The snow kept falling long after Miyuki left. I stood outside the hall until the last fragments of her blue dress disappeared beyond the gate, swallowed by the night. The laughter inside had started again, but it was quieter now forced, fractured. Even the music seemed hesitant to fill the space she'd left behind.
I turned toward the empty street, my reflection faint in the school's glass door. My knuckles were dry and pale, small streaks of blood on the edge of my skin where I'd struck Souta. I flexed my hand once, twice the sting reminded me I was still here. Still capable of damage.
When the clock struck eleven, the party began to thin out. Teachers called out reminders, the janitor yawned, and the smell of melted wax and perfume lingered in the air. I slipped out before anyone could stop me.
The road home was lined with weak streetlights and the hum of distant cars. Snow softened everything the sound of my boots, the wind against my coat, even my thoughts. My bag felt heavier than usual. Inside it were small traces of the night my backup drives, my notes, and the quiet satisfaction of having drawn a boundary Souta would remember.
At first, I didn't notice the sound behind me.
It was faint. A crunch of snow, maybe two paces behind. I slowed, and it slowed. When I stopped, it stopped.
My breath misted in the air. I looked over my shoulder. Nothing. Just the alley stretching behind me the kind of narrow path that led toward the market, shadows clinging to the walls.
I started walking again, faster this time. The steps followed, matching mine.
A pulse of cold ran through my spine.
"...Who's there?" I called, trying to sound firm, but my voice cracked slightly against the empty air. No answer only the low hum of wind brushing through the narrow passage.
I reached for my phone inside my pocket, pretending to check messages. The screen's glow barely cut through the darkness. I typed a message to no one, just to make my hands look busy.
The steps came quicker now. Closer.
Panic pressed against my ribs. I cut through a side street toward the old residential lane narrow, littered with trash cans and half-frozen puddles. The snow here was thicker, muffling sound, but I could still hear it that steady rhythm of pursuit.
Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.
"Shit," I whispered under my breath, quickening my pace. My breath came in short bursts, each one slicing through the cold. My heart pounded against my chest like it was trying to break free.
I turned another corner and stopped.
A dead end.
The walls closed in high, brick, slick with frost. A single flickering lamp overhead cast long, shaking shadows. There were garbage bags piled near a rusted bin, a broken umbrella jutting out from the heap.
I turned around.
The figure stood at the mouth of the alley a tall shape cloaked in black. Hood pulled low, mask covering their face. The streetlight caught the glint of metal in their hand.
A knife.
I froze, breath trapped in my throat. My mind screamed run, but there was nowhere to go.
He stepped closer. Slow. Deliberate. The crunch of his boots filled the alley. The knife caught light again, a thin flash like a grin.
"Who are you?" I demanded, but my voice sounded smaller than I meant it to. "What do you want?"
No reply. Just that steady approach.
Every nerve in my body screamed at once. I took a step back hit the wall. The snow at my boots was turning brown from the dirt.
"Help!" I shouted, but the sound vanished into the wind. No one answered. The street outside was too far, and the night too thick.
The figure raised the knife.
The blade came down fast a silver arc in the dim light. I twisted to the side, but not fast enough. A hot sting ripped across my left arm.
"Ah!" I gasped, stumbling back, clutching my sleeve. Blood. Warm, bright against the snow.
He moved again faster this time. His boot slammed into my stomach. The impact knocked the breath out of me. I hit the ground hard, vision flashing white. For a second, I couldn't move. Couldn't even breathe.
The knife glinted again as he stepped closer.
Something inside me snapped. The fear didn't vanish it changed. It crystallized, hard and cold. I forced my body to move, eyes darting toward the trash pile. My hand found something the broken umbrella.
He lunged.
I swung.
The steel shaft cracked against his forearm. He hissed a low, human sound and staggered back. I scrambled to my feet, swinging again, this time catching his shoulder.
He growled something low a voice, distorted by the mask and rushed at me again.
Instinct took over. I hit him once more head this time. The sound was dull, heavy. He fell to one knee, disoriented. I didn't stop. I swung again. And again. The broken umbrella bent at the handle, but I didn't care. Adrenaline drowned out reason, out guilt.
He collapsed onto the ground, groaning.
I stood over him, chest heaving, snow falling on both of us like ash. The knife clattered from his grip, spinning once before stopping near my shoe.
I stared at it. The metallic gleam. The smell of blood. The faint sound of my own heartbeat thudding in my ears.
