The soft crackle of the campfire filled the quiet night as the group sat around it, their exhaustion still palpable after the grueling battle. Akamatsu sat slightly apart from the others, staring into the flames. His normally composed expression was distant, his mind far away.
Ken noticed the unusual silence and tilted his head toward him. "You've been quiet, Akamatsu. More than usual. Something on your mind?"
Akamatsu glanced at him, then back at the fire. After a moment, he sighed. "It's nothing," he said, though his tone betrayed the weight of his thoughts.
But Mrs. Mi, ever perceptive, leaned forward, her warm gaze fixed on him. "It's not nothing," she said gently. "We've all shared parts of ourselves. Maybe it's time you did too."
Akamatsu hesitated, his eyes flickering with a mix of emotions. Finally, he nodded. "Alright," he said quietly. "I suppose you should know."
---
The Wilderness
Akamatsu's earliest memories were not of warmth or love but of whispers and glares. He was born in a remote village nestled deep within the wilderness, far from the bustling cities. But from the moment he came into the world, he was an outcast.
His parents, prominent figures in the village, had high expectations for their child. But when Akamatsu displayed his strange powers as a toddler—dark tendrils of energy curling around him, his eyes glowing unnaturally—they were horrified.
"This child… he's cursed," his mother whispered to his father one night, thinking Akamatsu couldn't hear. "He's not ours. He's something else."
His father's response was colder than the winter winds. "He's a demon. We should have left him in the forest where he belongs."
By the time Akamatsu was seven, the whispers had grown louder. The villagers avoided him, crossing the street when he walked by. Children who once played with him now ran in fear. Even his parents refused to look him in the eye. His mother cried every time he entered the room, and his father never called him by name—only "it" or "the demon."
Eventually, they had enough. One fateful morning, his parents stood at the edge of the village, a packed bag at their feet. His mother looked away as his father spoke the words that would haunt him forever.
"You don't belong here. Leave, and don't come back."
Akamatsu stood frozen, tears streaming down his face. "But… I'm your son," he whispered.
His father's glare was ice. "No, you're not. You never were."
They turned and walked away, leaving Akamatsu alone.
---
Survival
The wilderness was unforgiving. At first, Akamatsu wandered aimlessly, surviving on scraps and sheer willpower. He learned to fend off wild animals, to build shelter, and to forage for food. But the isolation was crushing.
For years, he lived like this, each day blending into the next. The villagers' taunts and his parents' rejection echoed in his mind, feeding the darkness inside him. He began to believe their words—that he was a demon, unworthy of love or companionship.
But there was one voice that defied the rest.
---
The Stranger
One day, as Akamatsu hunted in the forest, he encountered someone unexpected—a wandering swordsman named Hiro. Hiro was a grizzled old man with a kind smile and sharp eyes that seemed to see through everything.
"You're not as scary as they say," Hiro said the first time they met, watching as Akamatsu hesitated with his blade.
"What do you know about me?" Akamatsu snapped, defensive.
Hiro shrugged. "Enough to know you're no demon. You're just a kid trying to survive."
Over the next few months, Hiro visited Akamatsu regularly, teaching him how to wield a blade and control the dark energy within him. Hiro never judged, never flinched, no matter how wild Akamatsu's powers became. Instead, he taught him discipline, patience, and the value of strength tempered by kindness.
"You're not cursed," Hiro told him one night as they sat around a fire. "You're gifted. But power without control is dangerous. Learn to master it, and you'll see—it's not the power that defines you. It's what you do with it."
---
A Turning Point
Hiro's guidance became Akamatsu's anchor, but their time together was short-lived. One day, Hiro stopped coming. Akamatsu searched for him, his heart heavy with worry, only to find a grave marked with a simple sword in the ground.
Hiro had been the only person to believe in him, to see him as something more than a demon. His death left Akamatsu shattered, but it also gave him purpose. He swore to honor Hiro's teachings, to prove to the world—and to himself—that he was more than the monster they feared.
---
Back to the Present
Akamatsu's voice trailed off, the firelight casting shadows across his face. "So, that's my story," he said, his tone even, though his eyes betrayed the lingering pain. "I've been called a demon, disowned, and left to fend for myself. But if not for Hiro… I don't think I'd still be here."
The group was silent for a moment, absorbing his words. Then, Simon spoke, his voice firm. "You're not a demon, Akamatsu. You're one of us. And you always will be."
The others nodded in agreement, their expressions resolute. For the first time in years, Akamatsu felt something stir in his chest—something warm and unfamiliar. Acceptance.
"Thank you," he said softly, his voice barely audible over the crackle of the fire.
In that moment, surrounded by his team, Akamatsu realized that while his past had shaped him, it didn't define him. He wasn't alone anymore.