Chapter Text
November 17, 2017. Zenin's Estate.
Silence descended upon the clan's territory like a heavy shroud, thickening the air to the point that it became almost tangible, pressing on the shoulders with an invisible weight. It seemed the very atmosphere had shrunk after Yoshino's departure, becoming even more oppressive than before his arrival. Only the soft shuffle of gravel underfoot broke the ringing silence as one of the servants—one of the few who had managed to escape Lord Naoya's wrath before, — approached the man, stopping at a respectful distance.
"Master, are you really going to let young Zenin go so easily?" - the servant's voice rang out, especially loud in the oppressive silence. Ever since the day Lord Naoya learned of the existence of another of Toji's offspring, he looked as if he'd won the lottery and finally realized his long-held dream. To describe his state in one word, he seemed insane, though this insanity was hidden beneath a mask of rigid self-control.
The fair-haired man turned his head sharply toward the servant, his face contorted into a grimace of disgust and disdain. Any benevolence one might have sensed in his attitude toward the boy he'd found vanished in an instant, as if it had never existed.
"Do I look like an idiot? This boy will be mine," - his voice sounded low and threatening, and a dangerous fire flashed in his eyes - and, without deigning to look at anyone again, 'true' clan heir turned and walked away without looking back. The servant remained standing, warily watching his retreating back, inwardly sensing the approaching storm.
November, 2017. Junpei's Life.
Life seemed... ordinary, except for a few circumstances. The days merged into a monotonous sequence, the internal routine was little different, intertwined into a blurred timeline, and only on weekends did it give way to something pleasant, when Mom stayed home or they went shopping together, to the cinema, or simply strolled around the city. Of course, Junpei still hadn't told her about what had happened and probably continued to happen at school, but... he simply couldn't bring himself to say the words out loud. Couldn't.
And now, after two weeks of this had passed, the teenager realized he couldn't bear this recurring nightmare any longer. He felt himself slowly going mad from this endless cycle of humiliation and fear. After all - hadn't Albert Einstein himself said that insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, expecting a different result?
At least, that was the thought that echoed in the teenager's head as he looked at the school building from the gate with a growing sense of anxiety in his lower abdomen.
"Yo! Junpei!" - A sudden cry came from behind the boy, causing him to flinch and jump slightly. Instantly turning toward the sound, Yoshino saw his school friend. The fact that in this terrible place there were still people who had good relations with him was astonishing and made him breathe a sigh of relief. He wouldn't be alone.
"Hey, Hanzo. Ready for the upcoming test?" - Junpei asked, adjusting the strap of his backpack.
"Of course! By the way, I watched such a cool movie! I'm sure you'll like it..." - The young man continued to talk excitedly, distracting Junpei from his dark thoughts on the way to school.
He will not be alone.
Knowing this made a smile blossom unconsciously on his lips, even if only briefly.
...
He was alone.
Of course, it was partly his own fault that he was now sitting in the school toilet, feeling a severe headache and a growing internal noise that seemed about to burst out of his skull, flooding everything around him. After all, if Yoshino could just shut his mouth when he needed to, half the problems in his life would probably disappear in the blink of an eye.
But, on the other hand, would he remain himself if he blindly followed other people’s rules?
Hmm.
Probably not.
Yoshino had a sharp tongue — sharper than a knife and sandpaper, — but this alone wasn't enough in a battle against everyone. With each passing day, his friends began to retreat further and further, acknowledging the power and strength of the rich or simply cruel children, averting their gaze and indulging them. Junpei lacked physical strength, but he had a keen mind and a tremendous desire to disobey, to challenge. The truth was, however, that with each battle, the young man felt his resistance weakening. He simply didn't have the strength to withstand the storm, especially when he knew for certain that he was alone. And this realization weighed too heavily.