Then I moved grabbed the nearest trash bin and, with a raw, shaking yell, hurled it down on him.
It hit hard. A sickening sound, then silence.
I stumbled backward, almost slipping. My whole arm throbbed, blood seeping through the cut. My breathing was ragged, uneven. The alley looked like a battlefield snow, blood, metal, silence.
He wasn't moving.
I didn't wait to check if he was alive.
I ran.
My feet hit the pavement in uneven bursts, each step echoing through the empty street. The air burned my lungs. The snow blinded me. Every shadow looked alive. Every corner, another threat.
I pulled out my phone and dialed the police with shaking fingers. "Someone someone attacked me," I said, my voice trembling. "A man, black hoodie, mask he had a knife! Please!"
The operator's calm voice guided me to the nearest landmark. "Go somewhere safe," she said. "Somewhere with light."
I spotted the glow of a supermarket sign ahead Midtown Mart, still open for the late-night crowd. I stumbled inside, ignoring the startled cashier's look. I leaned against a shelf, panting.
"Sir, are you ?" she began, eyes widening at the blood on my sleeve.
"Call the police," I managed. "They're already on the way."
Five minutes later, the blue lights appeared outside, reflecting off the glass doors like ghostly fire. Two officers stepped in one older, one young. They saw the blood, the trembling hands, and nodded quickly.
"Haruto Kurogane?" the older one asked. I nodded. "Come with us."
We drove back to the alley.
The snow had already started to cover the scene again a cruel, soft erasure. The knife was still there, glinting faintly. The dented trash bin lay tipped over. But the attacker was gone.
"Damn," one of the officers muttered, crouching to inspect footprints. "Looks like he ran while you called."
I stood behind them, arm wrapped in a cloth they'd given me. The pain pulsed with every heartbeat. "He was here," I said quietly. "He he was right here."
"We believe you," the older officer said. "You did good, fighting back. Could've been worse."
They took photos, measured prints, talked into radios. I barely heard them. My eyes stayed on the empty space where the black hood had been. I could still hear the echo of the knife, the breath, the impact.
When they were done, they offered to drive me home.
My house was quiet when we arrived. The police car's headlights brushed against the front door. My mother opened it before I could knock. Her face went white when she saw the bandaged arm.
"Oh my god - Haruto!" she gasped, rushing forward. "What happened?"
The officer explained everything the attack, the chase, how I fought back. My mother covered her mouth, eyes wet. My father stood behind her, expression hard but trembling.
"He's lucky," the officer said gently. "If the swing was deeper, it might've been bad. Whoever did this knew what they were doing. But he's brave he fought back."
My mother hugged me tightly, her shoulders shaking. "You're safe," she whispered over and over. "You're safe."
My father placed a hand on my shoulder, firm, proud, but his voice was low. "We'll get stronger locks tomorrow. And you don't walk alone at night anymore."
I nodded faintly.
The officers left after a while, their car's red-blue lights fading into the distance. Inside, my mother dabbed at my cut, still whispering small prayers under her breath.
When she finally went to rest, I sat by the window, staring out at the snow again. My reflection looked ghostlike against the dark glass. The alley kept replaying in my mind the knife, the impact, the silence after.
But beneath the trembling, beneath the adrenaline crash, something else began to stir.
That attack hadn't been random.
No one robs empty streets with nothing to take. No one waits until after a school party to strike a single student. Someone knew where I'd be. Someone followed me. Someone wanted to scare me or silence me.
And in my mind, only one name fit that shape in the dark.
Souta.
I thought of his face after the punch the humiliation, the fury behind his calm. The way he'd shouted, "You think this is over!?"
Maybe it wasn't.
Maybe this was his answer.
The snow outside glowed faintly under the streetlights. The world looked pure, untouched. But I knew better now.
Innocence is just the layer that hides the rot.
I touched my arm the sting was sharp, grounding. A reminder. Not of fear, but of clarity.
This wasn't over. Not by a long shot.
When I finally went to bed, the night felt heavier. Somewhere between exhaustion and thought, I realized something strange I wasn't scared anymore. The fear had burned itself out, leaving behind a different fire entirely.
I closed my eyes, hearing again the echo of that blade, the dull impact of metal against bone, the sound of my own heartbeat steadying.
If he wanted to play this game in the dark, I'd meet him there.
And I wouldn't miss this time.