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Suo’s phone buzzes once, twice, thrice. He shuts it off, a rote motion. His phone has been vibrating all day, even during school hours. Suo’s close to just blocking his friends and being done with it. But he only ever opens the profile, never going any further.
He feels like he’s turned to lead and that he’s about the buzz out of skin at the same time. Suo knows this has been coming — loan sharks have been hounding at his father since summer. Still. Still, Suo is leaving Furin. He’s already halfway through his withdrawal form but it still doesn’t feel real. They’re just his classmates. They haven't even known each other for a full year, but Suo still feels off kilter, his centre of gravity suddenly changing. It haunts him — Sakura’s warm smile at Pothos, Nirei beaming about the class, about leaving a legacy.
Suo is… not the type of person that should be in Furin’s legacy. Everyone there is just so good. He couldn’t compare if he wanted to. Not a liar, a fraud, a wretch like him. Ever since he’s lost his eye he’s been half a person — no, even before that. The only thing he can do is hope that Class 1-1 will choose a new vice captain quick.
A message jolts him out of his morose thoughts. It’s from Nirei.
Monday 8:52
Suo-san! Are you not coming to school today?
12:49
Are you sick?
3:55
I wrote down the notes for you
I’ll give them to you when you come tomorrow!!
Yesterday 9:12
Suo-san where are you?
Even the teachers are asking
1:07
Do you have a fever!?
Do you need anything???
Today 8:34
Suo-san
Are you not coming today too?
Are you getting these messages?
4:00
I’m worried about you
Please just respond
The message causes guilt and shame to curdle in Suo’s stomach. Nirei shouldn’t be worried, not like this. Even Anzai, who he’s shared a grand total of 0 private messages with, had called him. Suo chucks his phone on his bed, it bounces and only just barely doesn’t fall to the floor. His thighs and back ache from the hard, grainy wood of his chair. He grips his pen, writing on the withdrawal form in harsh strokes, ignoring the buzzing from his phone, hallmark of another call.
Suo’s dad hasn’t returned since yesterday, off doing who knows what. Wasting money, if what his mom ranted about last night was right. He knows from the faint sound of recorded voices stopping and starting from her room that she hasn’t made breakfast. Again. Instead, she’s left out a packet of natto. Suo grimaces and throws it in the trash, covering it with a tissue. He knows it’s ’full of protein’ and that ‘they can’t afford to waste food’ but it’s only 120 yen and definitely the most disgusting thing he’s tasted. He shudders, imagining the sticky texture slip down his throat and slime sticking to his teeth.
Suo shakes his head and goes to make breakfast for himself. It’s just rice and leftover tofu because even though he’s 10 — well, 9 and a half, but that’s basically the same — he’s apparently too young to use the stove. He plates one bowl of rice, one plate of soy sauce-soaked tofu and a box of chocolate milk that’s only for when he’s well behaved. Suo hasn’t had it lately, but his parents certainly won’t notice it’s gone.
He sits down to eat, chair screeching against the quiet air as Suo pulls it back. The table seems bigger, now that it's nearly empty. His parents should be here, smiling and laughing quietly the way they do on good days. There hasn’t been a good day in a while.
Chopsticks scrape against the edge of his bowl, a loud grating sound that drills into his ears. Eat some tofu, then some rice. Squash it down to paste beneath his molars. Past the sounds of his own swallowing and whatever his mom is watching, he can hear cars passing outside and the wind rustling the scant few trees on his street. Tofu, rice, a sip of milk. Chew. Swallow.
An ant crawls across a water stain on the table. Suo crushes it with his thumb.
A migraine has been pounding against Suo’s skull since morning. Cloudy skies means the sun won’t be stabbing little pinpricks into his eye, but he still feels like shit. His body is moving half a beat too slow, and the air feels thick and grainy, like walking through wet sand. The patrol has luckily not been too exciting — just helping a storeowner put fruit back into the stand. Even so, Sakura and Nirei have been keeping an eye on him, like they have been since he came to school quiet and reserved. He tries to keep up appearances, but it clearly hasn’t worked well, considering they’ve been hovering like flies.
Pain pulses from his right eye socket down to the brain stem and Suo winces, raising his hand to his face. Immediately Nirei rushes to him, pushing him down to sit on a nearby bench.
“You okay?” Sakura asks, concern etched on his face.
“Ah, the spirit sealed in my eye is telling me it's going to rain soon.” Not exactly wrong.
“That’s right! It’ll rain later in the afternoon. We should end the patrol early, then.” Nirei says, staring directly at Suo. He can practically feel the earnestness in Nirei’s gaze.
Suo starts to get up, both hands bracing against the bench for balance. Not that he’d usually need to do that, but it seems even standing up sends a wave of dizziness descending down his body. “It’s fine. It won’t rain until after patrol ends. We can continue,”
Sakura side eyes him, “You sure? You don’t seem that well.”
Suo stands up fully, hands clasped behind his back. The migraine certainly isn’t helping things but he’s not pathetic enough to be unable to handle some walking.
“I said I’m fine. I’m not —” weak like Nirei “ — an invalid. I can patrol like everyone else.”
He hadn’t meant for it to come out that way. Suo shifts his head away from the shocked stares of Sakura and Nirei.
Suo’s throat tightens at his thoughts and he fully turns from Nirei. Nirei — is useful. His information gathering skills are next to none and his notebook is practically worth twice its weight in gold for how valuable it is in a negotiation. Suo can imagine Nirei opening the book and writing ‘Suo-san thinks his own disciple is useless!’. He says something about someone needing help, pulled right out of his ass, and stalks off. He only hopes his friends will follow.