Junpei watched the glances of teachers and students, who merely pursed their lips or smiled innocently, as if they couldn't see all the pain and violence on the other side of the door. They looked through him, not at him. The very thought of others not caring made him sick. Sighing and shaking his head, Junpei winced at the pain caused by the fresh bruises. Carefully stepping out of the stall, the young man approached the sink and turned on the cool water, beginning to wash away the excess dirt and blood, trying to avoid the maturing bruises on his body with his eyes. Disgusting.
After washing his face and thoroughly rinsing his nose and cheekbones, he felt his phone vibrate in his pants pocket with an incoming notification. Taking out his phone, Junpei's frown slowly smoothed out as water dripped from the ends of his short bangs.
"Good afternoon, Junpei. As far as I remember, you're coming to the clan today?" - A friendly message from Naoya flashed across the teenager's mobile phone screen as two green eyes carefully read the text.
Ah. A new week has already begun. Exactly.
After the initial conversation between the teenager and his uncle (Junpei still felt awkward calling the man that, but it became easier each time), the uncle contacted Junpei again, writing to him. One word led to another, and the occasional messages between the two eventually led to Yoshino now visiting the clan once a week, observing its work and the goings-on within. But often, these were simply conversations between Naoya and Junpei, in which Zenin answered the boy's questions or shared clan stories. His mother was pleased that Junpei was now spending more time outside the house, especially now that his mood upon returning was as good as when he left.
The boy's first impulse was to refuse and hide his bruises. But he bit the inside of his cheek and forced himself to type a reply.
"Yes, Uncle. I'll head straight to your place after school," - for some reason, Zenin insisted that Junpei call him "Uncle" and treat him accordingly. It was embarrassing, really, but if Naoya insisted on it, then it was all right. And deep down, Yoshino himself enjoyed being recognized like that.
---
The morning of November 17th began as usual - with dim winter light filtering through the fogged window, an oppressive silence in the small apartment, the air thick with unspoken words. Junpei stood before the bathroom mirror, peering into his reflection, studying every feature of his face, as if afraid it would change irrevocably in an instant. Two eyes - still two, the right one not yet hidden by his side - swept bangs, his skin still clear, free of those marks that would later become his defining feature. He ran his fingers over his eyelids, feeling the pads tremble slightly - a strange, haunting sensation, as if he were checking to make sure everything was in place, that everything was still his.
Refusing the Zenins' protection seemed like a logical decision at the time - proud, mature, and independent. He didn't want to be obligated, didn't want to appear weak in their eyes, didn't want to be pitied. But if you dig deeper, beneath all these rationalizations, there was fear - fear that by accepting their help, he would finally admit he couldn't cope on his own. And that admission was the most terrifying of all.
Correspondence with Uncle Naoya became a routine thing. "Everything is fine" - the most frequent thing he wrote. "I'm studying" - is the second most popular. Naoya didn't ask too many questions, and Junpei was grateful for that, because he didn't know what he would have said if he had been asked.
But school... School was a different world.
With each passing day, the anxiety grew denser, heavier, enveloping. She woke with him when the alarm tore him from his restless sleep, and walked beside him on the way to school, whispering something unintelligible and frightening in his ear. In class, she squeezed his throat when he heard laughter - always somewhere behind him, always loud enough to know it was about him. He tried to convince himself he was paranoid, that things weren't that bad, but then he caught their looks of contempt, and he realized - no, things were that bad.
By mid-December, he started skipping school. At first, it was only the last few classes - "I feel unwell", "I feel unwell". Then whole days - "fell ill," "family circumstances". He found hidden corners - empty classrooms in the far wing of the school, where even the cleaning staff rarely looked; a library where he could get lost among the shelves; a rooftop where the wind howled so loudly that it drowned out all thought.
Mom noticed the changes, but remained silent. Maybe she didn't want to pry. Maybe she was afraid to hear the answer. Or maybe she just didn't know what to say.
January began with an attempt to return to normal life.
