"A-are we going to die?"
My voice trembled in a way I hated.
Beside me, Hiroy stood silent, his head lowered, his face hidden beneath the shadow of his hair. The world around us was already fading, swallowed by gunfire, smoke, and a darkness too heavy to understand.
"Hiroy…"
He did not look at me.
Slowly, he nodded.
And then everything disappeared.
I woke with a gasp, hand clutching my chest as if my heart were trying to break free. My room greeted me in silence: the old ceiling, the scattered training clothes, the bokken resting against my desk, the calendar hanging crooked on the wall.
I stared at it until my breathing slowed.
Today was the tournament.
A grin tugged at my lips despite the dream still crawling in my skin.
"Alright," I muttered, sitting up. "Today's the day I win."
My eyes drifted to the photograph beside my bed. Two boys stood shoulder to shoulder, both scraped up, both smiling like idiots after a sparring match neither of us had won.
Me and Hiroy.
"I'll show you how much stronger I've gotten," I whispered. "We won't be tying anymore."
After a quick shower, I threw on my uniform, grabbed my bag, and slung my bokken over my shoulder. The mirror caught me for a moment: light purple hair falling messily around my face, sharp violet eyes still heavy from sleep, and a thin scar above my eye from training harder than anyone with common sense probably should.
I wasn't tall enough to look intimidating, not like some of the monsters at school, but my body was built from repetition: lean muscle, bruised knuckles, and instincts carved through years of pain. I looked normal enough to pass through a crowd.
That had always been useful.
Downstairs, the morning noise spilled through the windows. Students filled the street outside, laughing, arguing, carrying weapons for the tournament. I stepped into the chaos and immediately slowed my pace.
Normal mornings were rare.
I tried to enjoy them.
"Shiro!"
I turned.
Yae hurried toward me, smiling like sunlight had decided to wear a school uniform. She was beautiful in the unfair kind of way: graceful, athletic, and confident without trying too hard. Her dark hair swayed behind her as she caught up.
"Good morning," she said.
"Morning, Yae."
Ever since her confession, she had started walking with me more often.
I still didn't understand why.
The memory returned before I could stop it.
Behind the gym, the evening air had been quiet. I remembered kicking a rock across the pavement, already suspicious of why someone had called me there.
Then Yae stepped around the corner, cheeks pink, hands gripping the edge of her skirt.
"Shiro," she had said, voice shaking. "Please go out with me."
For a second, I forgot how to breathe.
Yae was everything most guys would dream of. Smart. Strong. Kind. Someone who could have picked anyone.
And somehow she chose me.
That was the problem.
I had looked down, chest tight.
"I like you," I told her quietly. "I really do. But I'm not right for you."
Her face had changed.
I hated remembering that part.
Now, walking beside her, I forced a small smile while she talked about the tournament. I listened, nodded, teased her once or twice, but the same thought stayed buried under everything.
She deserved someone better.
Someone who didn't feel broken underneath the skin.
When we reached the classroom, bloodlust hit me from the side.
My body moved before my thoughts did.
I drew my bokken and twisted.
Wood cracked against wood.
Hiroy stood in front of me with that familiar grin, his own practice sword pressed against mine.
He was taller than me by a little, with short black hair, mismatched green and red eyes, and a scar over his left eye that somehow made him look more heroic instead of rough. That was Hiroy in one sentence: everything about him looked like it belonged at the center of a story.
Calm posture.
Bright eyes.
Easy confidence.
The kind of presence that made people believe things would be okay.
"I see you're excited for the tournament," I said, smirking.
"I see you're still awake enough to block," he replied.
We pushed away at the same time.
Same step back.
Same breath.
Same grin.
That was how it always was with us.
"Our match will be the finale," I said. "Don't lose before then."
"You should worry more about surviving me."
A teasing voice cut in behind him.
"Both of you are ridiculous."
Yāsûrah, Hiroy's girlfriend, leaned against a desk with her arms crossed, smirking like she had known us too long to be impressed.
I tapped the scar above my eye.
"There's no one who trained harder than me."
Hiroy rolled his shoulder.
"We'll see."
The class laughed, but I barely heard them.
