A fine rain sifted down onto the roof of the bus, as if someone were quietly drumming their fingers on a tin can. The night was cold, damp and heavy. Exactly a week had passed since Genzo's first fight. He sat in an almost empty night bus, at the very end of the cabin, by the window. The light in the cabin was dim, yellowish, several lamps were flickering, creating a feeling of instability. Outside the window wet streets floated by, the reflections of the streetlights trembling in the puddles.
Genzo looked out the window without blinking. His face was calm, almost lifeless. A fresh bruise from the last fight was still visible on his cheekbone, the fingers of his hands were slightly trembling from fatigue after training. He was alone in the back part of the bus. Only a few people sat up front: an old woman dozing by the window, and a couple of young guys in hoods.
Suddenly a noise rang out in the silence of the cabin.
Four young guys, about Genzo's age, surrounded a schoolgirl who was sitting closer to the middle. The girl was in uniform, clutching her bag on her lap, and was clearly scared. One guy sat next to her, putting his hand on her thigh, the second stood behind, the third and fourth, on the sides, blocked the exit. Behind them stood an older girl, around twenty, with a baseball bat in her hands. She was lazily tapping it against her palm.
The old woman by the window woke up, looked fearfully at what was happening and hurriedly turned away. The guys in hoods, exchanging glances, silently moved closer to the exit.
"Give the money, you fucking freak," the leader said insolently, a tall guy with a pimply face. "And the phone too. Don't be tight, we're doing this the nice way."
The girl shrank fearfully toward the window.
"Please... I only have enough for the fare... don't..."
"We're not asking," the second one laughed and reached his hand up under her skirt. "Sit quietly, or it'll get worse. We'll do it quick."
"Don't!.. Please, let me go!"
The girl pressed herself against the glass, her voice breaking into a whisper.
"Shut up," said the third and yanked her bag by the strap. "Squeak one more time and we'll fix your face for you."
The girl with the bat smirked, chewing gum.
"Faster, guys. I'm not going to hang around here all night because of some schoolgirl."
Genzo, who was sitting at the back, slowly turned his head. He looked at them for a few seconds, then, slightly louder than usual, said without getting up:
"Heyyy... If you're going to fuck with someone, do it quietly. You're only getting in the way. You act like baboons."
All five turned sharply. The girl with the bat narrowed her eyes.
"Got some kind of problem, hero?" the leader asked, taking a step toward him. "If you give us some bucks, we'll leave you alone. Or are you broke?"
Genzo looked at them calmly, not getting up.
"All I can give you is a fucking pussy-beating. Nothing else."
The guy got angry, his face turned red.
"What did you say, half-poker?.. And I can see you weren't made with a finger."
He nodded to the girl with the bat.
"Deal with him. Let him shut up."
"With pleasure," she drawled. "Just don't whine later that I didn't warn you."
The girl smiled predatorily and slowly walked toward Genzo, toying with the bat.
"Do you even have any idea who you're dealing with, hustler? I'm actually the district champion in mixed martial arts. I can break your bones, boy. Easily."
Genzo looked at her with mild sarcasm.
"Seems a little breeze has started up... The windows aren't open here, are they?"
The girl was clearly enraged, her face contorted.
"How the hell do you even dare... Consider yourself dead, bastard."
Genzo only replied quietly, again with sarcasm:
"Primitive thinking you've got."
She swung the bat straight at Genzo's face. He nimbly dodged to the side. The bat flew past with a whistle and slammed with a crash into a metal handrail. From the impact the bat cracked and broke apart into several pieces. A sharp splinter scraped across Genzo's cheekbone, leaving a thin burning cut, and a warm trickle ran down his cheek. The bus driver hit the brakes hard. The bus swayed. The doors stayed closed.
"What's going on back there?!" She shouted into the mirror. "Stop it immediately! I'm calling dispatch!"
"Call," said Genzo, without turning around.
"Stay where you are!" the leader shouted to the driver. "You'll go when we say!"
