The Road to Yokosaki
The bridge into Yokosaki Island was older than the city brochure promised. Cracked concrete. Rusted railings. Ocean wind slicing through the early-morning silence.
A motorcycle tore across it anyway.
Kenji Amane leaned forward on the seat, dark hair whipping behind him, eyes narrowed against the spray of salt mist. The engine growled like it wanted to escape the island before he even arrived.
"They said Yokosaki's where you go to start over."
"But me? I just wanted somewhere that didn't remember my name."
He didn't slow down for the welcome sign.
WELCOME TO YOKOSAKI — FUTURE STARTS HERE!
He laughed under his breath.
His future was the last thing he wanted to think about.
First Impressions
The parking lot of Yokosaki High buzzed with morning noise — sneakers on pavement, gossip, the metallic slam of locker doors. The motorcycle cut through all of it.
Students turned to stare.
Kenji kicked the stand down, tugged his helmet free, and shook out his hair. He looked like someone who walked out of the wrong movie — leather jacket, half-lidded stare, the kind of confidence that made teachers nervous.
A security guard marched his way.
"No motorcycles on school grounds," the man barked.
Kenji tossed his keys in the air, caught them lazily.
"Guess I'll move it after class."
He didn't wait for permission — just walked away, hands shoved in his pockets.
A bus pulled up. Nikki hopped off, bright smile and dangerous energy.
Vincent passed the lot entrance without looking from the screen of his phone.
And somewhere by the far gate, Akira walked quietly, as if the whole world was background noise.
They didn't notice each other.
Not yet.
But they were already orbiting the same center.
Roll Call
The classroom felt smaller with four new faces in it.
"Akira Mizuno," the teacher called.
A barely audible here.
"Vincent Sato."
No response — just a raised hand without lowering the headphone volume.
"Nikki Hana."
She threw up a peace sign.
"Kenji Amane."
He leaned back in his chair and lifted two fingers in a lazy salute.
Whispers rippled across the room. Four transfers in one day was rare enough. Four transfers who each looked like they belonged to a different disaster story? Unnatural.
Kenji felt eyes on him, including Akira's. Calm eyes. Sharp.
Kenji smirked back — a silent what are you looking at?
Courtyard: Strangers in the Same Orbit
Lunch hit, and Yokosaki's courtyard exploded with noise.
Nikki dominated the vending machines, chatting with whoever passed.
Vincent sat alone at a bench, sketching something in a narrow notebook — lines too precise to be doodles.
Kenji slumped under a tree, headphones on, trying to pretend the world didn't exist.
Akira drifted through the courtyard carrying a tray, scanning for an empty space that didn't demand attention.
Nikki watched them all and grinned.
"Three loners in one school? Yeah… this year's gonna be interesting."
Nights in a New City
After school, the sun dipped behind warehouses and neon signs. The streets changed shape when the lights came on.
Kenji rode through them like he knew every crack, every alley, every story of the place — even though he'd arrived that morning.
Later, outside a worn-down apartment building, he crouched beside his bike, tightening loose screws. Grease stained his knuckles. A few crumpled bills sat by his tools — his entire weekly paycheck.
Inside his room, he crashed onto the bed, scrolling through his phone. Old photos. Old mistakes. Old faces.
He stopped on one picture:
Two brothers, standing in front of a dead car, both smiling like the world would fix itself.
Kenji locked the screen.
"Every time I try to leave the past behind…
it shows up in the damn road ahead."
Unwelcome Attention
He didn't make it far from campus the next day before trouble found him.
A group of delinquents blocked the sidewalk.
Their leader — Ryo Kanda — stepped forward.
"New guy," Ryo said, eyeing the jacket, the bike keys, the look in Kenji's eyes. "You from mainland Yokohama?"
Kenji shrugged. "Something like that."
"You don't just ride in here like you own the place."
Kenji's voice flattened.
"Then stop me."
They rushed him.
He didn't even smile this time.
The fight was fast — faster than they expected. Kenji fought like someone who'd been fighting longer than he'd been alive. Clean hits, efficient dodges, no wasted motion. When the last kid dropped, Kenji dusted off his jacket.
"I said stop me," he muttered, stepping over them. "Not try."
He turned the corner — and stopped.
Akira was there, hood up, hands in pockets, watching the whole thing without judgment.
Their eyes met for half a second.
Not fear.
Not challenge.
Just recognition.
Then Akira walked away.
Smoke and Silence
That night, Kenji sat by his window, cigarette glowing faintly as the city lights reflected in the glass. Yokosaki High shimmered in the distance — a strange lighthouse for strange kids.
His phone buzzed on the table.
BRO — calling…
Kenji stared.
Let it ring.
Let it die.
"Sometimes freedom's just another word for being alone."
He exhaled a thin trail of smoke and leaned his head against the window frame.
The Beginning of Something
The next morning, Kenji stood behind the gym, hidden from the teachers, cigarette in hand. His eyes were tired. His stance — careless. But the air around him felt like a warning sign.
Nikki spotted him first.
"Breaking rules already?" she teased.
"Already bored," he replied, flicking ash away.
Vincent walked by, eyes lingering on Kenji for a moment — as if calculating him like an equation he didn't quite understand.
Across the courtyard, Akira walked with a duffel bag slung over one shoulder. He passed them all without speaking.
But they all noticed each other.
The connection wasn't friendship.
Not yet.
Just four storms moving closer with every step.
Kenji watched the sky burn red from the courtyard windows.
"Everyone came here to prove something…
Guess we'll see what's left when the smoke clears."