Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

-Japan, about a dozen years ago 

Footsteps echoed in a dark alley of the city. The place looked practically dilapidated, due to the destroyed ground that looked more like a path of dirt and rubble, and the brick walls that were so old that they looked like they were about to crumble with the slightest breath that wa a bit too strong. The streets, empty of inhabitants, were dimly illuminated by the affable light of the moon, which was hidden behind the few clouds that filled the sky on that night. However, while one could have assumed that no one had been here for several years, voices resounded noisily in this not so neglected part of the town. 

If you listened carefully, you could hear the sound of glass bottles being clinked together to make a toast, as well as the voices of far too young ladies flirting openly with far too old men, who would occasionally slip a bill or two into the depths of their cleavage or between their skin and the thin fabric of the skirts or pants they had on. A woman with matt skin and black hair cascading over her bare shoulders was dancing between several middle-aged guys who were showering her with cash. If you paid even more attention, you could hear the sound of beating and brawling, sometimes ending with a loud crash that quickly brought the conflict to a conclusion. It was not really difficult to understand what this noise implied, and if you didn't understand it the first time, you would soon realize it when you would see one or two bodies being dragged here and there.

It was in this dirty and creepy environment that a young boy with black hair and equally dark eyes now lived, his skin being so white that one would have mistaken him for a dead person. Just a few months earlier, he was living in one of the largest and most expensive houses in the city, but everything had taken a turn for the worse because of the actions of his father. 

It was quite clear that this man had not made all this money legally. He hid objects and paintings in the basement of his house that were more valuable than the lives of all his employees put all together, he had strange ties to the mafia of his country, and he was closely involved in cases that led to the unexplained deaths of many of his political opponents. He was cold, and the boy could not remember ever having seen him in his entire life, just to mention how much he was absent when it came to his very own son. The only people he had ever seen before he found himself on the streets were the servants who took care of him, which were limited to people almost too old to still be working and far too afraid of their employer to make the slightest contact or discussion whatsoever with him. In short, his childhood had been very tedious. 

One day, however, everything had changed for him. His father had been found murdered in his office, collapsed on the floor, one bullet lodged in his chest and another above his right ear. The blood was slowly spreading on the carpet, giving it a beautiful crimson color. In front of this vision, the only thing that his progeny had been capable of doing was to smile while staring intensely at the scarlet stain on the ground. It was well deserved.

The problem was that all the funds in the dead man's bank account had been taken out at the same time as his life... And that he had put absolutely nothing aside for him. So he was out on the road, dead broke, and carrying his father's crimes as well as his reputation on his shoulders. It was a pretty shitty situation. 

"Damn it..." the kid grumbled. He was covered in dirt and dust, and it was hard to believe that his torn shirt had once been a white one, given the pathetic state it was in. He had a wallet in his hand, and he was going through what was in it, which consisted of a family photo, a shirt button, and barely 200 yen in change. He tore up the photo ruthlessly, throwing it miserably to the ground, before crushing the small pouch with the sole of his shoe. He had risked getting arrested by stealing this earlier that day, only to end up with something as miserable as this. "That bastard was a fucking wretch." 

The lad sighed, and let himself fall against the miraculously still standing wall that stood behind him. He ran his hand over his shirt, trying to make it look a bit less tattered, but there was nothing he could do: it was far too shredded to hope for anything. He intended to take a deep breath to calm himself, but regretted his act immediately, when he felt the infectious smell of alcohol infiltrate in his nostrils. Giving up trying to steal another purse, he decided to stop there for the moment. 

A weary breath escaped his lips as his eyelids slowly closed. His ebony-colored hair was pressed against the stone in his back, and his whole body ached. He ran his fingers along his watch, which surprisingly didn't seem to be worth much. Actually, it had been given to him by a handmaiden two years before this day, precisely for his birthday. He laughed to himself as he remembered that he was in a terrible mood that particular day, and that now his situation was truly bad. He had good memories of this woman. She was the only one to slide him some words, when they took care of his hairstyle, what she knew to do very well in spite of the savage nature of those. Also, the young boy had never received anything as a gift, and this cheap timepiece, which he could have bought a hundred of if he had wanted it at the time, really made him sympathize with her. 

When his father had found out what she had done from one of her colleagues, he had mysteriously not seen her again overnight. It had made him very angry, but not at the traitorous woman who had turned her in, or at his progenitor, but at her and himself. He couldn't believe that he had chosen to accept her charity, and that she had been stupid enough to take pity on him and risk her position. People like that always got squashed like flies. 

