PROLOGUE — "THE ONE WHO STOOD BESIDE ME"
Renji speaks in the background!!
There are names that stays with you, even when the world forgets them.
Choji Namikaze…
My best friend.
My brother.
Not by blood but by something deeper.
We laughed together. We bled together. We rose together.
He was the one who stood beside me when the world felt too heavy.
The one who said we would change everything.
The one who held out his hand when I was drowning.
And now…
He is the one standing in front of me sword drawn eyes colder than winter.
My greatest friend…
My greatest brother…
…became my greatest enemy.
I don't know if destiny brought us here…
or if we walked this road ourselves.
But this wasn't just the end of our story! It's the beginning of everything!
But if this is the end of our story..
Then let the world remember:
I never stopped wishing I could have saved him.
Chapter 3: Brothers of ash and hope!
The Hunter Bureau was a place of sharp knives and sharper tongues.
Steel clanged, boots echoed, and laughter rang hollow against the cold concrete walls. The smell of blood metallic, sweet, and stale never left the air.
Renji had long grown used to being invisible. To most Hunters, he was just the kid with the knife and tired eyes. They barely glanced his way unless they needed a carcass skinned or a blade cleaned. His existence was as quiet as the scrape of steel on bone.
And yet, among the towering figures clad in enchanted armor and cloaks of pride, one man noticed him.
Choji Namikaze.
A B-Rank Hunter, Choji was nothing like the Bureau's gleaming elites. His armor was scratched, patched with mismatched metal plates; his sword bore the marks of countless hunts. His grin was crooked, his laughter raw and genuine.
Where others gleamed like gods, Choji looked human.
And that was exactly what made him stand out.
The first time they spoke was over the steaming carcass of a wyvern.
Renji's hands were shaking from exhaustion. His knife kept slipping against the monster's slick scales. Blood dripped down his wrist and stung the open blisters that lined his palms.
"Careful there," a low voice said beside him. "You'll slice your own hand before you cut that hide."
Renji tensed. He expected mockery the kind of cruel smirk the senior Hunters gave him when he failed.
But when he looked up, Choji wasn't smiling that way.
Instead, the man took the knife from Renji's trembling fingers. "Here," he said simply.
With one precise twist, Choji angled the blade into a seam between scales. The flesh split open with a wet snap.
"See?" Choji said, handing the knife back. "Not strength. Leverage. Remember that."
Renji blinked at the opened wound clean, effortless.
For the first time, someone hadn't laughed. Someone had taught him.
And that tiny act of kindness stuck to his ribs like warmth after a long winter.
From then on, Choji lingered.
He'd swing by after a hunt, dropping beside Renji with the smell of iron and smoke still clinging to his clothes.
Sometimes he tossed him a skewer of roasted meat juicy, rich, far better than the salted scraps Renji usually ate.
Other times, he just talked. Stories spilled from him: near-death battles, cursed Gates, comrades who cheated death by luck or stupidity.
Renji mostly listened. At first, he stayed quiet, unsure how to respond.
But one night, as Choji described a fellow Hunter accidentally blowing up his own boots mid-battle, Renji laughed.
It came out rusty, awkward like a sound that had forgotten how to exist.
Choji's grin widened. "There it is. Finally thought I'd never hear you laugh, kid."
And in that laugh, something small and fragile began to grow.
Weeks turned to months.
Choji became a fixture in Renji's world the loud, warm presence in a place made of cold. He was more than a Hunter; he was an anchor.
One quiet night, after the Bureau had emptied and the neon signs of the city bled through the fog, Choji appeared again two paper cups of cheap ale in hand.
He handed one to Renji. "To surviving another day," he said, lifting his cup.
Renji hesitated. "I don't drink."
"Then sip," Choji said with a smirk. "Doesn't matter what's in it. It's not the drink it's the moment."
Their cups clinked.
And in that tiny, unremarkable sound, Renji felt a warmth that had nothing to do with alcohol.
For once, the fire in his chest wasn't born of pain it was life.
Over time, Renji began to talk.
He told Choji about his father, Daichi the man who fought in the War of Gates and died protecting them.
He told him about Rachel, his mother, whose illness drove her into the arms of the bottle until it claimed her completely.
And about Lily, his little sister the stubborn light that refused to go out.
He confessed to nights when the weight on his chest was so heavy he couldn't breathe.
Nights when giving up felt easier than continuing.
Choji listened in silence. Then he set down his cup and placed a firm hand on Renji's shoulder.
