"Let's send someone to tell him there's another teacher waiting for him in the hallway," Hirochi suggested, his eyes gleaming with mischief, as if he'd just come up with a stroke of genius. "Once he steps out, you can take a quick look at the book."
Kenjiro let out a heavy sigh, pressing his fingers to his temples. "Tried that already," he muttered. "Sakamoto-senpai always takes his bag with him. Never leaves it behind."
Hirochi's eyes sparkled with determination as he leaned in closer. "Okay, okay, hear me out. What if we. . . send someone to, you know, steal his bag again?"
Kenjiro's glare was so sharp it could've sliced through steel. "Are you serious? Did you forget what happened last time?"
The memory hit like a punchline. They'd convinced some poor guy to snatch Sakamoto-senpai's bag, assuring him, "He's old. It'll be easy." Turns out, Sakamoto was anything but easy.
The 'old man' had taken off like an Olympic sprinter, caught the thief in record time, and delivered a beating so thorough it could've made a curfew-breaker weep.
Hirochi burst into laughter at the thought but quickly regained his composure. "Alright, fine. New plan. I borrow my friend's car and, uh, lightly bump into him. While he's distracted, we grab the bag."
Kenjiro blinked, his mouth dropping open in disbelief. "Lightly bump into him? Are you trying to kill him?"
"I'm not going to hit him hard enough to kill him," Hirochi said with a casual shrug, as if his outrageous plan was the most logical thing in the world.
Kenjiro's expression didn't budge. "And what if he actually dies?"
Hirochi blinked, his confidence faltering. "Okay, yeah, maybe it's a terrible idea."
"Maybe?" Kenjiro muttered, barely loud enough to hear.
An uneasy silence settled between them, the sounds of the bustling café filling the void as their snacks sat forgotten. Finally, Hirochi stood, brushing crumbs off his shirt with dramatic flair. "Alright, I'm off to basketball practice. Don't worry-I'll think of something genius and let you know later."
Kenjiro sighed, watching Hirochi saunter out like he had all the answers in the world. Shaking his head, Kenjiro grabbed his bag and headed to math class, wishing-not for the first time-that his life could be just a little more ordinary.
When Kenjiro entered the classroom, he quietly made his way to his usual seat. Hirochi's spot beside him was empty, and the desk in front of him remained vacant as well.
The teacher walked in with an air of strict authority. His face was expressionless, almost like a blank slate. His long white hair, streaked with faint traces of black, gave him an uncanny resemblance to Einstein.
He wore a sharp black suit, and perched on his nose were small, round glasses that reflected the dim classroom lights.
Kenjiro pulled out his notebook, ready to dive into the lesson. Across the room, Ichino glared at him with an expression of pure disdain, his hatred practically radiating through the air.
As the teacher began the lesson, he wrote an equation on the board and asked the class to solve it.
Kenjiro's mind worked quickly, and within moments, he'd solved the equation. He raised his hand, eager to step up to the board and present the solution.
The teacher glanced at him briefly but ignored his raised hand, offering no acknowledgment.
Kenjiro frowned but remained seated, his frustration growing. When Ichino raised his hand, however, the teacher immediately called on him.
Ichino rose with a smug look, exuding confidence as he made his way to the board. Passing by Kenjiro's desk, he sneered, leaning in just enough to mutter, "Weirdo."
Kenjiro's blood boiled. Anger surged through him like a storm, his hands gripping the edges of his notebook tightly. He tore out the paper with his solved equation, crumpled it into a ball, and hurled it across the room.
The ball of paper sailed cleanly through the air, landing perfectly in the wastebasket without so much as a bounce.
The room fell silent for a moment, but Kenjiro barely noticed. His anger simmered beneath the surface, his focus fixed on Ichino's smug figure at the board.
As soon as the class ended, Kenjiro grabbed his things, anger radiating off him like heat from a furnace.
