The wind grew heavier, brushing through the grass and the boy's hair as he stared toward the silent figure standing at the cliff's edge. The sky above was streaked with fading orange light, the last breath of sunset clinging to the horizon.
The distance between them was filled with an uneasy stillness. The figure didn't move, didn't even seem to breathe—just stared out into the vast expanse ahead as if searching for something far beyond what eyes could see.
Then, without turning, his voice carried through the wind—calm, yet heavy, as if each word was weighed down by unseen chains.
"Why is it so easy to take a life, but so hard to protect one?"
Kaito froze. Hearing those words sent a shock through his chest. That calm, distant tone—it didn't sound like anyone he had ever known.
"Do the dead feel pain, or only the living who remember them?"
The words stung, slicing through the quiet evening. Kaito's heart tightened as the figure continued, his tone quiet but piercing, like a whisper carried by the wind itself.
"If everyone is destined to die, then what meaning does life have? Is being born already the beginning of suffering?"
Each question sank deeper than the last, as though the man wasn't speaking to anyone but the world itself—or to his own ghosts.
Kaito's throat felt dry. He wanted to speak, to stop him, but his voice refused to come out.
The figure tilted his face slightly upward, letting the wind sweep across his hair and cloak. His next words came soft, almost like a sigh—gentle but soaked in grief.
"Do you think the souls of the fallen watch the battles they died in?"
And before Kaito could move, the figure bent his knees slightly and leapt off the cliff.
Kaito's eyes widened. "Arashi—!"
Without thinking, he sprinted forward and dove after him, arms outstretched. "Arashi!"
Mid-air, panic surged as the world blurred. Kaito's eyes caught movement below—Arashi's kunai embedded in the cliffside, anchoring him safely. Arashi was descending slowly, controlled, his focus shifting as he noticed Kaito falling.
Kaito reached out desperately, and Arashi's hand shot toward him, fingers almost touching. But the gap was too great—Kaito plummeted, the wind tearing past him as the ground fell away, his heart hammering in his chest.
Water exploded around him, dragging him under instantly. He struggled, flailing, the sky above reduced to streaks of light.
Seconds later, a hand—Arashi's—found his wrist, pulling him toward the shore. Water splashed around them as they broke free from the current.
Kaito collapsed onto the muddy bank, coughing and shivering, heart racing. Arashi stood over him, soaked but composed, eyes reflecting the last glow of sunset.
"You shouldn't have jumped," Arashi said quietly.
Kaito didn't respond. His legs carried him away before his mind caught up.
"Stop, Kaito!" Arashi called, but the boy kept running, thoughts spinning.
Then, realization struck. He saved me… because he cares.
His pace slowed. The fear that made him run was the same that pulled him back.
Kaito turned, and there was Arashi, sitting now, exhausted, gaze lowered. The faint rustle of leaves carried in the wind between them.
Without another word, Kaito walked back.
Kaito slowed his steps and lowered himself onto the ground beside Arashi. The wind carried the faint rustle of leaves between them.
Arashi's gaze lifted instantly, sharp and questioning. "Why did you run away?"
Kaito swallowed hard, shoulders tensing. "I… I was afraid of being rejected. I didn't know if… if you'd accept me after everything," he admitted, the words weighed down by fear and vulnerability.
Arashi's eyes softened just slightly, though the intensity remained. "Yet… you came back. Why did you even come here?"
Kaito nodded, keeping it simple. "I… I came here… I ran from the hospital."
Arashi's gaze sharpened, concern creeping in. "Ah… talking about running… where is Haruto?
Kaito blinked, confusion flickering across his face. "W-What do you mean?"
"Yesterday night," Arashi said, eyes fixed on some distant point. "I saw him. I called out to him, but he just kept running… with Enruto."
Kaito frowned. "Did you… sleep properly? You're acting a bit strange."
Arashi's eyes narrowed, tone unwavering. "Talking about strange… I don't get it. Haruto's half hair was red. What did he do to his hair?"
