it. You don't have to—"
"No, it's fine," Yamato interrupted, suddenly beaming a wide, triumphant smile. "Eighty six percent."
Satoshi's sympathy vanished instantly, replaced by a flare of familiar envy. "As always! Why did I even waste a second worrying about you?"
"So, Satoshi," Yamato pivoted, his tone softening. "What about you? You bolted right after the bell. Professor Ito was looking for you in the staff room."
"Not even close to your league," Satoshi muttered, turning back to the window frame they were lashing together. "And as for Ito, I knew he just wanted to nag me about my 'potential.' I wasn't in the mood for a lecture."
An hour of peaceful labour passed before Yamato checked the sun. "Crap, I'm late! I need to hit the market for vegetables. You coming?"
Satoshi shrugged. "Fine. My place isn't far from the market anyway."
Yamato let out a sharp, teasing laugh. "Your 'place'? You mean your palace?"
As they descended the mountain toward the bustling market road, Satoshi noticed Yamato meticulously counting coins, his brow furrowed in deep thought.
"Did you forget your wallet?" Satoshi asked innocently.
Yamato offered a tight, weary smile. "Not everyone is a prince, Satoshi. I'm just trying to make the math work so I can actually eat tonight."
The comment felt like a cold blade. Satoshi's face paled. Crap, I didn't think... I'm such an idiot, Yamato thought.
Detecting the shift in mood, Yamato tried to deflect. "Look! We're at the market. Let's go to that stall—"
Suddenly, Satoshi spotted a familiar figure in the distance. "Ito!" he hissed. He grabbed Yamato's shoulder and yanked him into the mouth of a narrow, damp alley.
"Hey! I said I was sorry for the palace comment, but what's with the—?"
"Shh! Professor Ito is right there," Satoshi whispered harshly. "I'm hiding. Go if you want, but I'm staying put."
Yamato let out a breath, his anger evaporating into an awkward chuckle. "Oh. Right. Fine, let's just wait a minute."
"Don't worry, kiddos. We'll take care of you."
The voice was like grinding gravel. Three figures emerged from the deeper shadows of the alley, reeking of cheap alcohol and malice. In the centre stood a hulking brute; to his left, a skeletal man twirling a rusted blade; to his right, a ragged man with only one arm.
"Empty your pockets," the muscular one growled.
The thin man pressed his knife against Satoshi's throat. The cold steel sent a jolt of ice through his veins. Satoshi didn't hesitate; he stripped off his expensive watch and handed over his transit money with trembling hands. Yamato, however, stood rigid, his eyes burning with silent defiance as he clutched a few crumpled bills in his fist.
Smack!
The muscular man delivered a backhand that sent Yamato to his knees. The one-armed man rifled through his clothes, finding nothing until the leader barked, "Check his hands!"
They pried his fingers open, snatching the meagre vegetable money.
"Check 'em again," the leader ordered, forcing the boys onto their knees. Satoshi looked at Yamato; blood was trickling from his friend's nose, but his gaze was fixed on a discarded iron rod nearby.
Yamato leaned in, his voice a ghost of a whisper. "Satoshi… there's a glass bottle to your left. I've got the rod. I'll take the big one and the cripple. You take the stick-man. When I move… go."
Satoshi's heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. Wait, why fight? We can just let them leave! "Wait, sto—"
It was too late. Yamato lunged.
Satoshi grabbed the glass bottle, his vision blurring with terror. He tried to jump, but his legs were lead. His breath hitched. He was too scared to move, too paralyzed to be the hero Yamato needed.
Because Satoshi froze, the thin man was free to pivot. As Yamato swung for the leader, the thin man lunged forward.
In a sickening heartbeat, the rusted knife disappeared into Yamato's chest.
Yamato hit the pavement with a dull thud. He didn't scream. He didn't move.
Satoshi crawled forward on hands and knees, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "Ya…mato?"
The ground was warm. He looked down to see his clothes soaking up a dark, spreading crimson. Yamato's eyes were wide, staring at nothing, the vibrant light of the boy extinguished in the dirt.
"What the hell!" the leader screamed, backing away from the body. "You killed him! You idiots, why did you kill the kid?!"
"Shit! He's gone! Run!"
The thugs scrambled out of the alley, their footsteps fading into the market noise. Satoshi didn't look up. He couldn't.
"Hey, Yamato… wake up. Come on, it's late."
He turned his friend over, but Yamato's head lolls back. No breath. No pulse. Just the heavy, iron scent of blood.
He's dead.
The realization hit Satoshi like a physical blow. The world turned black, and he collapsed into the pool of his only friend's blood, lost to the darkness of the alley.