He stormed toward the door, but Ichino was already there, blocking his path. Before Kenjiro could react, Ichino seized his wrist in a vice-like grip, leaning in close enough that his smirk brushed against Kenjiro's ear.
"You think you can be one of us?" Ichino hissed, his voice low and venomous. "You'll always be the weird scholarship boy, out of place and beneath us."
Kenjiro froze for a moment, then slowly turned his head, his lips curling into a dangerous smirk.
His voice was calm, almost cold, but each word hit like a blade. "Who said I ever wanted to be one of you? I'm proud of being the weirdest, because at least I'm not a coward hiding behind Daddy's money and influence."
Ichino's smirk faltered, just slightly, but Kenjiro didn't stop.
He yanked his hand free with a sharp movement, his gaze burning with intensity as he stepped closer. "Now listen to me, and listen carefully."
His voice dropped, laced with something dark, something that made the air between them feel heavier. "Stay the hell out of my way. Because next time, I won't hold back. You'll meet a side of me you're not ready for."
With that, Kenjiro turned and walked away, his steps steady, purposeful. The hallway seemed quieter, almost frozen, as if the world itself was holding its breath.
"Can't my life get any better?" Kenjiro muttered under his breath as he wandered the school hallway, lost in his thoughts.
As he walked, Sakamoto-senpai passed by, clutching the mysterious green book tightly.
The cover shimmered under the sunlight, the emerald hue catching Kenjiro's eye. Sakamoto smirked faintly before leaving the school grounds, heading off to wherever he worked.
Kenjiro sighed and made his way to the café where he worked part-time. The familiar chime of the doorbell rang as he entered, and his coworkers greeted him warmly. "Welcome back, Kenjiro!"
He smiled in return and quickly got to work behind the counter, preparing orders for the steady stream of customers.
A little boy approached, holding out a phone with a bright grin. On the screen was a picture of Killua from Hunter x Hunter. "I want this!" the boy exclaimed.
Kenjiro chuckled softly and nodded, carefully recreating the character's image in the foam of the boy's coffee. The boy's delighted laughter brought a rare sense of peace to Kenjiro's day.
The hours passed uneventfully, and as Kenjiro wiped down the counter, his phone buzzed with a message from Hirochi:
"Get ready! I've got a plan that's 100% foolproof. By the way, I won't be coming tonight-my mom's sick. But I'll see you in the morning to fill you in. See ya!"
Kenjiro smiled faintly and typed back:
"Is your mom okay?"
A response came quickly:
"Yeah, don't worry. Just a flu."
Satisfied, Kenjiro pocketed his phone, finished his shift, and left the café. Feeling the pangs of hunger from skipping lunch, he stopped at a ramen shop and treated himself to a steaming bowl of noodles.
By evening, he wandered through the market, gathering groceries for the night ahead.
When he stepped through the door of his house, his phone buzzed once more-this time, an unknown number flashing on the screen.
"Hello?" he answered cautiously.
"Hey, kid," a gruff voice replied. "Your father's here at the bar-drunk out of his mind. Come get him."
Kenjiro's heart sank, but he kept his tone steady. "Alright, sir. Can you give me the address?"
After jotting it down, he hailed a taxi and headed to the bar. As the city lights blurred past the window, Kenjiro steeled himself for yet another encounter with the man who seemed determined to complicate his life.
When Kenjiro arrived at the bar, he found his father slumped over, fast asleep at the table.
His father's hand hung limply, and as Kenjiro reached out to gently lift it, his father stirred. Red-rimmed eyes opened, his face weary. "K-K-Kenjiro... you again?"
Kenjiro nodded, his voice soft yet firm. "Yes, Dad. Let's go home."
He slipped his hand around his father's neck, supporting him as they made their way to the car. His father glanced at him with guilt in his tired eyes.
He wanted Kenjiro to live his own life, to leave him behind. But Kenjiro couldn't do that. Not now, not ever. He couldn't leave his father alone.
At home, Kenjiro helped his father into bed, his hand brushing his forehead. It was burning hot. "Dad, you're burning up. We should take you to the hospital."