Kaito's heart thumped. "Arashi… uh, both Haruto and Enruto are dead, I guess. Maybe you saw someone else."
Arashi's eyes bore into Kaito's, patient but insistent. "Kaito… see, I don't know myself. But it was Haruto. I can tell he was injured too."
Kaito's mind reeled. He remembered the weeks before the Third GSW—Haruto had been… sick, not physically, but mentally and emotionally. His appearance had been different. And now, hearing Arashi, it all matched exactly.
"…If that was really Haruto… then why didn't you tell aunty or uncle?" Kaito asked, voice low.
"I thought he was going home," Arashi said simply. "That's why I didn't tell them."
Kaito slowly nodded, starting to accept Arashi's words.
From afar, a voice called out, "Arashi!"
Arashi looked up. "It's Mom. I'll go for now. See you later."
"Bye," Kaito said quietly, rising. He left as Arashi walked off, the wind rustling softly behind them.
The sun dipped low, painting the village streets in a soft orange glow. Kaito walked alone, hands in his pockets, his steps slow and heavy. The sound of laughter echoed ahead — children playing with a ball.
A moment later, the ball rolled across the dusty road and stopped right at Kaito's feet. He bent down, picked it up gently, and looked around.
"Hey," he called, "is this yours?"
One of the boys ran up, smiling. "Yeah! Give it back!"
Before Kaito could toss it over, another boy grabbed the first one's arm. His smile vanished.
"Don't," the second boy said coldly. "That's my ball. I don't take things from a monster like you."
Kaito froze.
The other kids went quiet for a second — then one of them muttered, "Yeah, let's go. We can play somewhere else. This monster won't let us have fun anyway."
Laughter followed as they ran off.
Kaito's hands trembled. He couldn't say a word. He just looked at the ball in silence, then kicked it hard — it soared far down the empty street. Without a glance back, he kept walking.
By the time he reached home, the sky had darkened. He quietly closed the door behind him and slid down to his knees, tears already forming.
"Why… why do they call me a monster?" he whispered, voice shaking. "What did I do wrong? I didn't hurt anyone… I didn't…"
His words broke into sobs.
Suddenly, soft arms wrapped around him from behind.
"You're not a monster, Kaito," Ayame said gently, resting her head on his shoulder. "You're my brother."
Kaito turned, hugging her tightly, crying into her shoulder as Ayame whispered calming words, trying to steady his shaking breath.
Then, a warm, familiar voice floated from the kitchen —
"Dinner is ready!"
Kaito blinked, startled. He pulled back slightly and looked at Ayame. "Who… who's here?"
Ayame smiled faintly, wiping his tears with her sleeve. "Grandma Tsunami."
Kaito's eyes widened. "Really?"
Ayame nodded.
Kaito sniffed, standing up quickly. "Then… let's go in."
Kaito and Ayame walked together through the quiet hallway, the soft glow from the kitchen spilling across the floor. The smell of fresh-cooked food drifted through the air, warm and familiar.
Just as they turned the corner—
"Boo!"
Both of them jumped. Kaito nearly lost his balance while Ayame squeaked and grabbed his arm.
From behind the wall stepped Kairen, grinning wide, clearly proud of herself.
Kaito clutched his chest dramatically. "You gave me a heart attack, big sister!"
Ayame pouted, still recovering. "I got scared even though I was the one who planned it!"
Kairen laughed, trying to hide her amusement behind her hand. "That makes it even better."
Kaito rolled his eyes but couldn't help smiling. He pulled Kairen into a quick hug. "Still the same prankster."
"Always," she said, patting his back.
Then, Kaito caught sight of a familiar figure in the kitchen — blonde hair glinting under the light. His eyes widened. "Grandma…?"
He ran forward and threw his arms around Tsunami, hugging her tightly. Tears welled up again as he buried his face against her.