"Kid," he said, voice deep and steady, "the world doesn't care how heavy your burden is. But you " He jabbed a finger at Renji's chest. "You're still standing. That's what matters."
Renji's voice wavered. "Sometimes… I feel like I can't keep going. But then Lily looks at me and says, 'Oni-chan, you can't give up. You're the strongest person I know.'"
Choji chuckled softly. "Smart girl. Smarter than both of us."
For the first time in years, Renji smiled and meant it.
From then on, Choji became something more.
Not just a friend.
A brother.
They trained together whenever Choji had time.
He taught Renji how to hold his blade, how to breathe through fear, how to survive without relying on brute force. Renji wasn't strong his arms were still thin, his stance shaky but Choji's lessons planted something deep in him.
"Sharpness," Choji would say, tapping Renji's forehead, "isn't in the blade. It's in here. You're sharper than you think. One day, you'll surprise them all."
Renji never quite believed him. But those words became a small, invisible armor stronger than steel when the world tried to crush him.
And every night, when he came home, Lily's voice met him at the door like sunlight:
"Welcome home, Oni-chan. You didn't give up today, right?"
Renji would kneel, hug her tight, and whisper back, "Never. Not today. Not ever."
Because giving up meant breaking his promise.
And breaking that promise meant losing everything.
One weary afternoon, as they carved through the scaled hide of a drake, Choji leaned over with mock seriousness.
"You're cutting that all wrong," he said.
Renji snorted. "Then do it yourself."
Choji took the knife and sliced through the meat like butter. "See? Clean, neat, fast. You're hopeless without me."
"Or maybe you just like showing off," Renji muttered.
Choji's laugh rumbled through the room like distant thunder.
That laughter it always made the world feel a little less cruel.
Later that night, under the pale glow of a convenience store sign, Renji spoke again.
"My mother died three months ago," he said quietly. "She drank herself sick after my father died. I buried her alone. I promised I'd protect Lily, but… some days, I feel like I'm not enough."
Choji didn't hesitate. He placed a heavy, calloused hand on Renji's shoulder.
"You're not weak, brother," he said softly. "You're carrying more than most could handle. The fact that you're still standing… that's strength."
Renji's eyes stung. The word brother lodged deep in his heart.
He hadn't realized how much he needed to hear it until now.
Then came the offer.
Choji's tone shifted, calm but filled with intent.
"What if I told you there's another way?"
Renji looked up, curious. "Another way?"
"Gates," Choji said. "Not fighting. Mining. Every Gate is filled with crystals mana gems worth fortunes. Hunters bring them back, Bureau sells them high. It's safe. No monsters, no combat. Just work. One job, one million yen. Enough to give Lily the life she deserves."
Renji froze.
A million yen. Enough to pay his debts. Enough to stop worrying about rent, food, medicine. Enough for Lily's future.
The next morning, he found Choji waiting by the Bureau gates.
"I'll do it," Renji said.
Choji grinned wide, the scar on his cheek creasing with it. "Good. Tomorrow, we walk into a Gate together. Trust me, brother this is the start of something better."
Renji nodded, though a flicker of unease twisted in his gut.
Still, that tiny spark of hope fragile, trembling burned brighter than ever.
That Evening
When Renji returned home, Lily was still awake.
Her desk lamp flickered weakly, casting shadows that danced across the peeling walls. Her pen scratched furiously over her notes, her lips whispering as she memorized lines.
"You should be asleep," Renji said gently from the doorway.
"I can't," she replied without looking up. "I've been thinking about the future."
Renji chuckled softly. "The future? That's supposed to be my job."
She turned to him, her eyes shining with quiet resolve. "I want to be a doctor, Renji. Not just any doctor someone who helps people like Mom. If I can save even one family from what we went through… then my life will mean something."
Renji's chest tightened. "Lily…"
She smiled faintly. "And I want you to be happy too. You've given up everything for me. If I can make you smile again… that'll be my dream."
He walked over, gently ruffling her hair. "Don't worry. Soon, everything will change. You'll be a doctor. You'll help people. And I'll be cheering for you the whole way."
"Really?"
"I mean it," he said with quiet conviction. "Just trust your big brother a little longer."
Later that night, she fell asleep, her head resting on open pages filled with dreams. Renji draped a thin blanket over her shoulders, his fingers trembling as they lingered near her hair.
He whispered, "Don't worry, Lily. Tomorrow… everything begins to change."
Outside, the city lights flickered through the cracked window like dying stars.
And as Renji closed his eyes that night, he clung to that fragile light
a single ember of hope, glowing stubbornly against the dark.