On these wistful thoughts, his breathing became more steady, and he finally dozed off, finding himself plunged into a restless sleep. 

"Hurry up and take what he's got." 

"You can do it yourself, if you're in such a rush! Have you seen his state? He may be dead already, so stop fretting." 

"Dare to say that again, you prick? Do I have to remind you who's in charge between the two of us?"  

"All right, I get it! But have you seen how dirty he looks? He's got to have two-hundred or three-hundred yen at best, if he hasn't been robbed by now." 

"Considering the quality of his clothing, even if they're ruined, he must at least have one or two valuable things on him. He must be some overly brave wealthy kid who ran away from his home. You're so blind, not to have noticed that." 

When the young boy awoke, he did not instantly understand what was happening to him. As he opened his eyes, he was confronted with two teenagers, one of them crouching very close. His fingers were running through his clothes without much agility, and he saw that the second person was stamping his foot and seemed irritated by the other. This was definitely not a great situation for him to be in. 

I don't have anything of much value on me anyhow, he thought. All he had to do was pretend to be asleep, and they would leave seeing that they couldn't get a thing from him. 

"Wow, look!" the first one eventually said after some time, grabbing his wrist and lifting the sleeve of his shirt without giving much consideration to its dirtiness. He raised his hand, showing it to his comrade, who let out a satisfied smile. "You were right, the kid has got some money!" 

The last one, taller and decidedly older, stepped forward to look at the watch that hung on his arm more carefully. He tapped the dial, and tugged on the strap to check the condition. 

"It's not as good quality as I would have thought, but we could easily sell it for thirty thousand yen to a sucker. Grab it quickly so we can get the hell out of here, this area sucks." 

"Your orders are... Well, orders! Wait a second, I'll unfasten it real quick.", he replied cheerfully, obviously happy to have found something they could resell. He leaned forward, grabbing the strip with his fingers that were damaged due to his poor living conditions, before frowning as he looked at his target's face. "On the other hand, are you sure he's even still asleep? Because it seems like..." 

But he did not have time to finish his sentence, as he took a violent knee blow to the jaw. Then one in the stomach. And a third right in the face. 

In just a matter of seconds, he found himself crushed to the ground. The child's knee was pressed between his shoulder blades, preventing him from getting back up, and his left hand held his neck so that his face was smashed into the dirt. The winner's throat was dry, his muscles still numb from fatigue, and his cheeks red from the effort, but his eyes were wide open and glowing with a mad rage. He had defeated his first opponent. 

"Oh well, I didn't expect that a kid from a rich family would know how to put up a fight. Still, considering the effort you put into it, it must have been your first real match", said the second young man casually, having not moved an inch seeing his teammate being hit until he ended up choked on the ground. He raised an eyebrow when he noticed that the younger man turned around quickly, getting up instantly, so as not to be vulnerable when confronted with him. 

The tall guy took a step toward him, and a smile appeared on his lips as he noted that he was tensing up and preparing for an assault. Perhaps he had finally found somebody with a little potential. 

"Besides, you don't seem to have mastered any particular fighting style. And you don't even have an amazing physique, just a little bit above the norm for other people your age. What are you, eight years old? Or perhaps you're younger?" 

He looked huge to the child, who couldn't remember ever having seen a man of such a stature. On closer examination, everything about him was out of the ordinary: his eyes were extremely light, almost more white than they were blue, and his pupils were strangely closer to gray than to black. His hair was dark, but the roots were white, as if he had dyed it improperly and it was starting to be visible. Finally, his clothes didn't look dirty, and his skin was even fairer than his own, even though he had spent his childhood cooped up. He had never seen this kind of people in real life, but he was familiar with them all the same, because of the fact that his main activity was reading at that time. 

Actually, in physical appearance, the two were not far from being total opposites. 

The smaller one clenched his fists, not having a hint of fear or hesitation in his eyes. After all, if he had defeated one so handily, the other should be about as simple. 

Then all of a sudden, he heard a laugh resounding through the narrow alleyway. 

"Don't tell me you think you can beat me just because you knocked that mongrel down! He's just a pussy, even a weakling could have taken him on. Besides, that's kind of what happened..." he chuckled as he leered at his comrade. "His only skill was that he could get his hands dirty for me without a second thought." 

He stepped closer again, now standing only inches away from him, his hands in his pockets and a infuriating expression plastered on his face. 

"I'll show you what a real face-off is supposed to look like, boy." 

