The subway was drowning in semi-darkness. Dim fluorescent lights barely cut through the thick, damp air, heavy with the smell of wet concrete, old rubber, and human sweat. Only a few people stood on the platform: an elderly woman with a heavy bag, a guy in a hoodie staring at his phone, and two workers in dirty jackets. Everyone was silent, staring into the black mouth of the tunnel.
Behind them, leaning against a cold pillar, stood Detective Itsuki. He slowly took a drag from a cheap cigarette, exhaled the smoke through his nose, and lazily scanned the platform. His eyes were tired but sharp a habit that ten years on the job could not erase.
"Rain again…" he muttered to himself. "And that smell again. Like the whole city is rotting from the inside."
The train emerged from the darkness with a low, threatening rumble. Its headlights blinded the platform. The doors opened with a pneumatic hiss. Itsuki flicked his cigarette butt onto the tracks, where it hissed in a puddle, and stepped into the nearly empty car. He sat by the window, hands resting on his knees. No one was nearby. Only the cold plastic seat and his own reflection in the dark glass: a pale face, shadows under the eyes, light stubble.
Itsuki stared at himself. For a long time. As if trying to see in that reflection the person he once was.
Suddenly something heavy and wet slammed against the glass from outside with a dull thud. A severed human hand, still fresh with blood, slapped against the window, leaving a long red smear, then immediately flew off down onto the tracks. The fingers were curled as if in a final convulsion trying to grab onto something. The skin was pale, and at the wrist a ragged cut with torn tendons protruding.
Itsuki slightly raised an eyebrow. No fear, no disgust just mild surprise.
"Well, today is just… an awful day," he said quietly, not taking his eyes off the window. "First coffee without sugar, now this. What's next? A severed head at the next station?"
The train smoothly started moving. Outside the window, a light, nagging rain began to fall, smearing the city lights across the glass like blood on tiles.
At the same time, Renji left his house. The door closed behind him with a soft click. He walked calmly down the wet street, hands in his jacket pockets, thinking about which café he and Genzo would go to today.
"Maybe that small one near the market? The coffee there is decent and the pastries are fresh… Or the one with dark walls where they always play quiet jazz? Genzo will probably complain again that it's expensive, but I like it when it's quiet…"
Suddenly a crowd spilled out from the alley twenty-five people at least. Delinquents, drunks, local trash in worn jackets and with battered faces. They quickly surrounded him in a tight circle, grinning and exchanging glances.
"Hey, kid," drawled the leader, a tall guy with a split lip and a tattoo on his neck. "Give us your money. Quick and no tricks."
Renji stopped and calmly looked them over.
"I don't have any money. Leave me alone, nicely."
The crowd burst out laughing.
"Did you hear that, guys? He doesn't have any!" someone laughed from behind. "But we'll check."
They didn't leave. The first blow came from the side to the shoulder. Renji weakly defended himself and tried to break free, but they quickly grabbed his arms. Then a punch landed straight to his nose. Blood spurted hot and salty. Renji spat red onto the asphalt and struck back sharply a fist to the nearest guy's jaw. He dove into the thick of the crowd, throwing elbows and knees, but the mob was too large. They knocked him down onto the wet asphalt. Blows rained down like hail to the ribs, the back, the head. Someone kicked him in the stomach.
"Stay down, you fuck!" the leader yelled. "Now we're gonna…"
From the shadow of the nearest corner emerged Raiden. His long purple-dark hair was slightly wet from the rain, falling over his face. He was calmly drinking juice from a can, leaning against the wall.
Suddenly he stopped, spat the rest onto the ground, and said quietly, almost lazily:
"Boys… Maybe you shouldn't? The guy was just walking his own way."
The leader turned, bared his teeth, and spat.
"Oh, it's that femboy again! With the long hair like a girl! Get him, guys! Let him know his place!"
Raiden calmly tossed the empty can it clattered and rolled into a puddle. Then he lunged into the crowd.
The first punch caught him straight in the nose blood sprayed in a bright stream across his face. Raiden only smirked, wiped the blood with his sleeve, and switched into real mode.
"Fine… if that's what you want," he whispered.
With his leg he delivered strikes with such speed and precision it was as if he had trained for years in a dojo. He twisted one guy's arm in a classic karate technique a loud crack of bone sounded, and the guy screamed in pain. Another took a knee straight to the solar plexus the guy doubled over and collapsed, gasping for air. A third was swept off his feet, followed by an elbow to the face, and the sound of a broken nose.
