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Yu Nanba didn’t believe in fate.
He believed in getting screwed by the system, getting chewed up and spit out by people with more power than him, and having to claw his way through life with nothing but spite and a half decent immune system.
But the night he found a man bleeding out in a trash can in front of the homeless camp, gasping for breath through a hole in his chest?
That was the night something changed.
-
Nanba was used to corpses. He’d seen more in his days as a homeless vagrant than he cared to count in the alleys and gutters of Isezaki Ijincho. But that one…. He was still breathing. Just barely.
A mess of blood, cheap suit fabric, and a lion’s mane of ridiculous, gravity defying hair.
Nanba had no idea what made him drag that stranger into his hideout instead of letting nature take its course. Maybe it was the way the guy was still trying to move, even with a bullet in his chest.
Maybe it was the half muttered apology he’d wheezed out, like he was sorry for spilling blood all over the garbage.
Nanba patched him up. Fed him. Kept him alive.
And then, over time, he… watched him come back to life.
-
“Man, that coffee’s cold as hell,” Ichiban grumbled, sitting beside Nanba on their usual rooftop perch. “What kinda vending machine doesn’t heat the cans anymore?”
“Maybe it’s just you,” Nanba said, lazily flicking ashes off his cigarette. “Maybe you’re so warmhearted it neutralizes the heat.”
Ichiban snorted. “That supposed to be a compliment?”
Nanba shrugged. “Take it however you want.”
The wind rustled, carrying the sound of distant sirens. Nanba took a slow drag and let the silence sit for a while before he spoke again.
“You know, I’ve been thinking lately…”
“Always dangerous,” Ichiban muttered, smirking.
Nanba elbowed him lightly. “Shut up. I mean it. I’ve been thinkin’ about how damn lucky you are.”
Ichiban blinked. “Lucky? Man, I got shot and dumped in a pile of garbage.”
“Exactly,” Nanba said, a little more quietly. “And you survived. And not just survived, man, you woke up swinging. Most guys’d spend the rest of their life just trying to forget. But you, hell, you jumped right up and started talkin’ about justice and loyalty and making things right.”
Ichiban looked down at the can in his hands. “…Didn’t really think about it like that.”
“Well, I did,” Nanba said, voice quieter now. “Every day, I watched you heal up a little more. Not just your body. Your soul, too. And I figured you’d be another busted-up mess like the rest of us. But you kept standing back up. You didn’t just wanna survive. You wanted to fight. For other people. For me.”
Ichiban’s brows furrowed. “You’re the one who saved me, though.”
Nanba flicked his cigarette over the edge and gave a dry chuckle. “Yeah. I found you. Pulled the bullet out. Gave you soup and bandages. But you made me start caring again. Before you, I was just floating through life, waiting to rot.”
Ichiban turned to him. “You serious?”
“I’m dead serious, Ichiban,” Nanba said, his voice firm now. “I’ve seen the worst in people. I used to think that’s all there was. But you… You made me believe in good again. You’re the only person I’ve ever met who got shot in the chest and came back trying to fix the world. You’re the most stubborn, most ridiculous, big hearted idiot I’ve ever met.”
Ichiban scratched the back of his head, a slight blush forming on his cheeks. “Aha, I dunno, man… I’m not trying to be anyone’s hero. I’m just doing what I think is right.”
“And that’s exactly why you are my hero.”
Ichiban blinked, mouth opening like he wanted to say something, but nothing came out.
“You never asked to be saved,” Nanba continued. “But you gave me a reason to keep going. You taught me how to fight again, not with fists or fireballs or whatever crazy job class stuff we’ve pulled, but with hope. Hope’s hard to come by these days.”
Ichiban smiled sheepishly. “Damn, Nanba. I didn’t know you thought all that.”
“Yeah, well…” Nanba reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a small, beat-up notebook, and held it up. “I write down the dumb stuff you say. All the weird motivational crap. Stuff like, ‘A real man doesn’t run from a crying friend,’ and, ‘If you’re not getting beat up a little, are you even living right?’”
Ichiban’s eyes went wide. “You what?!”
Nanba laughed. “I idolize you, dumbass. Might as well keep a record.”
Ichiban rubbed the back of his neck, turning even more red as he grinned. “That’s… kind of awesome. And weird. But mostly awesome.”
“You’re my hero,” Nanba said again, softer this time. “Even if I found you half dead in a pile of garbage.”
Ichiban bumped his shoulder against Nanba’s. “Then I guess I’m lucky you were the one who found me.”
They sat there until the stars came out, shoulder to shoulder, quiet but full.
And in the silence, Nanba realized something else.
He’d saved Ichiban’s life once, but Ichiban had been saving his ever since.