Confusion.
That was the only word that clung to Yuri's mind, looping endlessly like a broken record. His thoughts staggered just as much as his steps—slow, unfocused, dragging through the dirt as though the ground itself might whisper an answer if he stared long enough.
His bag hung loosely over one shoulder, bouncing slightly with each reluctant step. The strap bit into his collarbone, grounding him just enough to remind him he was still real. Still here. Still breathing.
Barely.
He replayed the night in his head—over and over—each memory bleeding into the next until he couldn't tell where fear ended and shock began.
That night.
His breath hitched every time the thought dared to surface. His lungs locked, refusing him air like punishment. He couldn't make sense of it. He couldn't.
And that impossibility crawled beneath his skin, scratching at his sanity.
Before that dreadful night, not a soul besides Hiro had ever been able to detect Yuri's presence—not truly. His existence slipped between the cracks of perception like he was a ghost wearing skin. People's eyes passed through him. Their senses skimmed over him, rejecting him instinctively, as if the world itself had decided he was an error it didn't want to acknowledge.
It had been his shield.
No—his lie.
But Yuta… Yuta saw him.
Not just saw him—touched him.
Cracked his mask—his literal armor and the metaphorical wall he'd built brick by brick since childhood. That fracture sent a shock through Yuri's body deeper than pain. It wasn't just defeat.
It was exposure.
Violation of the impossible.
And the worst part—the part that churned acid in the pit of his stomach—was the truth he couldn't suffocate no matter how hard he tried:
Yuta hadn't even tried.
He wasn't aiming to kill. He wasn't fighting seriously. Every blow, every taunt, every amused laugh had been delivered with the carelessness of someone swatting flies.
If Yuta had wanted him dead…
Yuri wouldn't have made it to the ground.
The thought hollowed him out.
Not fear.
Not anger.
Just emptiness.
—
Cling—cling—cling!
The bell screamed through the classroom, snapping every drifting mind back to the present.
As the teacher stepped out, conversation detonated instantly. Chairs scraped. Desks turned. Whispers grew teeth.
Clusters formed.
Eyes shone.
The hot topic burned through the room like wildfire:
The vigilante's highway brawl.
His brawl.
Yuri shrank in on himself as voices overlapped, layered with excitement and disbelief.
"Did you see—" "—that speed—" "—I swear he TELEPORTED—" "—his mask cracked—" "—who even ARE these people—"
Each fragment stabbed into him. He didn't need context. Didn't need names. His chest tightened anyway.
He stared at his desk, fingers clenched so hard his knuckles whitened. His pulse hammered in his ears, drowning out everything else.
Then—
"Pssst."
A sharp whisper sliced through the noise.
Yuri flinched.
He lifted his head.
Sarah stood near the door. Too still. Too composed. Her expression was carefully neutral, but her eyes betrayed her—tight, glassy, worried in a way that made Yuri's stomach drop.
She jerked her head once.
Follow me.
Yuri hesitated.
Every instinct screamed to stay invisible. To disappear. To let the noise swallow him whole.
But Sarah didn't look away.
Didn't blink.
Her resolve was quiet—but absolute.
Yuri exhaled slowly and stood. The room felt heavier as he slipped past the threshold, eyes grazing his back without knowing why.
They walked in silence down the hallway, footsteps echoing too loudly. Too exposed. Sarah pushed open an empty room flooded with pale afternoon light. The moment Yuri crossed the doorway, she shut the door behind them.
The click echoed like a gunshot.
Her hands trembled.
She didn't look at him.
"Sarah…?" Yuri asked, voice barely there. "Is everything okay?"
She swallowed.
Her lips parted—closed—parted again.
She took a step toward him.
"Yuri…" she whispered.
Her voice cracked.
Then she broke.
She surged forward, arms wrapping around him with sudden desperation, pressing herself into his chest as though anchoring herself to the last solid thing in a collapsing world. Her hand slid along his back—slow, unsure, shaking.
Her warmth.
Her closeness.
Her scent.
It all hit him at once, and his heart jolted violently, misfiring in his chest.
"S-Sarah… what are you—what's—" His words dissolved.
She buried her face against him, breath hitching, arms tightening.
"Yuri… I'm sorry," she whispered.
The words weren't loud.
But they shattered him.
"You've always suffered… haven't you?" she continued, voice trembling. "All this time… I watched you fade. I wanted to reach out. I wanted to stand beside you." Her grip tightened. "But I was scared. And I hated myself for it."
His throat closed.
"Sarah… what are you saying…?"
Her hand slid down his arm, hesitant, reverent, until her fingers found his. She intertwined them carefully, like he might vanish if she held too tightly.
She looked up.
Her eyes shone.
"I love you, Yuri," she breathed.
The world tilted.
She pulled him in by his face and kissed him—hard, desperate, unrestrained. Her fingers threaded into his hair as though clinging to a lifeline. Years of restraint collapsed into a single moment.
And for half a heartbeat—
Yuri almost let it happen.
Then something snapped.
He tore himself away.
His chest heaved. His hands shook. His skin burned.
Sarah froze.
The hurt struck her instantly—raw and unguarded. Tears welled as she reached toward him, fingers trembling.
"Yuri…" she whispered.
He pressed a hand to his chest like something inside him had ruptured.
"I—I'm sorry," he stammered, backing away. "This… this isn't—"
He couldn't finish.
Because the feeling was familiar.
That tightness.
That dread.
That certainty that anything good touching him would be torn away.
Then—
The world shifted.
A pressure rolled through the room, predatory and sharp. Yuri felt it in his bones before his mind could name it. The air tightened, bracing for violence.
BOOM!
The corridor exploded.
Glass shattered outward in a violent storm. The door burst open.
Five masked figures flooded the room—grinning porcelain faces, black tactical suits, daggers clattering at their sides.
No words.
No hesitation.
Straight for Sarah.
Straight for Yuri.