He pulled on his school uniform — the fabric worn thin, threads loose at the cuffs.
At least it smelled clean.
Kai was probably the only one in his neighborhood who still brought his clothes to the laundromat every week.
Money didn't come easy.
Sometimes he earned it through small errands, sometimes he just found it lying somewhere.
Complete poverty — and somehow, it bothered him a little.
Not out of shame or self-pity, but because nothing ever changed.
Every day felt the same.
The same air, the same streets, the same tired silence.
Same shit, different morning.
He grabbed his backpack, its side seam barely holding together.
Need a new one soon, he thought, knowing damn well he wouldn't.
Outside, the air carried that faint mix of trash and morning damp.
An old man slept beside the kiosk, newspapers layered over him like a blanket.
A stray dog sniffed through an open bag nearby.
No one cared.
No one ever did.
Kai walked on with his headphones in, but there was no music.
Only static — a low, endless hiss that almost sounded like the city breathing.
Sometimes he thought the noise was better than silence.
Silence meant thinking.
And thinking meant remembering.
The sun fought to break through the thick clouds while cars passed, spraying dirty water across the asphalt.
A group of kids ran across the street laughing — their voices faded the further he walked.
He turned the corner and passed the bus stop, where a man was putting up posters.
"THE PIT – FIGHT NIGHT / Entry by invitation only."
The red on the paper had almost turned black.
Kai stopped.
His eyes stayed fixed on the letters.
Not out of curiosity, but because something inside his chest twitched — a dull pull, like a nerve waking up.
Why the hell do I care?
He looked away. Didn't matter anyway.
"KAI! Bro, wait up!"
Kenji's voice cut through the noise.
He came jogging up the street, jacket half open, a half-eaten sandwich in his hand.
"Damn, you walk like school's a job interview!"
He was out of breath but still smiling.
Kai turned his head slightly, expression flat.
"Hey, at least pretend I exist," Kenji said, holding the sandwich toward him.
"Here. Eat. I know you'll pull that 'I'm fine' crap again."
Kai took it without a word and bit down.
Dry.
But warm.
Could've been worse.
Kenji grinned. "See? Still human."
They walked side by side for a while.
No talking.
Just footsteps and the hum of the streetlights overhead.
"I swear, man," Kenji said finally, "every time I see you walk, it's like your soul forgot to clock in."
Kai didn't answer. He just chewed slowly.
He's not wrong.
"So what do you even do, huh? School, work, sleep — repeat?"
"Something like that."
"No hobbies? No girl? No life?"
"I've got enough stress with breathing."
Kenji laughed, but halfway through it faded.
"Wait... what the hell happened to your face?"
Kai blinked. "What about it?"
"You got bruises, dude. Your lip's messed up, and your neck looks—what, you fall down some stairs or something?"
"Maybe."
"Right," Kenji muttered. "You're terrible at lying."
Kai just shrugged. "Then stop asking."
Kenji shook his head, smirking. "You're a freak, man."
Kai said nothing. If that's the worst he calls me, fine.
They turned another corner,
and another poster stared back at them —
"THE PIT – FIGHT NIGHT / Entry by invitation only."
The edges were wet, peeling from the wall.
Kenji followed his gaze.
"Yeah, that thing? Heard they run it in the old subway tunnels. Some kind of underground cage match.
People go wild, man. I swear someone died down there once."
Kai didn't answer.
He just kept looking at it — the torn edges, the faded red, the promise of something brutal.
People fighting for money, for pride... or just to feel something.
"I don't get it," Kenji said. "Why'd anyone let themselves get beat like that?"
"Maybe to feel alive."
Kenji frowned. "What?"
"Nothing."
They reached the school not long after.
Crowds everywhere — laughter, gossip, uniforms still damp from the rain.
Kenji sighed. "Man, this place is a zoo."
Kai just exhaled. Same jungle, different cage.
The morning dragged.
The teacher's voice blended with the rain against the glass and the soft clicking of pens.
Kai sat in the back, chin on his hand, eyes half-closed.
Every second stretched the same way — colorless, heavy, familiar.
I should've stayed in bed.
"Bro, you look like hell," Kenji whispered. "You sure you're not dying?"
Kai didn't lift his head. "Maybe."
"Cool. Let me know before it happens so I can copy your homework."
Kenji tried to make him laugh. It didn't work.
Instead, he pointed. "You're bleeding again."
Kai wiped his lip with the back of his hand and looked at the red smudge.
"Thought it stopped."
Guess not.
"Man, what actually happened to you?"
"Nothing."
"Right. 'Nothing' punched you in the face, huh?"
Kai just stared at the desk until Kenji gave up.
Good.
Mina Sato sat in the second row.
Everyone knew her name.
She had that kind of presence — like she didn't just walk into a room, she owned it.
Her uniform looked like it was tailored for her.
When she laughed, the rest of the class followed automatically.
It wasn't charm. Just control.
Her phone buzzed. She slid it under the desk, typed something, smiled faintly.
Even her boredom looked rehearsed.
Different world. Different species.
Kenji leaned over. "Bet she tops every test again without studying."
Kai's voice was quiet. "Bet you'll look anyway… even though she ignores you."
Kenji grinned. "Ouch. Okay, fair."
Mina turned slightly, eyes scanning the back rows.
They stopped on Kai.
For a moment, neither of them looked away.
Then she blinked, turned forward again, like nothing happened.
Kenji whispered, "Bro, that was eye contact with royalty. Mark the date."
Kai didn't react. "I don't keep dates."
"Yeah, no surprise there."
Royalty, huh.
The teacher's tone cut through the noise.
"Mr. Rendo, would you like to contribute to the lesson, or are you just here for decoration?"
A few laughs followed.
Mina smirked — not cruelly, just amused.
Kai looked up. "I'm listening."
"Then answer the question."
He didn't.
Kenji snorted quietly. "He just wants to make sure you're alive."
The teacher sighed and turned back to the board.
Time crawled on.
Kai felt his shoulder popped out again, his lip sting.
Every small movement reminded him of the night before —
the rain, the voices, the silence after. Still here. Great.
When the bell finally rang, it felt like coming up for air.
The class emptied fast.
Mina was last to leave.
She slipped her jacket on, paused at the door, and said,
"You're strange… but not in a bad way."
Then she was gone.
Kenji grinned. "See, bro? Three seconds and she's already analyzing your soul."
Kai picked up his bag. "I'm heading out."
"Same."
Outside, the rain had stopped,
but the air still carried that damp, cold weight.
Kenji lit a cigarette, watching the sky.
"Even the clouds look depressed here."
Kai stood beside him, hands deep in his pockets.
"Fits the city."
Kenji smirked. "Fits you."
Kai exhaled slowly. Guess it does.