The cold ache lingered, even as I slipped back into the classroom.
My heart pounded in my chest, each beat heavy, erratic. The encounter with my prideful self—that version of me, so distant, so ruthless—clung to me like the last echo of a nightmare. His mocking disdain still pulsed in my mind, each word a reminder of what I could be if I surrendered to the darkness inside.
But the classroom around me seemed… strange, unfamiliar. My classmates filled the room, their voices blending into a murmur of chatter, but everything felt sharper, brighter, as if the edges of reality were painfully real. I could barely make out their faces—they looked distorted, like faded reflections on cracked glass.
Piku sat across the room, his head tilted back in laughter. But his laughter sounded off, hollow, as if it didn't belong to him. I couldn't shake the feeling that I was still trapped in something foreign, as if I had slipped into another layer of illusion.
And then it hit me—the prickling sensation creeping along my skin, a familiar pulse of wrongness. I needed to get out of here. The classroom walls seemed to waver, flickering between shadows and light, and I felt myself stumbling back, pressing against something solid that wasn't supposed to be there.
A flash, and the room dissolved again.
I blinked, struggling to breathe as the world around me twisted into something else entirely. My feet felt unsteady, and I nearly stumbled as I found myself standing in a narrow alleyway, surrounded by the stench of trash and something else—something metallic, harsh, lingering in the air like smoke.
I looked up, taking in the dark, towering walls on either side, a stark contrast to the pristine, orderly hallway I'd just escaped. These walls were covered in graffiti, jagged lines scrawled over broken brick, and everything reeked of anger. A twisted, simmering rage seemed to emanate from the ground itself, pulsing like a heartbeat.
Across the alley, I saw him—me, another version of myself, but different from the prideful Takeru I had just left behind. This Takeru was wild, his hair disheveled, his expression hard and raw with fury. His fists were clenched so tightly his knuckles had turned white, and his entire stance radiated aggression.
He didn't look at me right away. He was staring down, breathing hard, as if he'd just been in a fight. Blood dripped from his knuckles, staining the concrete beneath him, and a dark, twisted energy pulsed around him, suffusing the air with an almost unbearable tension.
He looked up slowly, his eyes locking onto mine, and I felt a chill crawl down my spine. His gaze was like a storm, brimming with anger and resentment, as though he'd been consumed by every ounce of bitterness I'd ever felt.
"What are you doing here?" he demanded, his voice low and laced with contempt.
"I… I don't know," I stammered, unable to tear my eyes away from his. "I was just—"
"Running, of course," he interrupted, his lip curling. "That's what you always do, isn't it? Run away from everything, from everyone. Too afraid to face your own weakness."
The accusation hit me like a punch, and I took a step back, clenching my fists. "That's not true."
"No?" His voice rose, sharp with mockery. "You think you're different? You think you're strong because you can avoid the darkness inside you? Don't lie to yourself."
I felt the anger bubbling up, threatening to take over. "I'm not lying to myself. I'm trying to understand it—trying to control it."
His laughter was bitter, hollow, and it echoed through the alley. "Control?" he spat, his eyes narrowing. "You're too weak to control anything. That's why you're here, in my world. Because deep down, you're just as angry, just as broken. But instead of facing it, you keep running in circles."
I shook my head, struggling to hold onto my composure. "I don't want to be like you. I won't let anger consume me."
"But it already has," he sneered, stepping closer, his face twisted with fury. "You pretend you're above it, but every time you look at Piku, you feel it. That hatred, that resentment. The jealousy eating away at you. It's a part of you, whether you like it or not."
I felt a shiver of recognition, a hollow ache in my chest. He was right. No matter how much I tried to deny it, the anger had always been there, lurking beneath the surface, festering in the dark corners of my mind. I had buried it, tried to ignore it, but it had only grown stronger, feeding on every small slight, every bitter thought.
"What do you want from me?" I whispered, my voice barely audible.
He smirked, his gaze hardening. "I want you to stop pretending. Stop hiding behind your excuses, your illusions of control. Embrace what you really are—a creature of rage, of resentment."
"No," I said, my voice stronger this time. "I won't become you."
He laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "You don't have a choice. You're already here, drowning in the anger you've tried so hard to bury. You're just too afraid to admit it."
The shadows around us seemed to deepen, pressing in on me from all sides, and I felt a suffocating weight settle over me. I tried to take a step back, but the ground felt like quicksand, dragging me down, trapping me in place.
He took another step forward, his eyes gleaming with a twisted satisfaction. "Why fight it? You're just lying to yourself. You know you want to let go, to give in."
The temptation was overwhelming, the promise of release tantalizing. I could feel the anger bubbling up, rising from somewhere deep and dark, whispering to me, urging me to surrender, to embrace the bitterness that had been my constant companion.
But something inside me resisted, a spark of defiance flickering in the darkness. "I won't let you control me," I said, my voice shaking but resolute.
He sneered, but there was a flicker of doubt in his gaze. "You think you can fight it? Fine. Run back to your little illusions. But remember this—you can't escape what's inside you forever."
The shadows surged, swirling around us, and I felt the ground shift beneath my feet. The world around me began to blur, the alley dissolving into darkness as his mocking laughter echoed in my ears.
---
I stumbled, gasping for breath as I opened my eyes. I was back in the classroom, the familiar sounds and smells grounding me, but something felt wrong. My hands were trembling, a cold sweat coating my skin. I looked down, half-expecting to see blood on my knuckles, the anger still pulsing beneath the surface like a dormant volcano.
Across the room, Piku was watching me, his eyes wide with a strange mixture of curiosity and concern. But I couldn't meet his gaze, couldn't shake the feeling that something dark had taken root inside me, waiting for the moment I would falter.
The pride I had faced before was dangerous, a twisted reflection of who I could become. But this… this was different. This was my anger, raw and unfiltered, simmering beneath the surface, waiting to consume me the moment I let my guard down.
And I knew, deep down, that the next time I faced him, I might not be strong enough to resist.