Humiliation.
For the past week, humiliation and degradation had become routine.
Every single day, that animal came to our cell.
He made us bow to him for hours, forcing us to stay bent until our legs gave out beneath us. During meal breaks, he would suddenly shove our faces into our trays—or knock them away entirely
And whenever Tarou and his gang attacked us, the moment we tried to fight back, he appeared.
Not to stop them.
But to beat us instead
He'd also called us faggots, which is worse than everything else he'd done combined.
Usually, he only watched from a distance, never interfering.
Was it because I'd gotten a little stronger?
I'll never know
Now came the usual bowing session.
He stood in front of us, yawning, arms crossed.
We'd been doing this for half an hour.
"C'mon, you two." He yawned again, covering his mouth with the back of the hand holding the baton. "Make this interesting for me."
How?
Did we look like clowns to him? What exactly did he expect
Did he want us to rebel?
"Oh, I've got an idea." He raised the baton.
In a single motion, he brought it down on Yang's head.
Yang collapsed to the ground.
Ryu lunged forward on instinct, but Yang caught his wrist, stopping him just before he could strike Minowa.
"Hm? What's wrong?" Minowa taunted, spreading his arms wide, openly inviting Ryu to attack. "Come on."
Ryu clenched his teeth—then chose restraint, turning back to help Yang to his feet instead.
"Tsk. Damn cowards. Go jerk each other off—I'm done here."
Minowa turned toward the cell door, lazily tapping his baton against his shoulder. Then a wide grin spread across his face.
"Oh ho ho ho… I almost forgot something, Ryu."
Ryu glanced over his shoulder, his brow furrowing.
"Your sister came by yesterday," Minowa said, spinning theatrically. "All dressed up—slutty clothes, heavy makeup. Guess she became a whore...poor girl "
Ryu rose to his feet, rage blazing across his face.
"Don't listen to him," Yang said quickly, watching the fury build by the second. "He's trying to provoke you."
"She wanted to see you," Minowa continued, his smile stretching wider. "But instead, you know what we did?"
He leaned forward. "We bought her. Then dumped her unconscious body in the middle of nowhere. Poor girl couldn't even move after three men gang—"
Before he could finish, Ryu's fist shot forward.
It didn't connect.
Yang yanked Ryu back by the back of his collar
"Yang, I swear I'll—"
Yang's fist smashed into Minowa's face. The guard's head snapped back, slamming against the cell door.
Ryu froze, stunned by the sudden turn.
He had expected Yang to yell something—Idiot, do you want to end up in solitary?
Instead, Yang was already stomping Minowa's face into the floor.
Then Yang dropped down grabbed his arm twisted it, and locked it tight.
Minowa gasped, his breathing ragged as he realized what was happening.
"Eh? E–eh—EEEEEE!"
Blood smeared across his face, mixing with tears and saliva.
Snap.
"GAAAAAHAAAAA!"
Minowa rolled on the ground, clutching his shattered arm, screaming.
Yang moved to the second side and twisting his other arm into the same merciless lock.
"What's all that noise?!"
Another guard rushed in, taking in the scene,minowa on the floor one hand was snapped and the other was held in a lock by yang and Ryu standing rigid like a statue.
"You! Hands behind your back! Face the wall!" he shouted at Ryu.
Then he pulled his baton swinging down at yang face
It was too late.
Another sharp snap echoed through the corridor.
Minowa's screams cut off for a moment, then returned even louder.
"My hands! My damn hands—AAAAH!"
Yang released his hold and calmly turned his body on the ground placing his hands behind his back.
"Come on," he said flatly. "Take me."
The guard hesitated, then handcuffed him.
Ryu glanced at Yang, still stunned by the turn of events
Yang smiled.
"We'll meet again."
________________
Two guards were escorting Yang down the corridor.
One on each side, their hands clamped firmly around his biceps, fingers digging in his muscles
Yang already knew where they were taking him.
Solitary
They came to a halt in front of a massive iron door, its surface layered with countless locks, bolts, and reinforced bars stacked over one another.
It wasn't a door meant for a man.
You'd think it was built to hold Cerberus himself.
One of the guards opened the door—an operation that took three full minutes as every lock was undone—then Yang was kicked inside.
The door slammed shut behind him.
Another three minutes passed as it was fully locked again.
Yang glanced at his hands behind his back.
Still handcuffed.
He lifted his gaze and took in the place.
It was filthy.
Black stains smeared across the walls. Yang couldn't tell whether it was dried blood or shit ,probably both. The floor was no better.
Strangely enough, the squat toilet was clean. For some reason, that bothered him the most.
" three days just bear with it for three days "
_________________
Three days later
"AAAAAAAH—AAAAAAAH!"
Yang screamed at the top of his lungs, slamming his forehead against the door again and again.
For three days, the guards hadn't brought him a single bite of food.
He survived on insects.
Nothing answered him.
No footsteps. No voices. Not even an echo.
The silence was so absolute it made him wonder if he was already dead and this was purgatory
This was nothing like what he'd endured before
not the mental hospital,
not even the time he'd been paralyzed.
This was different
_______________
A week later.
Yang lay face-down on the floor.
He no longer cared that it was smeared with the filth of the previous prisoner.
