The older boy stood tall, his broad shoulders casting an imposing shadow under the faint light of the streetlamp. His eyes, filled with anger and menace, bore into Yami. A tense silence hung in the air as Yami remained rooted in place, his mind racing with memories of his past confrontations and the quiet strength he had learned to summon.
"Do you think you can scare us away?" the boy growled, his voice rough like gravel. He clenched his fists, advancing a step closer.
Yami took a slow, steady breath, the aura around him shifting. Though he didn't move or speak, there was a quiet confidence in the way he stood—calm, yet unyielding. His gaze, sharp and unwavering, met the older boy's, and for a moment, it was as if the world had paused.
"I'm not here to fight," Yami said, his voice steady but firm. "But I won't let you hurt anyone else."
The boy hesitated, taken aback by Yami's composure. Something about him—his presence, his aura—felt different, almost commanding. The other bullies, who had gathered behind the older boy, shifted uneasily, glancing at each other.
"You're just pretending to be tough," the boy sneered, though his voice lacked the same confidence as before. "You don't know what you're dealing with."
Yami took a step forward, his movements deliberate and measured. His presence seemed to grow, the quiet strength radiating from him making the boy falter. "And you don't know what kindness can do," Yami replied softly, his words carrying an unexpected weight.
The boy's fists loosened, his bravado slipping away. For a moment, it seemed as though Yami's words had struck a chord, breaking through the walls of aggression and insecurity. The boy turned away abruptly, motioning for his group to follow. "This isn't over," he muttered, though his voice lacked conviction.
As they disappeared into the night, Yami let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He turned to the smaller boy, who had been watching the entire exchange with wide, tear-filled eyes.
"Are you okay?" Yami asked, crouching down to meet the boy's gaze.
The boy nodded, his voice shaky as he replied, "Thank you… I thought they were going to—" He broke off, unable to finish the sentence.
Yami placed a reassuring hand on the boy's shoulder. "You're safe now. But remember what I said—you need to find your own strength. The world can be harsh, but you don't have to face it alone."
The boy wiped his tears, a flicker of hope igniting in his eyes. He gave Yami a small, grateful smile before running off toward the safety of his home.
As Yami stood alone under the streetlamp, the village around him quiet and still, he felt a strange sense of calm. For the first time in a long while, he had acted not out of fear or hesitation, but from a place of quiet resolve.
The aura of his past—the grief, the pain—no longer felt as heavy. Instead, it was transforming, becoming something stronger, something he could wield not as a burden but as a gift.
And as the stars above twinkled in the night sky, Yami knew that this was just the beginning of a new chapter in his life, one where he could finally start to heal—and perhaps, even help others do the same.