The next day
Mahito was tearing the house apart. Furniture had been flipped on its head, the coffee table was missing a leg, and Mahito had grabbed it, placing it on his knee as he hopped around the room, yelling, "YAR!" He danced wildly, swinging the table leg like a pirate's sword, lost in his world.
Liane sat in the middle of the room, her patience visibly fraying. Kouta and Dan had already left for the market, leaving her to play damage control. She cast a glance toward the doorframe, where the low winds howled against it, her tired eyes betraying her exhaustion. They were bloodshot, and tears brimmed at the corners.
"How about we go visit your brother and dad at work for a while? That sounds nice, right?" she suggested, trying to steer the chaos into something manageable.
Mahito paused mid-hop, tapping his chin dramatically as he swayed from side to side, considering her offer. After a moment, he nodded with enthusiasm. "Yeah! I'd love to see Papa and Kouta-san at work!"
Liane let out a quiet sigh of relief, rising to her feet as she led him toward the door. She reached for Mahito's hand, and together, they stepped outside. Mahito hopped down the uneven stone slabs they called steps, landing in the trash-strewn street with an excited giggle. Liane followed, struggling to keep up with his boundless energy as they wove through piles of needles and debris, the air thick with a suffocating, gas-like fog.
Gerald's curio shop wasn't far—just around the corner. As they approached, the sight of the familiar stand came into view. Mahito darted ahead, his small legs pumping as he ran toward his father and brother. When he reached them, he threw his arms around Kouta, hugging him tightly.
Kouta, surprised by the sudden affection, blinked in confusion, managing a stiff smile. Even their parents were taken aback, exchanging glances as their mouths hung open slightly. Maybe Mahito had turned over a new leaf. Maybe he wasn't as strange as they'd feared.
"I've been waiting to see you!" Mahito suddenly exclaimed, his voice bright but unsettling.
There it was—he was strange again. The moment of warmth burst like a balloon, and the air seemed to drain from the scene. Mahito's eerie ear-to-ear grin stretched across his face, radiating an odd tension. Kouta's fake smile faltered as he tried to pull away, but Mahito's grip remained firm. Sweat trickled down Kouta's forehead as he looked to his father for help, though no words left his mouth.
Suddenly, snatch! A kid dressed in ragged clothes bolted by, swiping something from the table before darting down the road. Gerald's expression shifted to panic as he recognized the item. One of his more valuable pieces had just been stolen. Without hesitation, both parents took off in pursuit, leaving Kouta and Mahito behind.
"Kouta, guard the shop!" Liane barked over her shoulder as she ran.
The two boys were now alone, Mahito still clutching Kouta tightly. Kouta's frustration mounted as he forcefully pried Mahito off. But before Kouta could fully free himself, Mahito willingly let go, his eyes curiously scanning the alleyway ahead.
"Ooo, brother," Mahito said, voice dripping with false innocence, "I didn't know you had so many friends. I thought you were a loser."
Kouta's face tightened. Mahito was right—Kouta didn't have friends, only bullies. As if on cue, a group of five boys appeared, their eyes locked on Kouta with malicious intent. Kouta stopped his stride looking towards his parents chasing the thief whilst also looking at the thugs as he chose his battle immediately stepping in front of Mahito, shielding him.
The leader of the group, a hulking boy in dirty overalls and a stained white shirt that strained against his jolly belly waddled toward Kouta. A beard—or maybe just dirt—covered his chin, making him look far older than the rest.
"Move, Blondie, before I move you," the big kid sneered, flashing a yellow smile.
Kouta stood firm, balling his fists and grinding his teeth. Despite his resolve, the boy towered over him. He was a giant, possibly older, definitely stronger. Behind him, his posse of rowdy misfits jeered and cheered, hungry for a fight.
Before Kouta could react, the big boy swung a fist at him. Kouta tried to block, but the sheer force of the blow sent him flying backward, his head hitting the edge of a table. He groaned, clutching his aching skull as the bully advanced again, grabbing a fistful of Kouta's hair and dragging him across the dirt.
Kouta clawed at the bully's wrist, desperately trying to escape, but before he could free himself, he was thrown into the waiting arms of the gang. The dust kicked up as they circled him, fists and feet raining down in a brutal assault. Kouta curled into a ball, shielding his face as best as he could.
Minutes passed, and the beating felt endless. But then, there was a sudden commotion—voices shouting, footsteps pounding the dirt. Kouta's parents had returned, rushing toward the group at full speed. The gang scattered like rats, disappearing into the alleys.
Kouta's mother fell to her knees beside him, pulling him into a tearful embrace. Kouta, bruised and battered, clung to her, his body shaking from the pain.
Meanwhile, his father stood near the stand, inspecting the damage. His eyes caught sight of Mahito, standing under the shed, his face obscured by shadows. He frowned, rolling his eyes in irritation before turning his attention back to Kouta.
But Mahito? He remained in the shadows, a peculiar smile spreading across his face as he watched the scene unfold. He had never witnessed something like this before—a hierarchy, a system where Kouta occupied the bottom rung. Slowly, Mahito's grin widened, stretching across his face like a razor-sharp blade.
He found it fascinating.
His gaze shifted to the table where the curious objects were displayed. One item, a wooden knife carved with tribal-like markings, caught his eye. Slowly, Mahito approached, his body moving with eerie stillness as he reached out and grasped the blade. It was dull and smooth, useless as a weapon but oddly comforting in his hand.
As he held the knife close to his chest, his grin grew even more sinister, his teeth gleaming as he whispered to himself.