And then it all happened very quickly. He barely had time to raise his arm to strike a first punch, when his opponent's foot rose up and hit him right in the stomach. He was thrown to the ground, and although he quickly got back up, he was sent to the wall where he crashed. As debris fell on him and the violence of the shock made it impossible for him to regain his senses immediately, he saw the young guy placing himself on top of him, on his back, in a posture similar to the one he had used to beat his teammate. 

Except that he did not do the same thing that he had done. 

He grabbed his hair, seizing his black locks to draw his head back with a strength that one would think a teenager incapable of demonstrating. And he pulled. 

The boy's eyes went wide in surprise as he felt his neck bend unnaturally to the side. His arm went around, forming a hook, which prevented him from taking breaths. If he didn't do something, he was going to wring his neck. 

"I'll let you go if you beg me to do so." 

The pressure was getting stronger and stronger. Both of the boy's arms were held by the other in front of his head, preventing him from striking or even moving them, and his legs were completely immobilized by the older man's force. He looked around, trying to get out of this mess, searching for something he could use, but he saw nothing but a few pieces of wall out of his reach. He could not even bite the other's arm, because it was placed under his chin, making him unable of moving his head. 

He eventually resigned himself to speak, opening his mouth, under the glance of satisfaction and amusement of the albino. He waited some more, not deciding to act in despite of the insurmountable pain which assailed him, and the lack of air which was more and more feelable with each second that went by. He gritted his teeth, holding back from letting anything pass the barrier of his lips. 

The boy with the light eyes, frustrated by the wait, tightened his grip so hard that the boy thought that he was going to die on the spot. But he still held back from saying anything to satisfy him. 

"Make up your mind, kid, or I'll really kill you", he warned him, annoyed. 

And then, a weak smile appeared on the face of the defeated one, who turned his face as much as he could to meet the gaze of his aggressor. He stuck his eyes in his, and finally decided, taking a light breath with the little of strength he had left. 

"In your dreams, fucker.", he retorted before spitting on his face. 

Dumbfounded, the teenager released his grip, and stood up. He expected many things, but not for him to act in this way, considering the position in which he was and his age. Immediately, feeling the young man's arm leave his neck, the child put his hand on it and began to cough vigorously. 

The smile of the winner returned at this sight. He raised his arm to his face, to remove what he had just received on his cheek with his sleeve. It was definitely something fascinating. 

He was barely turning eight, but he was able to resist and maintain his pride in the face of a chokehold of this force. Plus, he didn't seem to be afraid of anything... Maybe he had discovered the hidden gem he had been looking for, the talent that had been hidden for so long. If he ever practiced, it was possible he would be able to... 

"I'm impressed, kid. You should choose a martial art quickly, if you intend to beat me", he announced while leaning towards the breathless boy on the ground. The latter gave him a dirty look, clenching his fists. "Personally...", he continued, his smile getting wider and wider as he spoke. "I would advise you to take up taekwondo." 

The teenager looked at him for a few moments, watching him catch his breath with great difficulty. His eyes went over his clothes, before finally stopping on his watch, which was still half removed and hanging from his right wrist. Maybe he had found a way to get the defeated one to come back to him, when he was trained enough and able to hold up a minimum in a good match. 

"I'll take that as a thank you for my valuable advice," he declared as he loosened the jewelry so he could slide it off the boy, threading it onto his own wrist as his victim looked on in astonishment. It did not seem to have as a goal to resell it, but rather to expose it with the aim of reminding him of this humiliating defeat every time he would encounter him. "If you ever want it back... You know what you have to do, kid." 

And with those words uttered in a defiant tone, he left, leaving the younger boy alone in the middle of the driveway, which was lit by the weak rays of the early morning sun. 

The child could feel his heart pounding in his chest. It was beating so hard that it felt like it was going to leap through his torso, and his respiration was jerky, not being able to calm down at the moment. 

He raised his hand, letting it hang in front of him, vainly trying to control his trembling and to leave this semi-consciousness in which he was immersed. Feeling that he was about to vomit, he got up with difficulty and slumped on the wall behind him, while folding on himself to stop his nausea as best he could. 

And then he started to smile as he had never did so before. And, gradually, this simple expression turned into a loud, almost frightening laughter, which echoed off the stones to reverberate all around him, accentuating the impression of madness that he was giving by acting in this manner. He could still feel the impact of the blows in his stomach, and the smell of his opponent remained in the surroundings, preventing him from thinking about anything else but what had just happened. An acrid blood flavor had permeated his mouth, making his excitement even more intense. 