His father groaned, shaking his head. "No, I'm fine."
"But..." Kenjiro hesitated.
"I'm fine, Kenjiro," his father interrupted softly. "Just... make me something to eat."
Kenjiro smiled, wiping a tear from his eye. "Okay."
In the kitchen, Kenjiro busied himself with preparing dinner. He returned to the living room with the tray of food, helping his father sit up.
They ate together in silence, the first time they had shared a meal like this since his mother passed away.
His father looked at him with weary eyes and spoke between bites. "Kenjiro... I didn't mean what I said before. You're my son... always."
Kenjiro's heart swelled, and a tear slipped down his cheek. "I know, Dad. I know."
Once the meal was finished, Kenjiro helped his father back to bed and touched his forehead again. "You're really burning up," Kenjiro said softly.
"I'm fine, Kenjiro," his father murmured, the words heavy with exhaustion. "Just go to sleep."
Kenjiro smiled and nodded, but his eyes lingered on his father a moment longer before he carefully made up a spot on the floor beside his father's bed, curling up there to sleep.
. . . . .
. . . . .
When Kenjiro woke up, a hollow silence filled the house. He turned his head to look at his father, still lying in bed.
But something was wrong. His father's eyes were open, staring blankly at the ceiling. His mouth hung slightly ajar, and his chest-still.
Kenjiro froze. The weight of realization crushed him, and his breath caught in his throat. Slowly, he staggered to the wall, pressing his palms against it as if to steady himself.
Then, he slid down, burying his face in his hands.
A strangled sob escaped his lips, followed by another, louder one. His cries grew into agonized wails, raw and guttural. "No... no, no, no!" He clawed at his own hair, hitting his forehead with his fist as if to punish himself. "It's my fault! It's all my fault!"
He crawled back to his father's bedside, clutching the lifeless hand that had once ruffled his hair with love.
Tears streamed uncontrollably down his face as he whispered, "I'm sorry, Dad. I'm so sorry... I should've taken you to the hospital. You'd still be here if I had. This is my fault."
A sharp knock on the door broke through the storm of his grief.
"Oi, Kenjiro, it's me," Hirochi's voice called from outside.
Kenjiro didn't respond. Trembling, he stumbled to the door, opened it, and collapsed to the floor again, hiding his face in his hands as sobs racked his body.
When Hirochi stepped inside, the scene hit him like a blow to the chest. His eyes immediately burned with tears as he took in Kenjiro's father lying on the bed, unmoving. He turned to his friend, curled up and broken on the floor.
Hirochi crouched beside him, placing a steadying hand on Kenjiro's shoulder. "Kenji... I'm so sorry."
Kenjiro's voice cracked as he spoke, his words barely coherent through his sobs. "It's my fault, Hirochi. If I had taken him to the hospital last night... he'd still be here. I killed him. I killed my dad!"
Hirochi gripped Kenjiro's arm firmly. "Stop it, Kenji. It's not your fault. Your dad... it was just his time."
Kenjiro shoved Hirochi's hand away, glaring at him through bloodshot eyes. "No! Don't say that! He can't leave me! I'm alone now, Hirochi! Alone! My dad is dead, my mom is dead... why does everyone I love die? Why does my life always turn into this nightmare?" He slammed his fist into the floor. "I hate this! I hate everything!"
Hirochi's own tears fell silently. "Kenjiro... you're not alone. I'm here with you."
Kenjiro stood suddenly, his voice rising into a scream. "I don't want you! I want my dad! I want my family back! You're nothing to me!"
Hirochi flinched but remained silent. He knew his friend's pain was too deep for logic or comfort.
Kenjiro needed to let it out. So Hirochi stayed there, enduring the harsh words, his heart breaking for his friend.
Two days later, his father's funeral was held, a small and quiet ceremony. Kenjiro stood wearing his father's black suit, which was oversized for him, with sleeves that were too long, and without a tie. His black hair was wet and slicked back, his face looked tired, and his eyes were swollen and red from constant crying.