Most people never understood how Hiroy and I were still friends. We competed constantly. Sparring, grades, reflexes, endurance, everything. If one of us improved, the other chased. If one of us fell behind, the other dragged him forward.
We were rivals.
But more than that…
He was my measuring stick.
If I could stand beside Hiroy, then maybe I was strong enough to protect what little family I had left.
My sister.
When I was seven, our home was attacked. My father had been involved with people he should never have crossed. I still remembered his hand pushing me toward the closet, my little sister crying against my chest, and the sound of screaming on the other side of the door.
After that, memory became blood and noise.
Eleven years passed.
Life moved.
I trained, worked, cooked, cleaned, and made sure my sister could smile without carrying everything I did.
That was enough.
It had to be.
The bell rang, dragging me back to the present.
Homeroom began, but no one cared about normal announcements. Today was the national tournament. Weapons were checked. Names were called. Students buzzed with excitement.
When the teacher said my name and Hiroy's, the room shifted.
Everyone expected us to reach the finals.
So did we.
The gym was packed. Fifty opponents stood beneath the bracket board, each one armed with their own style. Swords, staffs, spears, fists. The air smelled like polished wood, sweat, and anticipation.
My first match lasted less than a minute.
My opponent was fast.
Not fast enough.
The next few blurred together. Step in. Redirect. Strike. Drop them clean. No wasted movement.
The quarterfinal finally gave me something to enjoy. A senior kendo fighter with sharp timing and solid footwork. For several minutes, our bokken snapped through the air, feints and counters threading between us. He was better with the sword.
So I stopped playing his game.
One capoeira shift broke his rhythm. A low sweep took his balance. A heel kick ended it.
The semifinal was simpler. Judo, footwork, pressure. I saved as much energy as possible.
Because Hiroy was waiting.
When I stepped onto the final stage, he was already there.
He smiled.
I smiled back.
The crowd disappeared.
For one breath, it was just us.
Hiroy settled into his stance.
I mirrored him.
Left foot forward. Knees loose. Sword angled low. Shoulders relaxed.
The same stance we had used as kids.
The same opening we always returned to.
Then we moved.
Wood struck wood.
Fist met guard.
He opened with a diagonal cut toward my shoulder. I slipped inside it, aiming my elbow toward his ribs. He caught it, turned, and nearly swept my leg. I hopped over the sweep and snapped a kick toward his jaw.
He ducked.
I laughed.
"Still doing that?"
"You still fall for it."
For ten minutes, we fought like the world had narrowed into rhythm.
Sword to fist.
Fist to foot.
Foot to throw.
Throw to counter.
Neither of us gave ground for long. Every time I adapted, Hiroy answered. Every time he pushed, I shifted. The crowd roared louder with every exchange, but all I heard was breathing, impact, and the old language only we understood.
Then the buzzer sounded.
Tie.
Again.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then I dropped my head and laughed.
"You've got to be kidding me."
Hiroy offered his hand.
"Another tie."
I took it.
His grip was firm. Familiar.
"Next time," I said.
"Next time," he agreed.
We walked off the stage side by side, both bruised, both exhausted, both grinning like idiots.
For a while, the day felt perfect.
After school, we decided to grab dinner. The streets were darker than usual, clouds covering the evening sky. Hiroy noticed it too. Neither of us said anything at first.
Then I felt it.
A presence.
No.
Several.
My smile faded.
Hiroy's did too.
We turned down a back alley without needing to discuss it. If someone was following us, better to meet them away from civilians.
Footsteps closed in behind us.
At least twenty men rounded the corner.
Guns drawn.
"You think you can get away with that stunt at the tournament?" one of them sneered.
I glanced at Hiroy.
He glanced at me.
Even then, we moved the same way.
Shoulders low.
Feet shifting.
Ready to fight.
I tightened my grip on my bokken.
"Well," I muttered, "looks like there's no way out of this."
Hiroy exhaled beside me.
"Then we break through."
For one second, I believed we could.
Then gunfire filled the alley.
Pain flashed white.
The world tilted.
As darkness swallowed me, I reached toward Hiroy, but my hand found nothing.
The last thing I saw was him falling beside me.
The last thing I heard was my own voice from the dream.
Are we going to die?