The fluorescent lights of Kazan Middle School hummed overhead as Ren Kurogane pressed his back against the cold bathroom wall. Three pairs of footsteps echoed outside.
"Kurogane~ Come on out. We just wanna talk."
Ren's hands trembled. Not again. Not today.
The door slammed open. Daichi Soma—broad-shouldered, permanent sneer—stepped in first. His two friends flanked him like hyenas.
"There you are." Daichi cracked his knuckles. "You know what day it is, right?"
"Friday," Ren whispered.
"Friday. Payday." Daichi's hand shot out, grabbing Ren by the collar. "Lunch money. Now."
Ren fumbled with his wallet. Empty. He'd stopped bringing money weeks ago.
Daichi's face darkened. "Nothing?"
"I don't have—"
The punch came fast. Ren's vision blurred as his head snapped back against the tile. Metallic taste flooded his mouth.
"Next time, bring double."
They left him there, crumpled on the bathroom floor, staring at his own blood swirling down the drain.
I'm tired of this.
I'm so tired.
PART 2: THE GYM
Two weeks later, Ren stood outside a weathered building on the edge of town. Faded letters above the door read: ASHURA COMBAT CLUB.
Through the window, he could see heavy bags swaying, hear the sharp crack of shin meeting pad. His stomach twisted.
What am I even doing here?
The door opened. A man in his fifties, greying hair tied back, looked down at him. Muscular, but lean. Scar running through his left eyebrow.
"You coming in, or you gonna stand there all day?"
"I—I want to learn how to fight."
The man studied him. Took in the fading bruise on Ren's cheek, the way he held himself—hunched, defensive.
"Name?"
"Ren Kurogane."
"Master Kuroda." He stepped aside. "You ever trained before?"
"No, sir."
"Good. Means I don't have to fix bad habits." Kuroda gestured inside. "Shoes off. Let's see what you're working with."
Ren stepped into the gym. The smell hit him first—sweat, leather, liniment. About a dozen people were training. Some shadowboxing. Some drilling combos on pads. One person in the ring, moving through forms with fluid precision.
A girl. Maybe his age. Long black hair tied in a ponytail. Every movement sharp, controlled, effortless.
"That's Akari Shindo," Kuroda said, noticing Ren's stare. "Been training here three years. Best student I've got."
As if sensing their gaze, Akari stopped mid-kick, turned, and locked eyes with Ren.
Her expression was unreadable. Not hostile. Not friendly. Just... assessing.
"Akari!" Kuroda called. "Got fresh meat. Need you to spar with him."
Ren's heart dropped. "Wait, what? I've never—"
"Best way to learn." Kuroda tossed him a mouthguard. "Light contact. No head shots. She'll go easy on you."
PART 3: THE SPAR
Ren barely remembered stepping into the ring.
Akari stood across from him, hands raised, bouncing lightly on her toes. She looked relaxed. He felt like he was about to throw up.
"Ready?" Kuroda asked.
Ren nodded.
"Go."
Akari moved.
Not fast. Not aggressive. Just... efficient. She closed the distance, feinted a jab. Ren flinched, stumbled back. Her leg swept his ankle. He hit the mat before he realized what happened.
"Again," Kuroda said.
Ren got up. Tried to throw a wild punch. She stepped inside his guard, tapped his ribs with a knee. Not hard. Just enough.
"Again."
Five minutes. Ten. Fifteen.
Ren never landed a single hit.
By the end, he was gasping, legs shaking. Akari wasn't even breathing hard.
"That's enough," Kuroda said. "Akari, help him stretch out."
She offered a hand. Ren took it, and she pulled him to his feet.
"You've got terrible balance," she said bluntly. "And you telegraph everything."
"Thanks," Ren muttered.
"But—" She tilted her head. "You didn't quit. Most people tap out after three minutes."
"I'm used to getting hit."
Something flickered in her eyes. Understanding, maybe. Or pity. Ren couldn't tell.
"Come back tomorrow," Kuroda called from across the gym. "And the day after. And every day after that. You want to be strong? Prove it."
Ren looked at his trembling hands.
I will.
PART 4: THREE YEARS LATER
Kazan High School. First Year.
Ren walked through the hallway with his head up for the first time in years. His frame had filled out—shoulders broader, posture straighter. Bruises on his knuckles from morning training.
Ashura had become his second home. Six days a week. Sometimes seven. Master Kuroda drilled him relentlessly. Technique. Footwork. Conditioning.
And Akari... she was still miles ahead.
Every time he thought he was catching up, she pulled further away. It wasn't frustrating anymore. It was motivating.
"Yo, Kurogane."
That voice.
Ren turned. Three familiar faces. Daichi Soma and his crew—older now, still just as ugly.
"Been a while," Daichi said, stepping closer. "Heard you got into Kazan High. Small world."
Ren said nothing.
"What, you too good to talk now?" One of the lackeys shoved Ren's shoulder.
Ren's body moved on instinct—shifted weight, redirected the push. The guy stumbled forward.
Daichi's eyes narrowed. "The hell was that?"
"Nothing. Just leave me alone."
"Oh, so you got hands now?" Daichi grinned. "Let's see 'em."
The punch came fast—but not fast enough.
Ren slipped it. Muscle memory. Hours of drilling. He saw the opening. Daichi's guard was wide. One clean counter and—
No.
Ren stepped back, hands raised defensively.
"Not worth it," he muttered, turning to walk away.
"Pussy."
Daichi's fist crashed into the back of Ren's head.
Everything went red.
PART 5: AFTERMATH
Ren didn't remember much after that.
Just—movement. His body reacting. A low kick to Daichi's lead leg. An elbow when he doubled over. The satisfying thud of someone hitting the ground.
When the haze cleared, all three of them were on the floor. Groaning. Bleeding.
Ren stood over them, knuckles split, breathing hard.
A crowd had gathered. Whispers. Phones out.
"Shit," Ren muttered.
He turned and walked away before a teacher showed up.
PART 6: THE EVENING SESSION
That night, Ren showed up at Ashura like always.
Akari was already there, working the heavy bag. She glanced at his bruised knuckles.
"Heard you hospitalized three guys."
"They started it."
"I know." She resumed her strikes. "Kuroda's pissed, though. Says you're not supposed to use what you learn here like that."
"Yeah, well—" Ren grabbed his gloves. "They had it coming."
They trained in silence for a while. Eventually, Akari paused.
"Spar?" she asked.
Ren smiled despite himself. "You're still gonna wreck me."
"Obviously." She grinned—rare for her. "But you're better than you used to be."
They went three rounds.
She still won. Every time.
But Ren landed two clean hits. Two more than last month.
Progress.
PART 7: THE WALK HOME
Ren left the gym around 9 PM, body sore, mind clear.
The streets were quiet. Streetlights flickered overhead.
He took a shortcut through an alley near the shopping district—empty this time of night.
Then he heard it.
Chewing.
Wet. Rhythmic. Wrong.
Ren froze.
At the far end of the alley, illuminated by a single buzzing light, was a man crouched over something.
No—not a man.
Its back was hunched. Skin too pale. Limbs too long.
And it was eating.
Ren's stomach turned as he realized what the thing was crouched over.
A body. Human. Still wearing a convenience store uniform.
The creature's head snapped up.
Its face—god, its face—was human. Almost. Mouth too wide. Eyes too black.
It smiled.
"Oh," it said, voice distorted, like gravel scraping glass. "Another one."
Ren's legs wouldn't move.
The thing stood, blood dripping from its chin.
"Don't worry," it said. "I'll make it quick."
[END CHAPTER 1]