"Kouta!"
"Kouta!"
I awoke groggily. Why the hell were people screaming at me to wake up all of a sudden, first my brother, then my mother?
But this was serious; my mother forcibly rolled me over as she met my eyes, which disturbed me slightly.
Her eyes protruded from her head, the vessels clearly showing despite the sleep she had.
She grasped both of my shoulders tightly, wrinkling up the shirt I was wearing, as I had no choice but to look her in the eyes.
"Kouta, where is your brother?"
I searched around my sides and the general room but didn't find my brother.
However, I did notice my dad putting on the brown overalls he wore at the time as he buttoned the rest of his shirt and threw on his patchwork jacket, getting ready to go outside hastily.
The whole situation confused me out of my mind about what exactly had happened while I was asleep.
My mother let me go as she fast walked to the middle of the room, pacing around as she held her chin worriedly.
Now that I noticed it and became alarmed, Mahito was gone—not in the house—and my parents seemed worried.
Had he been kidnapped? No, that seemed unlikely. Why would they kidnap that sack of unlit bulbs?
Then it hit me what he had said before I decided to get some shut-eye: had he gone out to act revenge on my behalf?
I slid out of my bedroll quickly as I reached for my clothes and shoes.
All I had to throw on was my jacket and shoes. I was fine with running out in my own pair of pajamas.
I slid on my dirty shoes and the matching jacket of my dad's.
As my dad was the first out of the door, I was right behind him as I slid my arm into the sleeves.
My mother was too worried to notice we had left or didn't want to keep pace with us as she wasn't a fast runner.
I followed my dad closely as we heard the commotion on the next street; we could hear it through the alley and along the street.
My father ran through the alleyway with haste, dodging trash piles and bags alike as he made it through, stepping onto a puddle that splashed water on me.
I was quick, running right on his tail as he turned the right corner, only to find a mosh pit.
My father quickly rushed to the back and moved people aside. We prayed and hoped that it wasn't who we thought it was—maybe some drunk bards or something—but please not Mahito.
As I ran into the crowd, I tried my best to get to the front, but I was slower compared to my dad as I looked ahead at him.
He had frozen, and that didn't mean anything good as I stood right beside him, looking into the circle.
It was him; it was Mahito. But that wasn't my center of attention there; it was bodies laid out from corner to corner, sprawled out with bruises and dislocated appendages.
Blood leaked from their mouths as the whites encompassed their eyes. What exactly had happened here?
Everybody was knocked out cold, breathing but out for the count. Had somebody jumped in with Mahito, beaten the bullies, and fled before we could see?
I was too disoriented to think properly and make sense of the situation because of all the commotion about what exactly had happened, but my dad's voice broke through my fog.
"Mahito, what are you doing?"
Anger escaped from my father's voice; he usually tried to speak in a civilized tone for business, but I guess this situation was just too much for him.
He ran into the pit toward Mahito, grabbing him by the shoulder as he stared the boy in the eyes.
Mahito didn't have an expression at all; he just looked up at my father with confusion and no body language.
My father awaited an answer as he analyzed Mahito. Mahito wasn't unscathed, with bloody nose bruises all over his body, especially on his head; he had one right in the middle of his forehead, which contrasted with his pale skin.
My father grew angrier by the second as he dragged Mahito by the arm toward me and, more specifically, toward the house as the crowd cleared a way for them to leave, even as I stared at the small Mahito.
I hurried to catch up, following closely behind my father as we left the crowd. I was slightly embarrassed by all the attention attracted to us as I tried to tilt my head down.
As I was leaving the circle on the edge, somebody grabbed my arm. I snapped my head back to see who it was.
I looked the man in the face, confused about why he had grabbed me; he was a burly, big, bellied man with brown balding hair, especially on top, and a mustache that was long and pointy.
As he chuckled, his yellow teeth showed some missing as he cheered to me.
"When you get the chance, tell that young whopper snapper that I've been waiting for somebody to kick the asses of those punks!"
As the man let me go, he reeled back with his laugh, holding his belly as I began to walk away, dusting my arm off.
As my dad and I rounded the corner.
Sometime later…
"What the hell were you thinking? Damn, nearly the whole town could hear you from every corner!"
Mahito was being reprimanded for the past hour or so, while I sat in the corner, both my mom and dad pacing around the room.
The tension was thick, and my dad's face was flushed with anger, the veins in his neck bulging as he tried to make sense of what had happened.
"No, go sit your ass down somewhere!"
Dad's voice boomed through the room, making me flinch. I pulled my head back, startled by the sheer volume. I couldn't help but feel a bit bad for little Mahito. He didn't seem to grasp the gravity of the situation, or maybe he just didn't care. Either way, Dad wasn't about to let him off easy.
Mahito, his small frame hunched over, rubbed his behind as he walked over to the wall where I sat, his back sore from the whippings he'd just received.
I had watched the whole thing, and even though I knew he deserved some kind of punishment, it felt… wrong somehow. Like we weren't dealing with a normal kid here. Even at my age, I could sense that something about Mahito was different.
He slid down beside me, pressing his back against the wall, shoulders slouched. For a moment, he was quiet, but then, like clockwork, that same toothy grin crept across his face—the kind that never quite fit the situation. He glanced at me, his eyes wide with an odd mixture of pride and mischief.
"I did it, Kouta-san," he whispered, his voice bubbling with a quiet giggle. "Heheheh…"
That smile was so full of innocence yet somehow unsettling. It was like, as soon as he had left my father's sight, he had returned to his normal self.
I couldn't help but shake my head and chuckle alongside him; he warned me what he would do and fulfilled it, and now that I think about it, I'm glad the bullies had what was coming to them—I just didn't expect Mahito to be the one to do it.
Nodding my head, I laughed alongside him as I commended him a bit. "I guess you did, Mahito, I guess you did."
As Mahito began to talk my head off, I just zoned out as he described the events that transpired from start to finish, even his leaving the house.
All of it matched together, and it brought a thought to my head. It's clear Mahito isn't my mother or father's; his hair was cyan, and my mom's and dad's was brown. I was the only blond because my grandpa had blond hair.
But that didn't matter as I pondered one thing: who was this kid's parents?