The first few days were...strange. Quiet. No laughter, no teasing, no anything he'd grown accustomed to. And in that silence, something dangerous was born - hope.
(He should have known that hope is the most painful thing there is.)
On January 14th, he bumped into her in the hallway - the same girl whose laughter always rang out louder than anyone else's. She stopped, looked him over from head to toe, snorted, and left without even a word.
They waited for him behind the school, where the asphalt of the courtyard gave way to dirty snow, trampled by hundreds of feet but still bearing the imprints of someone's recent footsteps. There were three of them - two boys who always stuck together, as if afraid no one would notice them alone, and she - the one whose laughter was louder than all the others, whose eyes always looked down on her, even when she was silent.
Junpei froze in place, feeling his palms grow clammy despite the January chill. He wanted to turn around, walk away, run - but his feet seemed rooted to the ground.
"Well, Yoshino" - she said, drawing out the words as if tasting its, - "Have you decided that's it, you can show up again?"
One of the guys snorted. The other took a cigarette and a lighter out of his pocket.
Junpei tried to speak, but his voice wouldn't work. His throat tightened, as if an invisible hand had grabbed him.
"You thought it was over?" - She took a step forward, and he involuntarily retreated, - "What, we're just going to forget?"
The cigarette lit up. The orange flame trembled in the wind.
"No," - he whispered.
She just smiled.
"Right."
The first blow landed in his stomach. Junpei doubled over, the air rushing out of his lungs with a groan. The second hit him in the back, knocking him off his feet. He fell to his knees, the snow immediately soaking his trousers, the cold seeping through the fabric, but it was nothing compared to the burning in his chest, the way his heart was pounding, as if it were trying to escape.
"Hold him," - she said.
Someone grabbed him by the hair and pulled his head back. He saw her face – calm, almost bored. Then – a cigarette approaching his face.
""Don't move," - she whispered, - "or it will get worse."
The pain didn't come right away. At first there was only warmth, strange, almost unreal. Then - a burning sensation, piercing his skin, searing his flesh. He screamed, but someone pressed a hand to his mouth, muffling the sound. A second burn. A third.
When they finally released him, Junpei collapsed to the ground, shaking all over. Snow clung to his face, mixing with tears.
"Look how beautiful," - she said, leaning over him, examining him like a puppy on the side of the road, - "Now you have your own special something."
They left a moment later, without looking back at the trash, leaving it lying alone in the snow.
Junpei didn't know how much time passed before he could move. He rose slowly, as if his body no longer belonged to him. He staggered to the school wall and leaned against the brickwork, feeling the rough surface dig into his palms.
In the toilet he looked in the mirror.
His right eye was now almost hidden beneath his thick bangs, falling to the side like a shield, like a barrier. Beneath it - lay red, inflamed marks. It's would heal, turning into scars, but it was already clear it's would stay with him forever. The dull, burning pain didn't go away.
He ran his fingers over the burns, clenching his teeth to keep from groaning in pain.
Now everything will be different.
---
Sleepless nights merged into a single, endless stretch of time, where the boundaries between day and darkness blurred, leaving only a gray haze before his eyes and a heavy, leaden feeling beneath his eyelids. Junpei lay on his back, his fingers unconsciously fiddling with the edge of the blanket, while the ceiling above him slowly rotated in time with his racing heartbeat. The cracks in the plaster, which he had studied down to the smallest curves over those endless hours, formed bizarre patterns - sometimes resembling grinning mouths, sometimes empty eye sockets, staring at him without judgment, but also without compassion.
On the fourth day without sleep, he gave up.
Stood up abruptly, as if struck by electricity, as the first rays of morning sun began to stream through the dirty window. His head spun instantly, but he grabbed the edge of the nightstand, feeling the cold plastic dig into his palm. His breathing hitched, a lump formed in his throat, but he forced himself to take the first step. Then the second.