"They called me a monster again, Grandma," he said, voice cracking. "I didn't do anything. Why do they hate me? Why do they keep saying that?"
Tsunami gently wrapped her arms around him, her voice calm and soft.
"Oh, my dear boy," she said, brushing a tear from his cheek. "People fear what they don't understand. But you're not a monster, Kaito — you never were. You have a kind heart, and that's something even fear can't erase."
Kaito sniffed, slowly calming as Tsunami held him. Kairen and Ayame watched quietly from behind, their faces softening.
After a moment, Tsunami smiled and tapped his cheek. "Now enough tears. Dinner's ready, and it's not going to eat itself."
Kaito gave a small, watery laugh. "Alright…"
They all gathered at the table. The warmth of the food, the laughter, and the comfort of family filled the air — and for the first time that day, Kaito felt safe again.
The kid ran through the twisting streets, baby Enruto tied securely to his chest. Every turn, every sudden right or left, was calculated — he wasn't just running; he was searching for something, anything that could give him an edge.
Shouts rang from behind.
"Don't let that kid get away this time!"
"Our members failed twice already! We have to capture him!"
The voices grew closer, harsher, more relentless. The hunters were faster this time — older, stronger, carrying swords that glinted under the dim light. They moved like predators, eyes fixed, breathing heavy.
The kid spotted a crowd up ahead and dove into it, bodies pressing all around him. The hunters were momentarily blocked, weaving awkwardly through the mass of people. The kid pushed forward, moving like a shadow between the throng, yet something caught his eye.
He froze for just a heartbeat, catching a glimpse of someone familiar in the crowd. Confusion flickered across his face — he didn't understand, but recognition sparked a memory.
Before he could process it further, the hunters emerged from the other side of the crowd. The leader barked orders, voice slicing through the chaos:
"Eight-year-olds, get him! Twelve-year-olds, back them up! The twenty-year-olds will wait and handle any trouble that arises!"
The younger hunters spotted him at once. But as they neared, they hesitated. Something was different. The kid's usual demeanor had vanished — he moved with an alertness, a tension that radiated from him. His posture, his eyes, even the way he breathed suggested he was not the same as before.
The kid's small fists clenched, eyes narrowing. "I can take all of you down," he said, voice steady despite the pounding in his chest. "But I don't like violence. I don't want to fight. It'll be better if you just leave me alone."
One of the twelve-year-olds whispered to another, confusion and doubt in his voice. "Last time we attacked, he was joking around… what's wrong with his state of talking now?"
An eight-year-old stepped forward, voice sharp. "You really think you can take us?"
The kid's eyes glinted. "You don't know whose brother I am."
A ripple ran through the hunters. The leader hissed, "Oh? Then let's do it."
The eight-year-old charged first, sword raised. The kid dropped into a low fighting stance, tiny body coiled like a spring, feet tapping the ground lightly. Even at his age, every movement carried precision and explosive energy.
They clashed. The kid's fists and feet moved in rapid, controlled bursts — a blur to the naked eye. Each kick and dodge was measured, almost playful, yet devastating. He spun, ducked, and leapt, keeping the older hunter off balance, striking with the force of a child who knew instinctively how to exploit every opening.
The fight drew gasps from the twelve-year-olds. "He's… stronger than we thought," one muttered. They exchanged a glance, realizing their younger allies were struggling.
The eight-year-old stumbled under the kid's unexpected speed and agility. Sweat gleamed on his forehead as he realized he was losing ground.
"Jump in," the twelve-year-old hissed. "We can't let him get away."
Before the kid could react, the two twelve-year-olds leapt forward together, pinning him from behind. His strikes became frantic as he tried to resist, but the combined force was too much.
"Got him!" one of them shouted, hauling him toward the waiting twenty-year-olds.
The kid struggled fiercely, every movement still sharp and alert, but in the end, he was overpowered and dragged to the imposing figures waiting ahead — the twenty-year-olds, ready to deal with any trouble.