Why would a child fight grown men in the rain?
No one asked. No one cared. All they wanted… was blood. At least, that was entertainment to them.
*Whack!!
A dimly lit stadium trembled under the roar of the crowd, rain pouring down without mercy. The fog hanging in the air blurred the scene, but not their excitement. If anything, it made it worse.
More savage.
The sounds of fists colliding, bodies hitting the ground, bones cracking, they echoed like music.
And at the center of it all… Stood a boy. Seven years old. Small, calm, unshaken. Around him, grown men lay scattered across the soaked ground.
Unmoving.
Broken.
"Two left…" he muttered.
His voice was quiet.
The boy loosened his stance, eyes locked onto the last two opponents. Both were fully grown, muscular, towering over him. The kind of men who should've ended this in seconds.
But they didn't move. For a brief second, they hesitated.
Then, they charged. One lunged forward, fist cutting through the rain.
The boy shifted- just a step. He slipped past the strike, redirecting it with a soft parry, then drove his fingers into the man's throat.
"G-kh-!"
Air vanished.
The second man came from the side, leg sweeping in fast-
*Caught.
The boy's foot intercepted it mid-motion. No struggle, no strain. Just control.
*Thwap-
He yanked the first man forward and buried an elbow into his solar plexus. A dull impact.
The man's body folded instantly, breath gone, consciousness fading. He dropped like dead weight.
"Damn it! You little demon!"
The last one charged again. Faster, and more desperate this time. Punches, kicks, wild swings. All of them missed. The boy moved like he could see everything before it happened.
"Is that all?" the boy asked.
The man staggered, breath breaking apart. His knees trembled. "W-What…?!"
The rain kept falling. The ground grew more unstable.
But not for the boy.
"Soon, you'll join the other nineteen," he said flatly. "Any last words?"
The man forced himself upright, gasping.
"Hah… haah… unbelievable… You really are just like the rumors…"
The boy stepped closer.
Slow.
Each step splashed against the wet ground, like a countdown.
"Red-Eyed Wolf…" the man rasped. "I thought it was just a story…" A weak laugh escaped him. "Turns out… you're something beyond a monster."
Silence.
*SMACK!
The boy moved.
A single kick. Precise, controlled- struck the right side of the man's chest. It didn't look powerful. But the moment it landed, Something broke from the inside.
The man's eyes widened. His body froze, then collapsed.
And just like that, the stadium erupted.
Cheers, screams, applause. They celebrated. Because to them… this wasn't horror. It was a show. A child stood alone in the rain, surrounded by bodies twice his size. Twenty men. Not one of them standing.
Not one… who stood a chance.
"Julius…" the boy murmured, his voice faint with exhaustion.
He took a step forward. Then another.
On the exit, someone was already waiting there, holding a small umbrella. A man in a gray suit. An office worker, by the look of him.
"Dad…"
The man ran. The umbrella slipped from his hand, forgotten, left behind in the rain. He caught the boy just before he collapsed, pulling him into a tight embrace.
"I'm sorry… Dad…"
"It's okay," the man whispered, his voice trembling. "You're just being yourself."
The boy's eyes slowly began to close. "…If only… I could be like everyone else…" he murmured weakly.
The man froze.
His arms tightened.
"You won't have to go through this again. I swear… I won't let you."
His hands trembled as he held the boy closer, as if warmth alone could keep him here.
"We'll find something better. Something humane. Something that doesn't hurt you. I promise… I promise."
"…Will that day ever come?"
Silence.
Only the rain answered.
"We'll live a normal life," he continued, forcing the words out. "You'll go to school… y-you'll go to college. You'll grow up and become someone… someone better."
"…"
* * *
Years later… in another corner of the same city…
A small crowd gathered in a narrow alley beside a café.
The shop owner. a mixed-race man, stood there with a few of his employees. Two men, three girls. All staring at the same thing.
A young man was sleeping, right next to a stack of coffee bean containers.
"Hey! You- wake up!" the owner said, shaking him lightly. "How can you even sleep here?"
"Why would anyone lie down in a place like this?" one of the baristas muttered, glancing at the others.
"Who knows. What do you think?"
They exchanged looks. It wasn't just strange, it was also out of place. People didn't just fall asleep in a supplier alley like this.
And definitely not someone wearing that uniform.
"Wait- look! He's waking up!"
The young man's eyes slowly opened. He blinked once, then yawned. His gaze drifted lazily… before settling on the group surrounding him.
"Who are you? What happened here?" the owner asked, offering a hand.
"H-huh…?"
He looked about eighteen. A college student, clearly. Judging by the black-and-white uniform he wore. His figure was tall, with slightly messy blackish-gray hair. But what stood out the most… were his eyes. There was something deeply unsettling about them.
Blood-red pupils.
Unnatural, almost sickening to look at, as if they didn't belong to someone living a normal life.
"How can you sleep here?"
"Uh… sorry. I'll go home soon," he said awkwardly, pushing himself up without taking the offered hand.
"If you're not feeling well, we can get you some water."
"No, it's okay. Sorry for the trouble. I'll just go."
"Huh? Wait!"
The young man grabbed his sling bag and walked off without hesitation.
The group stood there, stunned.
"What a weird guy…" the owner muttered, shaking his head. "Wasn't his uniform the same as Aidera and Clara's?"
The others nodded.
"Maybe we should ask Aidera about him next time," one of the waitresses said.
"Yeah… if she even knows him."
"Why not? Aidera knows everyone there. She's basically famous."
"Alright, alright," the owner clapped his hands. "Show's over. Back to work."
A chorus of lazy groans answered him as they slowly made their way back inside.
"Come on, move. Why are you all so sluggish?"
"Yeah, yeah… we're going," one of the cooks replied, rubbing his sleepy eyes.
"Geez… you people…"
And just like that, the little incident faded. Nothing more than a passing oddity.
The owner stayed behind, tidying up the containers and moving them back inside along with the café's sign.
"Doesn't look like anything's missing. Probably he was just some random guy who passed out."
Even so, the uniform lingered in his mind.
Grimhour Institute.
Not just anyone could wear that.
As he reached for the last container, something caught his eye near the potted plants. A light blue small wallet.
"Hm? This must be his…" He picked it up, checking the ID inside. "…Zeyn Tendou Zaine?"
* * * *