Genzo instantly stood up. He grabbed the girl by the head with both hands and with force rammed her face into the back of the nearest seat. A dull, heavy blow sounded. The girl screamed in pain, blood gushed from her nose. She sank to the floor between the seats, clinging to the handrail, and did not get up again.
"Aaaaah... Biiitch! It hurts! My nose!.. He broke my nose!"
The four guys immediately swarmed in as a crowd.
"What the fuck are you pulling, clown?" the leader roared.
"Whack him!" the second one shouted. "He's alone!"
The fourth guy tried to punch Genzo in the face with his fist. Genzo caught his arm, sharply yanked it down and kicked him in the chest. The guy folded in half, backed away, tripped over a bag in the aisle and fell heavily with his back onto a row of seats. The plastic cracked, he slid down to the floor, gasping for air. But at that same moment the second one hit Genzo with his fist in the jaw, his head snapped to the side, and a taste of iron appeared in his mouth.
"Got it, bitch?" the second one bared his teeth.
"You hit kind of weak," Genzo spat blood on the floor. "Do it again."
The second guy pulled out a small folding knife and stuck it into Genzo's thigh. Genzo hissed from the pain, his knee buckled, but with a turn he grabbed the guy by the head and with force smashed his face against the window. The glass cracked into a spiderweb, the guy went limp and slid down, leaving a bloody streak on the glass. The knife remained sticking out, and a dark stain quickly crept across the trouser leg.
The remaining two rushed at the same time. Genzo grabbed the leader by the collar, but the third kicked him hard in the stomach. The air was knocked out of his lungs, Genzo flew backward and heavily collapsed onto a seat, which bent and broke under his weight with a loud crack. He curled up, started coughing, dark spots swam before his eyes for a second.
"Get up, scum," the leader growled, swinging for another blow. "Or are you already done?"
"Keep waiting," Genzo answered hoarsely.
Breathing heavily, all covered in blood, Genzo grabbed a glass bottle from the floor, smashed it against the edge of the seat and hit the third one on the head with the shard. The sharp glass also slashed his own palm, his fingers became slippery and hot. The guy screamed and fell to his knees, clutching his face, blood flowing between his fingers.
"My eye! My eye!" he yelled, rolling on the floor. "Help!"
The last one, the leader, tried to hit Genzo again, but Genzo stepped toward him, took the blow on his shoulder, which numbed his arm for a moment, and grabbed hold of an iron pipe sticking out of the broken structure of the bus. He braced his foot on the floor and literally yanked it out, with a crunch and a grinding of metal. He swung and hit the guy across the throat. The guy clutched his neck, wheezed, eyes bulging, dropped to his knees, and then face-first onto the floor, writhing in pain.
"Hh... h-h... can't... breathe..." he wheezed.
"Breathe less," Genzo threw out and grabbed that same guy by the scruff. He dragged him to the window and with force pressed him into the glass. The window broke, and Genzo, together with the guy, tumbled out of the bus onto the cold concrete. Shards dug into his forearm and struck his forehead, and he landed heavily on his right elbow. The guy fell next to him, groaned and stayed lying motionless. Genzo slowly got up, looking ahead. His forehead was covered in blood, it was flooding his left eye, and he had to wipe it with his sleeve.
Genzo stood in the street next to the wrecked bus, breathing heavily. All his clothes were in blood, his face was battered, a knife stuck out of his thigh. He slowly pulled the knife out, hissing through his teeth, and threw it aside. Blood from the wound flowed more heavily and quickly soaked the trouser leg. The driver, having opened the doors, jumped out after him and now stood in a stupor, holding her mouth with trembling hands.
"A-are you all right?" she asked in a trembling voice. "You need an ambulance... you're covered in blood!"
"Not needed," he said curtly.
Genzo silently moved her aside and climbed into the cabin. The guys were groaning on the floor, the girl with the bat lay unconscious. The schoolgirl they had been pestering sat in the corner, badly frightened, pressing her bag to her chest and shaking all over.
Genzo slowly crouched near her, wincing from the pain in his thigh. The girl moved away, looking at him with horror.
"Are you okay?" he asked hoarsely. "Did they..."