When the crowd switched to "no rules" fists, kicks, attempts to overwhelm him with sheer numbers Raiden became even harsher. He worked with elbows, knees, grabbed hair and slammed faces into his knee. One drunk tried to swing a bottle Raiden caught the arm, twisted it, and added a kick to the knee. The man fell screaming.
"Who the hell are you, you bastard?!" the leader roared, trying to hit from behind.
Raiden spun and slammed a fist into his jaw so hard the guy flew back several meters.
Within a couple of minutes, half the attackers were lying on the ground some groaning, some trying to crawl away, clutching broken limbs. The other half panicked and ran, cursing and leaving bloody trails behind them.
"Run! That guy's crazy!"
When it was over, Renji lay on the wet asphalt, breathing heavily and wiping blood from his face. Raiden walked over, extended his hand, and helped him up.
"Be more careful, kid," he said calmly, brushing off his jacket. "Next time don't jump into a crowd alone. These bastards aren't worth getting dirty over."
Renji nodded, spitting out blood.
"Thanks… Really. Without you they would've finished me today."
"No problem. Go on, someone's probably waiting for you."
Renji turned and walked away, limping slightly. When he reached the small café, Genzo was already standing at the entrance, leaning against the wall and looking at the rain.
"You're late," Genzo said without looking up from his phone. "Again."
"Got held up on the way," Renji replied, wiping his face with his sleeve.
Genzo narrowed his eyes, noticing the blood.
"Fought again? Seriously? It's the same every time. Who was it this time? Those drunks from the alley?"
"Something like that… Twenty-five guys. But I wasn't alone."
Genzo snorted.
"Fine, let's go. Don't be late again or I'll beat you up myself."
They entered the café in silence. With the money they had left, they could only afford two cups of the cheapest coffee and one onion bun to share. They sat at a small table by the window. Genzo stirred sugar with a spoon and stared into space, thinking about something.
"Listen…" he finally said. "Don't you think this whole life is just shit? School, work, fights… Every single day."
Renji shrugged.
"I do. But what can you do? Sit and wait for something to change?"
They finished their coffee and left. They headed to work. The warehouse boss met them right at the gate.
"Payment's unstable today, guys," he grumbled, scratching his belly. "Might pay, might not. But the boxes still need moving. Deal?"
"Deal," they answered in unison.
That was how the entire Sunday passed in sweat, dust, and silence. Boxes, boxes, boxes.
Monday morning Renji got up as usual. In the living room his older brother Akio was sitting in front of the TV watching soccer. The commentators were screaming at the top of their lungs:
"Gooooooal! What a beauty!"
Renji walked past, tying his sneakers on the way.
"Akio, close the door to the chicken coop or the chickens will run off again."
Akio nodded without looking away from the screen and washed it down with beer straight from the can.
"Uh-huh… In a minute."
Genzo was already waiting by the door, looking at the gray sky.
"Let's hurry," he said. "Otherwise we'll be late again and teacher Nakamura will nag us."
They walked to school together. The hallways were quiet Sunday still lingered. But almost everyone was already in class. Genzo sat at his desk, opened the window, and let in the fresh air that smelled of rain.
Teacher Nakamura entered the classroom, followed by a new girl. She was shy, with downcast eyes and a pale face, as if she was afraid to even breathe loudly.
"Attention, class," the teacher said. "This is Ayako. Starting today she's studying with us. She… can't speak, so please help her sometimes. If she needs anything write notes or just stay close."
Kaoru, sitting nearby, smirked and laughed quietly but mockingly.
The teacher turned sharply to her.
"Kaoru, why? What's so funny here?"
Kaoru waved her hand, still smiling.
"Oh come on, sensei… I just wanted to show real female cruelty. And you immediately go 'why'. Relax."
The teacher sighed, shook her head, and turned to the board.
"Alright. Let's start the lesson."
Outside the window a light, quiet rain began to fall, tapping against the glass as if reminding everyone that the world outside was not sleeping either.
Sometimes the inner world of a person is a dark well that even the closest people are afraid to look into. Parents only see the surface: the smile at breakfast, the grades in the report card, the habit of being late. They have no idea that at the bottom of that well float fragments of other people's screams, the smell of blood, and a quiet whisper that repeats: "You too can become a monster." And the harder they try to see their "normal" son, the deeper he hides his real self.