The street greeted him with a piercing wind that immediately penetrated his thin jacket, making him shudder. But this cold was different - living, real, not like the icy emptiness that filled his room. He walked obliviously, his head bowed so low that his chin almost touched his chest. His bangs, a shield, fell over his eyes, obscuring the right one - the very one that hid the ugly marks that reminded him of that day.
He didn't see her. He didn't hear her quick footsteps, didn't notice the flicker of red strands in his peripheral vision.
The impact was sudden and violent. He barely managed to stay on his feet, feeling something hard and angular slam into his shoulder. Simultaneously, a loud, irritated cry rang out, and something made of glass shattered on the pavement with a loud clang.
"Are you even looking where you're going, idiot?!"
Junpei slowly raised his head, as if through force.
A girl stood before him - short, with fiery hair pulled back into careless buns and eyes filled with fury. She was bent double, her fingers trembling over the shards of a broken bottle, from which a thick, creamy substance was leaking, slowly spreading across the cracks in the asphalt.
"I... I'm sorry," - he managed, his voice sounding hoarse, as if he hadn't used it in days.
She sat up abruptly, and he saw her face contort with anger - her brows drew together, her lips pressed together, revealing white teeth. Her hands clenched into fists, and he instinctively drew back, expecting a blow.
But then something changed.
Her gaze slid over his face, stopping at the fringe hiding his right eye, the dark circles under his eyes, the pale skin where the bluish veins stood out. He saw her pupils dilate for a moment, the anger in her eyes give way to something else - not pity, no, but... understanding?
She chuckled, exhaling sharply through her nose.
"Are you blind?"
"...What? No, I... I can see fine."
"Then do something about your bangs," - she pointed a finger at his face, - "or you'll keep bumping into everyone."
Her voice had lost the venomous anger it had held a second ago, but remained sharp as a whiplash. She tilted her head to the side, studying him with obvious disapproval.
"You look disgusting, to be honest. You don't even look emo."
Junpei felt heat spread across his cheeks. His fingers instinctively reached for his bangs, automatically adjusting them, though it made no difference—the hair immediately fell back, hiding the scar.
"I...I...okay. Uh...sorry again about...about the can. I'll make it up to you."
She rolled her eyes so dramatically that he felt awkward, but there was no malice in her gesture - more like an irritated resignation to the inevitable.
“Of course you will,” - she muttered, already rummaging in her jacket pocket.
Her fingers pulled out the phone, the screen flashed, illuminating her face for a moment - he saw sharp cheekbones, freckles scattered across her nose, thin eyebrows drawn together in a displeased grimace.
And suddenly her eyes widened.
"Oh shit! Shit, shit, shit!" - she jerked her whole body as if she had been electrocuted, - "the store closes in twenty minutes!"
Her voice rose an octave, her fingers clutching the phone convulsively. She jerked her head up and jabbed her index finger into his chest.
"I don't have time for this now!" - she blurted out, - "see you later, um..."
"Junpei," - he introduced himself automatically.
"See you later, Junpei," - she called over her shoulder, already turning away.
And before he could say anything, she ran, her red tails flashing through the crowd until they disappeared from sight completely.
He stood rooted to the spot, his hand still frozen in the air, his mouth slightly open.
"W-wait... what?" - his voice sounded pathetic even in his own ears, - "hey...how do I..."
But she was no longer there.
Junpei slowly lowered his hand. A single phrase pounded in his head, repeating itself over and over again like a broken record.
Do something.
Don't "apologize." Don't "go away." Don't "freeze and wait for it to end on its own."
Do something.
His fingers trembled as he ran them over his face, feeling the jagged scars beneath his bangs.
And for the first time in a long time - perhaps since that day behind the school - something fluttered in his chest.
But the world was not so kind as to provide simple solutions.
When Naoya, his uncle, offered him an "alternative" the next day, Junpei agreed.
He did something.
And that "something" turned out to be much deeper than Yoshino could have ever imagined. And he would find out about it.
But not today.