"Do you understand, boy?" his uncle's voice broke the silence, sharp and cold. "This is for the greater good. Your life… it was never yours to keep."
Yamino lifted his head, his gaze locking onto his uncle's eyes. "You stole everything from me," he said, his voice trembling but resolute. "My parents, my future, my dignity. And now my life? For what? Some delusional belief?"
His uncle sneered. "You wouldn't understand. Sacrifices must be made for power—true power. This ritual will ensure our family's legacy. Your parents were too weak to see it."
"Don't you dare talk about them!" Yamino shouted, his voice cracking under the weight of emotion. "They were better than you'll ever be."
The older man paused, his grip tightening on the knife. "Your defiance changes nothing," he said, his tone darkening. "You were always insignificant, a pawn in a much larger game."
As the blade hovered closer, Yamino's life flashed before his eyes, each memory a sharp pang of pain and loss. He remembered the day his life changed forever: the moment he learned of his parents' death in a plane crash when he was in class 10. That day marked the beginning of his descent into despair.
Orphaned and alone, Yamino became an easy target for bullies. His own family—the very people who should have protected him—took everything from him. They stripped him of his inheritance, his dignity, and his sense of belonging. To survive, he took up part-time jobs, scraping by in a world that seemed determined to crush him.
Yet, amidst the darkness, there was a small spark of solace. It wasn't in friendships or family but in the novels he devoured, the anime he watched, and the fleeting moments of escape they provided. These stories of heroes, adventures, and resilience became his sanctuary, the only bright spot in an otherwise bleak existence.
"Why me?" Yamino whispered, his voice almost inaudible. "Why did it have to be me?"
His uncle hesitated, the faintest glimmer of doubt crossing his face. But it was fleeting. "Because you were the perfect candidate," he said, his voice like steel. "Broken, alone, and expendable."
Now, as he faced death at the hands of his uncle, those memories swirled within him—a lifetime of struggle, fleeting joys, and an overwhelming sense of injustice. The knife descended, and Yamino closed his eyes, bracing for the inevitable. But somewhere deep within, a fire ignited, fueled by years of pain and longing. This was not the end; it couldn't be. Something… someone would answer the unspoken call for salvation.
The symbols on the ground began to glow faintly as the knife neared Yamino's chest. His uncle's eyes widened slightly, the first sign of uncertainty flashing across his face. "What… what is this?" he stammered. The air grew thick, charged with a presence Yamino couldn't explain. The pain that had been his constant companion for so long twisted into something else—something powerful.
A blinding light erupted from the circle, throwing his uncle backward. Yamino's body felt weightless, his consciousness slipping away, consumed by the light.
*
*
The first thing Yamino noticed as he opened his eyes was the soft hum of an electric fan. He blinked, disoriented, the harsh afternoon light pouring through the classroom windows. It took a moment to realize he was sitting at a desk, his head resting on crossed arms. The air smelled faintly of chalk and dust. The classroom was empty.
A sudden clap on his shoulder startled him. He turned, his vision blurry at first, but as he squinted, the figure became clearer. A boy with red-and-white hair stood beside him, his expression calm yet oddly familiar.
"You should get up," the boy said, his voice steady but firm. "It's time to go."
"Go where?" Yamino asked, his voice groggy. "Who… who are you?"
The boy tilted his head, studying Yamino with an unreadable expression. "I'm your distant cousin," he said simply. "We need to go home. The class is over now."
Home? Yamino's mind felt like a foggy void. He rubbed his temples, trying to piece together what had happened. "I… I don't remember you," he admitted as they began to walk toward the classroom door. "Actually, I don't remember much of anything."
The boy glanced at him but said nothing at first, his footsteps echoing in the empty hallway. "That's okay," he said after a moment. "You'll remember in time. For now, let's just go."
As they stepped out into the corridor, the sunlight streaming through the tall windows felt unnaturally warm. Yamino glanced at his companion. "What's your name?"
The boy hesitated, a flicker of something unspoken crossing his face. "Hikaru," he said at last. "Hikaru K. Ashura. And your full name is Yamino K. Sura."
Yamino stopped in his tracks, staring at him. "K. Sura…?"
Hikaru nodded. "Yes. We're cousins. Both of us became orphans after the same plane accident that took your parents. It wasn't just you—it took mine too."
The weight of this revelation settled heavily on Yamino. "I… I don't remember any of this," he murmured. "What happened to us after that?"
Hikaru's expression softened slightly. "We inherited some money," he explained. "It's been supporting us, bit by bit, every year until we turned 26. And there's the villa."
"Villa?" Yamino repeated, confused. "Where?"
Hikaru's gaze darkened. "In a village. It's isolated, quiet. But there's one thing you should know before we go there…"
Yamino's stomach twisted. "What?"
Hikaru hesitated, then said, "The villa… it's in the middle of a graveyard."
Yamino stopped walking again, his body tense. "A graveyard? Are you serious?"
Hikaru gave a small, grim nod. "It's been in our family for generations. No one really talks about it, but… you'll see. Just be prepared."
As they descended a flight of stairs, the muffled sounds of a distant city reached Yamino's ears. The doors swung open, revealing a bustling cityscape. The noise, the light, the sheer intensity of it all felt overwhelming, and Yamino hesitated on the threshold.
"Come on," Hikaru urged, stepping forward. "We don't have time to waste."
With a deep breath, Yamino followed, the weight of unanswered questions pressing heavily on his mind. They moved through the city, weaving through streets that seemed both familiar and foreign. Eventually, they arrived at a bus station. The surroundings felt oddly antiquated, like something out of a historical film.
"What is this place?" Yamino asked, glancing around. "It feels… old."
Hikaru didn't answer immediately. Instead, he purchased tickets and handed one to Yamino. "Just trust me," he said. "We're heading to the villa. It's time you saw it for yourself."
Yamino boarded the bus, his heart pounding with unease and anticipation. Outside the window, the city faded into a blur, replaced by dense forests and winding roads. Questions swirled in his mind, but one thing was clear: his life had already changed, and whatever lay ahead was bound to reveal even darker truths.