The funeral was attended by Kenjiro's friends from the café where he worked, as well as Hirochi's father, who stood by his son for support.
There were also strangers Kenjiro didn't recognize, their faces sharp and devoid of sorrow, which only added to his confusion and anger.
Kenjiro stood the entire time, trying to hold back his falling tears. His fists were clenched, his nails digging into his palms in a desperate attempt to stay composed.
Despite his efforts, he couldn't escape the overwhelming reality. His world felt as though it was crumbling, yet Hirochi remained by his side, silent but steadfast, like a solid rock in the midst of chaos.
After the funeral, as the last of the guests departed, Kenjiro noticed the same group of men from earlier-the ones whose sharp, emotionless faces had stood out among the mourners.
They approached him now, their presence heavy and foreboding. The leader stepped forward, towering over Kenjiro with a menacing aura. He was tall, with broad shoulders and muscular arms. His face was marked by deep scars, each one a testament to a brutal past.
"Sorry for your loss, kid," the man said, his voice low and gravelly. "But your father left behind more than memories-he left a debt. A big one. One million yen." He leaned in, his scarred face inches from Kenjiro's.
"And since you're the only family he's got left, it's on you to pay it. You've got until the end of the month. If not..." He smirked, a chilling expression. "We'll make sure you're reunited with your old man. Permanently."
The man gave Kenjiro's shoulder a hard, deliberate pat, his hand lingering just long enough to send a clear message. Then he turned and walked away, his men following behind without a word.
Kenjiro stood there, fists clenched, his breath shaky. He closed his eyes and let out a heavy sigh. "Damn it," he muttered.
As he made his way home, the weight of their words bore down on him like a storm. One million yen. His father's debt. How was he supposed to pay it in just a few weeks?
Kenjiro stayed home for an entire week, skipping school and avoiding everyone. he was reading the books he have at home and His days were a monotonous cycle of working at the café and returning to his empty house.
Even with all the overtime he could manage, the money he needed seemed impossibly out of reach.
One quiet evening, a knock on the door startled him. His heart raced as a chilling thought crossed his mind: Had those men finally come for him?
"It's me," a familiar voice called from the other side.
Kenjiro let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He smiled and opened the door to find Hirochi standing there.
Hirochi stepped inside and casually sat on the floor next to Kenjiro, leaning against the wall. He was holding a small box and handed it to him.
Kenjiro took it, his curiosity piqued. When he opened it, the aroma hit him first-sushi, his favorite. A genuine smile spread across his face as he grabbed the chopsticks with his left hand. He's left-handed.
He ate hungrily, savoring each bite. For the first time in days, he felt a flicker of warmth in his chest. Looking at Hirochi, he said softly, "Thank you... and I'm sorry."
Hirochi tilted his head, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Sorry for what?"
Kenjiro's lips curled into a mischievous smirk. "For what I'm about to say. Remember that idea you told me about? If it doesn't work... I swear I'll make your life a living hell!"
Hirochi chuckled, unbothered by the threat. "It's on me, Kenji. Don't worry. I've got this."
For the first time in a while, Kenjiro felt like he could breathe again.
That morning, both Kenjiro and Hirochi were buzzing with excitement about the mission ahead.
Kenjiro tied his hair back into a sleek ponytail, ensuring there would be no distractions. Today, he would finally get a chance to see that book-no more observing from a distance.
As they walked to school, they exchanged mischievous smirks, their unspoken plan crackling between them like electricity.
The plan was simple but bold: Hirochi would use a lit cigarette to set off the fire alarm, causing chaos as everyone evacuated the building.
Sakamoto would have no choice but to leave, potentially abandoning the mysterious book in his rush.
"He'll take it with him," Kenjiro muttered, confident.
Hirochi shook his head with a sly grin. "No way. His life's worth more than that stupid book. Trust me."
