The morning light felt… different.
For the first time in what felt like years, Hitachi opened his eyes without that immediate weight on his chest. No screaming. No whispers crawling in the corners of his skull. No more shadows stretching across the ceiling like claws. Just… silence.
He lay in bed for a moment, staring at the worn-out ceiling, almost too scared to move. But as seconds passed and his breath remained calm, he finally let himself believe it.
It was quiet.
Not the kind of silence that comes before something terrible—but the peaceful kind. Like the world had finally exhaled. Like something broken inside him had been gently stitched back together.
He stood up slowly, half-expecting his legs to give out from under him. But they held. His body didn't tremble. His hands didn't shake. His thoughts, usually storming with chaos, felt still. Clear.
When he stepped into the hallway, the smell of something cooking reached his nose—eggs, probably. His stomach growled for the first time in days. He followed the scent and found his grandfather in the tiny kitchen, humming a soft tune from a radio too old to play anything clearly.
"Morning," his grandfather said without turning, like it was any other day.
"Morning," Hitachi replied. His voice sounded steadier. Stronger.
They didn't talk much during breakfast. They didn't need to. His grandfather looked at him a few times—long, thoughtful glances—but never asked what happened. He didn't need to. Something had changed. It was in Hitachi's eyes. The boy who once seemed like he was disappearing now looked… here.
Present.
Whole.
After eating, Hitachi walked over to the small mirror by the front door. He stared at his reflection. Same messy hair. Same tired eyes. But there was something else there now. Behind his gaze—something waiting. Something… watching.
"I think I want to go back to school," he said, not looking away from the mirror.
His grandfather turned sharply. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah," Hitachi nodded. "I think I need to."
There was hesitation in his grandfather's expression, but he didn't argue. He just nodded and gave a small, hopeful smile. "Alright then."
---
The walk to school felt like entering a different world.
The same cracked sidewalks. The same rusted fences. The same peeling paint on old walls. But everything looked sharper. Brighter. He could hear every bird, every car engine, even the distant buzz of power lines.
It was like he had been blind and now, suddenly, he could see.
Students lingered outside the school gates, laughing, pushing, talking loudly. Hitachi walked through them like a ghost returning to a world that had moved on without him. Some kids glanced his way. A few whispered.
It didn't matter.
He was back.
---
It didn't take long for the day to spiral.
By third period, the whispers had grown into stares. By lunch, they had turned into jokes. Most of it was harmless—kids repeating rumors, making up reasons for his absence, trying to sound clever. But then… Jack saw him.
Jack.
The same kid who had thrown the punches last time. The same boy who had mocked his pain, who had made school feel like a battlefield.
Jack spotted Hitachi across the cafeteria and immediately started toward him with that same smug grin plastered on his face. His friends followed behind, snickering like hyenas.
"Well, well, look who crawled out of whatever hole he was hiding in," Jack said loudly, drawing attention from nearby tables.
Hitachi stood still, tray in hand, eyes focused.
Jack circled him like a vulture. "What was it? Huh? Got scared after I knocked you around? Thought you'd take a little vacation to recover from that ass-whooping?"
Hitachi didn't respond.
Jack leaned in closer, face inches from his. "Or maybe your old man finally threw you out? Wouldn't blame him. Can't imagine wanting a freak like you in the house."
Hitachi's hands clenched, but he stayed calm.
Jack grinned wider. "Or wait… wasn't it your grandpa that took care of you? That sick old man still alive? Must be hard carrying a useless sack of bones every day. You probably wish he was dead, huh?"
Something in Hitachi snapped.
Not like a firework or an explosion. It was quieter. Colder.
He put his tray down on the table beside him and turned to face Jack fully. His voice came out low. Calm. Sharp as broken glass.
"Jack… fuck off."
The cafeteria went dead silent.
Jack blinked, surprised. He laughed, stepping closer. "What did you just say, punk?"
Hitachi didn't flinch. "I said fuck off… before it's too late."
Jack's grin twitched. His pride didn't like that.
"You've got balls, I'll give you that," Jack said. "Let's see if you've grown any brains."
He swung.
Fast. Angry. Straight for Hitachi's jaw.
But something strange happened.
Time didn't stop—but it slowed.
The world around Hitachi moved like molasses. He could see Jack's fist coming like it was underwater. Every detail. The way his knuckles tightened. The tension in his shoulder. The wind around his arm.
And Hitachi just stood there.
The punch landed.
Or… it tried to.
Hitachi didn't move, didn't brace—nothing. The blow hit his cheek, but it felt like nothing. Like a leaf brushing his skin.
He blinked.
Jack stared at him, stunned. His fist still pressed against Hitachi's face.
"What the fuck…" Jack muttered, pulling his hand back.
Hitachi exhaled slowly. "I warned you."
Jack growled and swung again—this time harder, angrier.
But it was slower.
So slow.
Hitachi turned his head slightly, dodging the punch by a hair.
And as Jack overextended, Hitachi raised his hand instinctively—not to punch, but to push him away. Just one finger touched Jack's chest.
That was all it took.
There was a sound—like air cracking. Like thunder folding into itself.
Jack's body flew.
He soared backward, crashing into a row of desks and slamming into the far wall with a loud, bone-rattling thud. Chairs toppled. Kids screamed. Food flew through the air.
Then silence.
Jack groaned on the ground, not moving.
Everyone stared at Hitachi.
No one moved. No one breathed.
He looked down at his hand. His finger was still pointed out. He curled it slowly into a fist.
Inside, something… smiled.
---
The principal's office was quiet. Too quiet.
Hitachi sat in the chair across from the desk, eyes blank, hands in his lap. He had said nothing. Not a word.
The principal—a tired man with a thinning mustache—kept pacing behind his chair, nervously dialing numbers and whispering things Hitachi didn't bother listening to.
Then the door burst open.
"Where is he!?"
Hitachi looked up.
His father.
Breathing hard. Shirt half-buttoned. Eyes wide with panic. He didn't wait for permission—he rushed to Hitachi and dropped to one knee, grabbing his son's arms like he needed to be sure he was real.
"Are you okay?" he asked, looking into his eyes.
Hitachi blinked slowly. "Yeah. I'm fine."
The principal cleared his throat awkwardly. "Mr. Kazuo, your son… he—he assaulted another student."
Kazuo turned sharply. "Assaulted!?"
"Jack is still unconscious. He hit the wall hard. We don't know what happened exactly, but witnesses say—well—they say your son barely touched him."
Kazuo's eyes flicked back to his son. "Is this true?"
Hitachi didn't answer.
Kazuo stood. "I'm taking him home."
"Wait, we—there's a process, there's—"
"I SAID I'm taking him home."
He pulled Hitachi to his feet and led him out, one arm around his shoulder, holding him tighter than ever before.
They didn't speak much on the way home. But when they got there, and the door finally closed behind them, Kazuo sat down heavily on the couch and looked at his son like he was seeing him for the first time.
"You're different," he said softly.
Hitachi nodded.
Kazuo looked at him a long time. Then finally said, "Whatever this is… whatever happened to you—I need you to promise me one thing."
Hitachi raised an eyebrow.
"Don't let it control you."
Hitachi looked away.
Outside, the sun dipped behind clouds, casting long shadows across the street.
And inside him… something stirred.
Still quiet.
But very awake