"Don't you dare touch me!" she shouted hysterically. "My girlfriends will rip your mug off. All men... are rapists, murderers, junkies, psychopaths, perverts. I hate you all. You're all the same."
Genzo sat silently, in blood, looking at her with a tired gaze. He still said nothing. The girl, still in hysterics, continued:
"Why are you silent? Can't let a word drop? You're the same as them. All of you, animals."
"You need to call someone," Genzo finally said quietly. "Your parents. Your friends. Anyone."
"None of your business! Leave!"
Genzo answered nothing more. He sighed wearily, looked at her calmly, slowly stood up, leaning on the handrails and walls, and went to the exit. He went down the steps into the cold night. Breathing heavily, he vanished into the shadows.
A fine rain was falling outside. Genzo walked along the empty sidewalk, all in blood, in torn clothes. Blood dripped from the fingers of his right hand and from the hem of his T-shirt, leaving dark drops on the wet asphalt, which the rain immediately washed away. He limped badly, his left arm obeyed poorly, but he walked evenly, without stopping. From time to time he pressed his palm to his thigh, and under his fingers it was warm and sticky. Ahead appeared a small all-night bar. In front of it stood two young girls, haughty, slightly older than Genzo.
Genzo stopped in front of them. His face was barely visible, only the light gave the outlines. He said hoarsely:
"How much will you take off for the jacket? I'll give money."
One of the girls looked him over from head to toe, wrinkling up a little.
"And do you have any?"
Genzo slowly pulled crumpled money out of his pocket, 15 dollars, slightly stained with blood. The girl in the jacket took the money.
"A fight, or what?" asked the second.
"Yes," Genzo answered hoarsely.
"Jesus, there's no living spot left on you," said the second, stepping back. "You need to go to the hospital."
"Not needed. I need the jacket."
"Give everything you've got," he added. "Both the arm sleeves and the socks."
The girl in the jacket looked at him haughtily and answered a little more quietly:
"But they're women's... Fine, here. Just carefully, they could ask questions for something like this."
The second girl was holding a half-pint of vodka in her hand.
"And the half-pint of vodka too," said Genzo.
"And what about money?" she asked.
The first girl nudged her friend.
"Just give it to him. Let him take it. Can't you see the person is in a bad way?"
Genzo got the jacket, arm sleeves, socks and the half-pint of vodka. He put the jacket on right over his torn clothes and slowly went further along the empty road. He put on the rest on the way.
"Hey!" the first one shouted after him. "At least get home alive!"
"I'll try," he answered, without turning around.
Deep night set in. Genzo walked along the empty sidewalk, slowly and limping badly. The women's jacket, arm sleeves and socks were gradually soaking through with blood. Several times he stopped, leaned on a wall or a lamppost, caught his breath and went on. Somewhere in the distance dogs howled.
The fine rain kept sifting down when Genzo finally reached his house. It was deep night, the clock showed 1:35. The street was empty and wet, the streetlights burned dimly, casting long trembling reflections in the puddles. The women's jacket he had bought from the girls by the bar was slightly small for him and sat unfamiliarly on his shoulders. Under the torn trousers were women's socks, black, with a thin elastic band, now soaked with blood and dirt. Every step echoed with a dull pain in his thigh, where the wound still was.
Genzo stopped at the fence of his house. The fence was low, but in his condition even that seemed a trial. He took a deep breath of the cold night air, grabbed the top crossbar and began to climb over.
His hands trembled from fatigue. His muscles ached after the fight and the long walk. He heaved his body over the fence, but his foot caught on the top part. Genzo lost his balance and fell heavily down, right into the thick wet bushes under the fence.
"Fuck your mother..." he swore quietly through his teeth.
The bushes were stiff and prickly. It hurt especially when the palm of his right hand touched nettles. A burning pain instantly spread over the skin, as if thousands of tiny needles had dug into the flesh. Genzo hissed, quickly jerked his hand back and sat in the mud, breathing heavily. The nettles burned unbearably, the skin turned red, started to itch and burn.