One hand had been torn free from the handcuff—ripped loose by sheer force. His right thumb was mangled, twisted at an unnatural angle, but the pain barely registered anymore. Pain had lost its meaning.
He just wanted it to end.
His body had withered into something skeletal. The muscle he had once sculpted with care had wasted away, leaving behind lean, brittle lines. His hair—once soft like silk—hung dull and ragged against his face.
Ssssk.
A faint hissing sound scraped against his ears.
Slowly, Yang turned his head toward the noise.
From the toilet, a snake slithered out, its body uncoiling as it crept toward him.
In a sudden motion, Yang pinned it—catching its neck with his toes, trapping it between his index toe and the big toe.
He sat up unsteadily, seized it by the neck with his hand, and bit down on its head.
He ate it.
Red tears streamed down his eyes as he chewed, his face twisted between hunger, despair
' Ill definitely survive '
_________
One month later
Yang stood facing the wall, one hand extended toward it, the other drawn back tight against his ribs.
The wall was almost completely smeared with his blood.
The hand he kept coiled back had its knuckle skin torn open, bone faintly visible beneath. The damage was worst on his index and middle fingers, the knuckles swollen, misshapen ,no longer quite right.
He had tested every fighting style he'd drilled into his mind on this wall.
Punches. Kicks. Knees. Headbutts.
Every option.
In the end, he settled on Seiken-tsuki.
The technique that started everything
He remembered something Yuzuru had once told him, a quote attributed to one of the most famous karate masters.
"Mr. Doppo once said this: the god of martial arts is not cheap. You must make countless offerings before you receive anything in return."
Yang let the words sink in.
He wondered if all the offerings he had already given to that so-called god were enough
Or did he still demand more
In one swift motion, Yang's coiled hand shot forward and slammed into the wall.
BANG!
Again—
BANG!
His fist finally gave out.
He couldn't clench it anymore.
Yang stared at his mangled hand as rage and hatred surged up his spine.
I see…
He wanted more offerings.
Yang bit down on his lip, curled his ruined hand once more, and struck the wall again.
This time, the familiar crack of impact didn't echo.
Instead—
a dull, wet thud answered him
________
Two months later
Yang rested his head against the wall, its surface riddled with massive craters.
His hands and feet were completely mangled now—useless. He couldn't move, couldn't even clench his fists anymore.
A relentless headache hammered at his skull.
The constant blows to the head had finally caught up with him.
He let out a weak sigh and stared at the ceiling, empty-eyed.
"Leave me alone… you two" Yang said, still staring upward.
Two tall figures loomed over him.
He remembered who they were ,the innocent doctor and the driver he had killed.
Yet they were no longer human.
Their bodies were unnaturally long, stretched beyond proportion. Wide, inhuman smiles were carved across their faces, and their eyes… those eyes were wrong. Empty, big, utterly alien.
They looked like things that had crawled straight out of hell to torment yang
'Im thirsty '
Yang crawled toward the squat toilet positioned between the tall figure's legs. He lowered his head, lips parting as he leaned in to drink.
Sssss
A sharp hissing sound rose from inside.
Yang recoiled in shock, scrambling backward just as dozens—no, hundreds—of snakes began pouring out of the toilet. They slithered over one another in a writhing flood, spilling across the floor, climbing the walls, filling the space entirely.
Within seconds, the room was consumed—every surface buried beneath coils and scales.
Everything was covered.
Everything… except Yang and the two figures
"Tch…"
Yang frowned as he stood up, lifting his gaze toward the figures before him.
"I did what I had to do to survive. Go back to hell—I have no regrets and i will have none i killed And I'll kill again if it means I get to live, whether it's a saint or a devil…"
The moment Yang finished those words, he blinked.
And everything returned back to normal.
No snakes. No long looming figures.
Just him, standing alone in an empty space littered with the remains of rats and snakes he had devoured.
_________________
Three months later.
Yang stood with his back pressed to the wall, eyes unfocused—empty, as if he were asleep while standing.
In front of him, a bright glowing figure with features identical to his own was slamming its fists into the wall again and again.
The figure wasn't real.
Of course it wasn't.
It existed only inside Yang's mind.
His body no longer moved the way he wanted it to, so he repeated the motions mentally instead—over and over.
Punching the wall.
Again.
Again.
Thousands of times each week.
Until the movement became so vivid he could almost feel it—
as if he were truly doing it.
CHIK—CHANK
The heavy clatter of locks tore him out of his trance.
Yang jolted awake as the cell door creaked open. Two guards peeked inside—
and froze.
Their eyes widened first at the condition of the wall, then at the remains of dead animals scattered across the floor.
But what unsettled them most was something else entirely.
Why was he still alive?
They had been ordered to kill him here.
And they had tried ,denying him food, water, even human contact.
So why was he standing there now, looking completely healthy, just as he had when he first entered?
Yang slowly turned his body toward the wall and placed his hands behind his back.
He could move his fingers a little now—but not enough to form a fist.
"Bout time. I was starting to think you guys forgot about me "
"…Yeah," one guard muttered, stepping inside despite himself. "S-sorry about that. Y-your sentence just ended."
"You'll be transferred to adult prison," said the second guard, still lingering outside the cell, too afraid to come in.
He didn't want Yang doing to him what he'd done to the wall.
" Yeah" the first guard said as he swallowed hard.
He's crazy. Definitely crazy