He had loved this moment. 

In all his dreary and uninteresting existence, the little boy had never smiled. Even when he received this watch, which he no longer owned, he had never felt anything like it. It was like an explosion of emotions inside his being. 

His slender fingers ran over the pale skin of his neck and torso, feeling every hair on his body electrify as he thought back on that moment. He was practically boiling, and he felt so hot that he had the strong sensation of being in a giant oven. Except that it was far from unpleasant, although the pain still assailed every inch of his body. He knew what he had to do, so that this sensation would not abandon him, and so that it would last even longer. 

He was going to practice so much that he wouldn't allow himself to stop even if he found himself not knowing if he was vomiting or spitting blood, and that the water seemed to be the same thing as his sweat. And it wasn't really even to get his jewelry back. No, in fact, he wanted this incredible feeling to last not just a few seconds before defeat, but several hours, days, or even months if he had to. Maybe he would even win this time, even if it would be incredibly boring to end this fight in this fashion. 

He had finally found a passion in his life. He wanted to meet people who were tough enough to beat him, and the more powerful he would be himself, the greater the satisfaction and pleasure would be. On this far from healthy resolution, he closed his eyes, and a long sigh slipped from his mouth. 

"Fuck, I want one more round.", he breathed as if he hoped his first real adversary would come back and live up to his expectations. 

About three months later, in the same dark alley, the young boy was standing on the chest of the person he wanted to fight impatiently. His hair, now devoid of any dye, glowed with a white sheen in the early morning sun. He was out of breath, and his face was covered in blood, more than it had probably ever been. A dark, too-tight watch was visible on his wrist, and it looked as if his face had been squashed by the beating of the person a decade younger than him.

Indeed, the latter seemed to be in a state of complete incomprehension. The confrontation had been much too short for his liking. He had prepared himself with an almost inhuman practice during all this time, only to end up defeating him in less than three minutes...? This had to be some kind of joke.

He wasn't even out of steam, and not a drop of sweat was dripping down his uncovered chest through the shirt he had torn in half. On his torso, one could see muscles abnormally developed for someone of his age, giving a strong impression of abnormality. His eyes, them, were now entirely black, and his pupils had become somehow even whiter than the eyes of the albino lying under him. He gritted his teeth, overwhelmed by anger and frustration, and a mounting sense of emptiness.

Finally, after a few moments where he had to take some time to understand the situation, he bent down and stretched his arm to catch the other's. With a skillful gesture, not trembling with fascination as the previous time, he removed the bracelet that was attached to it and slipped it over his own. He had won. And, quiet obviously, he was not pleased with it. He kept his lips closed, restraining himself from cursing at this disappointing opponent.

"You definitely are very intriguing, kid. I didn't think you'd be capable of that," a voice coming from behind him stated.

Immediately, the one he had addressed to turned around, and frowned when he understood who was the person who had just spoken to him.

It was a relatively elderly man, wearing a quality suit, made up of a white shirt, a jacket and black pants without the slightest wrinkle, and lastly polished shoes that were just as black. His hair was slicked back, giving him a serious and almost menacing look.

It was evident that he was a Yakuza.

"I know you're looking for people tougher than you, kid. Don't you think that in an group as big as ours, these types of people are teeming? We could teach you everything you don't already know. And sorry to assault your petty ego in this way, but there's a lot you lack to be worthy of being called strong."

Upon hearing this, shock crossed the young man's face. He had not realized this when he had heard the offer of this strange man, a few moments before. He swallowed, and his fist clenched, as his gaze focused on his shoes.

If he accepted, that would mean that he would work with the same people that put an end to the life of his only parent, and he couldn't just not act knowledge of this.

For a moment, he did not utter a word of response. He just looked at him intensely, without dropping a note of confirmation or denial.

And then he parted his pale lips.

"My name is not 'kid'."

A big smile appeared on the face of the Yakuza, who took these words for an answer as soon as he heard them.

"So, what's your name again, kid?" he answered to be on the safe side, while offering his hand for the child to take and mark their agreement.

For a while more, no further words were pronounced, and only silence could be heard between the stone walls, only interrupted by the grunts of the white-skinned teenager who was still on the ground.

"White Ghost," the lad named Park Jong Gun finally stated, clutching the offered arm in a powerful grip.

Of course he was willing to work with his father's assassins. If he could, he would even go back in time to orchestrate his murder by himself.