They bumped fists, sealing their pact before splitting up to execute the plan.
Kenjiro headed to the school café, taking a seat where he could keep a close watch on the building. Meanwhile, Hirochi slipped into the restroom with a cigarette and a lighter, ready to set their bold plan into motion.
Kenjiro sat impatiently, tapping the table with restless fingers. That weird, gnawing feeling in his chest wouldn't go away, like something was about to happen-but what?
His phone vibrated on the table, jolting him. An unknown number. He sighed, stood up, and walked outside the café, answering it cautiously. "Hello?"
"Kid, did you manage to get my money?" came the cold, gruff voice from the other side.
Kenjiro's heart sank. His throat tightened. "Shit," he whispered under his breath.
The man's voice turned sharper. "Don't play dumb with me. Did you get it or not?"
Kenjiro shifted from foot to foot, running a hand through his hair as he stammered, "Uh... no, sir, b-but I promise-" He stopped mid-sentence, his eyes catching movement at the school.
Students were screaming, spilling out of the building like ants from a disturbed nest. His breath caught, his unease morphing into a sudden burst of adrenaline.
His eyes widened. The man on the phone was still yelling, but Kenjiro barely heard him. He hung up mid-rant, a sly grin creeping onto his face as he bolted toward the school.
Inside, it was chaos. The fire alarm blared overhead as students rushed past him, panic etched into their faces. Kenjiro dodged and jumped around them, moving with surprising agility.
"Class Seven," he muttered under his breath, counting floors as he ran up the stairs.
The stampede of students slowed him down, but he didn't let up, pushing forward until he reached the final stretch.
The hallway was eerily quiet now, most people having already evacuated. His footsteps echoed as he walked toward the classroom at the very end.
That weird feeling returned, heavier this time, like the air was pressing against him.
When he reached the door, it was slightly ajar. He slipped inside, his heart pounding.
The room was empty, desks left in disarray. Everything seemed normal except for one thing.
There, on Sakamoto's desk, sat the book.
Its green glow shimmered faintly, casting an unnatural light over the room. Kenjiro took a shaky breath, his gaze fixed on the eerie eye on the cover. It seemed to watch him, following his every move.
"Creepy," he muttered under his breath, swallowing hard. The closer he got, the heavier the air felt. He reached out, his hand trembling slightly, and grasped the book.
It didn't budge.
"What the-" Kenjiro groaned, tightening his grip. He pulled harder, his muscles straining. The book felt impossibly heavy, as if it were rooted to the desk.
With one final heave, he managed to lift it, dropping onto the floor with a grunt. "How does sakamoto-senpai carry this thing every day? Is this guy secretly a bodybuilder or what?" he muttered, rubbing his arms.
He set the book gently in his lap and opened it with cautious hands.
The first page met his gaze-stark white, almost blinding in its purity-accented by a bold green inscription. He read aloud:
"The Green Book. I, the green-eyed one, my soul, my body, my very essence, all belong to-"
Kenjiro stopped reading and muttered, "What is this nonsense?"
He tried flipping to the next page, but the pages wouldn't budge. They were stiff, unmovable. "What the-? You've got to be kidding me."
He tried flipping through the other pages, but they wouldn't budge. They were stiff as stone. Frustration etched itself onto his face. "What is this? I risked my life for this?"
He pulled harder, but the pages remained stubbornly closed. His growing tension and disappointment were unmistakable. Suddenly, a loud noise came from behind him, making him jump.
He turned around quickly, only to see the book now lying open, its pages spread wide as if by some invisible force.
His heart raced as he whispered, "What the hell is going on here?"
Approaching cautiously, he saw the two open pages were completely blank-pure, pristine white.
Grabbing the book again, he flipped through the rest of the pages with force. One after another, they were all the same. His hands trembled as his mind raced.
"E_ E... Empty?!" he stammered, his voice rising with disbelief. "What the hell?! I risked my life for this? For a goddamn EMPTY book?!"