It was an autumn afternoon. The sweltering summer heat had passed, but an Indian summer was in full force. In an alley behind Nancaster No. 2 High, a young boy in a white shirt was fighting a group of high school students.
The boy in the white shirt was smaller than the high schoolers, looking more like a junior high student. Yet he was fighting five of them at once, steadily holding his ground. His white shirt was already bloodied in several places…
Although he fought with practiced technique, his youth was a disadvantage. His stamina was gradually giving out, and it was clear he was on the verge of defeat.
Outside the alley, a boy in a black T-shirt ambled over, carrying a tattered woven plastic bag full of empty bottles. His clothes were baggy and his shoes were worn out. His long hair looked like it hadn't been cut in ages. His face was dirty, he had a scar on his forehead, and his gaze was unnervingly cold.