"Of course," he muttered, looking at his palm. "And this too."
He sat for a few seconds, gathering his strength, then slowly got up. The pain in his thigh intensified, blood kept seeping through the fabric of his trousers. Genzo looked around: the yard was dark, not a single light in the house. Mom was asleep.
He approached the balcony of his room on the first floor, grabbed the grating and began to climb. His right elbow, which he had smashed back in the bus, hurt badly. When he climbed over the railing, his elbow caught the sharp edge of the metal. A sharp, burning pain pierced his arm. Genzo quietly hissed, but did not stop. He tipped over the railing and fell heavily onto the balcony, biting his lip so as not to groan.
For a few seconds he simply lay on the cold concrete of the balcony, breathing heavily. The rain quietly knocked on the roof. Finally he got up, took out his key and quietly opened the balcony door.
The room was cozy and warm. Genzo closed the door behind him, switched on a small night light and looked around. Mom was asleep in the next room, he could hear her even breathing through the wall. He froze, listening, and only after making sure she hadn't woken up did he exhale.
"Asleep," he whispered. "Good."
He quietly took off the women's jacket, the torn T-shirt, the trousers and the socks. Everything was in blood and dirt. He put the things in a black garbage bag and hid it deep in the closet behind the boxes.
Then he went to the shower.
The hot water scalded his body. Genzo stood under the streams with his eyes closed and slowly washed off the blood, dirt and sweat. The water ran in pink streams into the drain. The wound on his thigh was quite deep, the knife had gone in a couple of centimeters. The pain was sharp, pulsing. He thoroughly rinsed it, and at the same time the cut on his cheekbone, the split forehead and the palm with the glass shards, winced and got out of the shower.
Wrapped in a towel, Genzo returned to the room and sat on the edge of the bed. He uncorked the half-pint of vodka, splashed vodka on the wound and on the needle, hissing from the pain, and then began to stitch the wound with an ordinary needle and black thread. Every puncture caused sharp pain, the muscles on his leg twitched. He clenched his teeth and kept sewing slowly, carefully.
"Easy," he whispered under his breath. "A little more. One more."
At that time the phone quietly vibrated. A message came from Renji.
Renji: How are you doing there? Still alive?
Genzo wiped the sweat from his forehead and replied with one hand, continuing to sew the wound with the other.
Genzo: Alive. Had a bit of fun on the bus today.
Renji: Fun? What happened?
Genzo: Four guys and one with a bat, wouldn't let the bus go. Had to step in.
Renji: What... Are you okay? Wounded?
Genzo: Stuck a knife in my thigh. Stitching it up now. It's fine.
Renji: Are you serious? Show a photo.
Genzo took a photo of the half-stitched wound and sent it.
Renji: Fucking hell... You look like after a war. How did you even get home?
Genzo: In a women's jacket, and I can't tell whether these are socks or knee-highs. Bought from two girls by the bar for 15 dollars.
Renji: In a women's jacket?
Genzo: Yes. Mine was all in blood.
Renji: You're a psycho. But cool that you helped people. How are they?
Genzo: There was one girl. Got badly scared. Said all men are rapists and psychopaths. Fine overall.
Renji: Classic. And me, everything's good here. The new school isn't as bad as I thought. Raiden comes by sometimes. We hack it out in games, sometimes go to the gym. He plays basketball not badly, by the way.
Genzo: Glad for you guys. How's Raiden in general? Hasn't changed?
Renji: No, same. Quiet, but when he plays, he's a beast. And when are you coming to Tokyo?
Genzo: Soon. As soon as I finish all the business here. I want to see you guys.
Renji: Waiting. Be more careful there. Don't get into every fight.
Genzo: I'll try. Though I don't promise.
Renji: Okay, rest. Won't the wound fester?
Genzo: Hope not. Good night.
Renji: Good night, bro.
Genzo set the phone aside, finished stitching the wound, applied a bandage and lay down on the bed. His body ached, but inside there was a strange calm. He closed his eyes and plunged into a heavy, restless sleep. A little raindrop ran down the window.