He should long since have been used to this, cut his ties as easy as snipping a thread. Still, Suo ends up in the streets of Makochi, past Bofurin’s overgrown sign and the chiming of wind bells. He stalks down the roads lined with a variety of shops, each storeowner a familiar face. He rides his scarf up higher. It mutes the intimate mixture of food that permeates the air of Makochi.
Following his friends is just a precaution. Suo knows they’ll follow a vaguely remembered path, down to the empty plot that used to be his childhood home, that they’ll pick up nothing of note.
Down the street, Suo can barely hear their shock, or perhaps disappointment. It’s useful, saying absurd falsities. No one realises you can lie about bigger things.
When Sakura shouts, it's expected. But air rushes out of him anyways. His coat feels far too thin for an autumn night like this. Suo hugs his arms to his chest and feels like a child. What is he doing, being hurt at the consequences of his own actions? Of course Sakura is pissed. It's Suo. He never keeps anything he can’t hold in his hands, and ruins everything else.
Suo stays frozen, hearing the footsteps of his friends leaving. They scatter, each back to their own houses. Except Nirei. Before Suo realises it, he’s already following him. It's — just to say goodbye. Tie up any loose ends. Besides, Nirei is the best option. The others would prove a real problem, and disciples never really outgrow their master.
Nirei’s shoes scuff the ground, head facing downward as he walks to the playground. He sits slumped on the base of the slide as he stares at his phone. Looking at messages, maybe. Suo didn’t think Nirei would look this downtrodden. Suo wants to — to comfort him. As if he isn’t the reason for this. As if, when he leaves for good, Nirei won’t be feeling worse. Betrayed.
When Suo feels the familiar buzzing of his phone, he answers. Now, he knows what to say. Nirei is no fighter, but he won’t back down.
Nirei calls out his name and the wind picks up, scattering fallen leaves throughout the air. With luck, he’ll just apologise and leave. It’s cruel, but necessary. Another thing to add to his list of sins.
“Nire-kun. You’ll be cold if you don’t bundle up.”
The moment Suo hears the characteristic clanking of someone fiddling with the lock of the front door, he stills. His mother had left to stay with friends for the day, so it can only be his father. His father is rarely home this early. Usually, he only comes past midnight or stays out — sleeping drunk on the street, matching with salarymen. He grips his tea cup and walks as quickly as he can to his room without spilling anything. Inside, he sits in his room and pretends that he'd been doing homework. His ears stay trained on his father entering the house. Suo’s right eye — or rather, the lack of it — faces his door. It makes him anxious. Not being able to see an opponent is an invitation to get hit.
Suo already realises his father is piss drunk before he notices the stench. The smell is always there, though barely noticeable. Now, it clogs the air like smoke, thick and pungent. The overwhelming sourness of it makes him sick. He swallows saliva, but relaxes. Usually, when his father is this inebriated, he’s practically dead to the world.
“Hayato!” Usually.
“What?” Suo answers, unable to keep the irritation out of his voice.
“Don’t keep th’t attitude with me,” His father slurs “G’t over ‘ere and clean up your damn mess!”
Suo shuffles out of his room and tries not to wince as the smell somehow gets even worse. His father leans back against the kitchen — though it’s more like a kitchenette — points to the tea leaves and kettle left on the counter. Damn it. Suo knows to clean it before his father comes. Where else can he put his soju bottles, if the living room and dining table are already covered in it?
“Tch, if ya want t’ keep your tea, better keep it outta th’ count’r,” His father says, reaching out and —
And Suo flinches.
His father smiles crookedly, “I ain’t gonna hit ya,” He just pushes the kettle back against the wall.
Suo feels — relieved. Embarrassed. He hopes his father trips on a bottle and cracks his head open.
After putting the tea back, Suo rushes to his room. He squirrels under his blankets and stares at the ceiling. He can hear his father opening the fridge, cracking open another bottle of soju and walking to the couch, staggering and knocking into things all the way.
Suo can’t believe he flinched at that. A man who’d gotten so drunk he’d pissed his pants. Multiple times. His father barely even hits him, he’s slow and unsteady and his trajectory is pathetically easy to read, not like those — Not like them.
It’s too late to go out and stay at his master’s place. It’s… fine. When his mother comes back, they’ll be too busy fighting each other to deal with him.
The first thing Suo notices when his master shows him the room he’ll be staying in for the night is how big it is. It’s nearly two and half times bigger than his own shoe box of a room.
His master points to the western style bed, “I know you sleep on a futon. Will this be comfortable?”
His master is always so kind. When Suo had shown up at her door smelling like spilled alcohol, she’d accepted him without a thought. Allowing him to wash up and even giving him a change of clothes. Suo only needed to stammer out a sentence about not wanting to sleep at his place and she let him stay.
“Ah, no, it’s fine,” Suo says.
If only his master kept this consideration when training. He had recently been cleared for exercise — the scars on his back had finally healed enough — and his master still had him training for hours on end. When Suo had asked to be her disciple, he knew it wouldn’t be easy, but this certainly wasn’t expected. The worst part was definitely waking up at 5 in the morning to meditate. Suo hadn’t really gotten meditation. He ended up spending most of it staring at a wall. It was calming, sure, in the sense that pure boredom is calming.
“Good night, Hayato,” His master smiled lightly, crows feet appearing around her mouth, “Sleep well.” She left, closing the door softly behind her.
“You too.” He said as he got settled under the sheets.
Suo fiddled with the tape on his eye pad. The tape was always a sensation he couldn’t tune out, like the slight slick feeling of his eye socket with the ointment applied. As Suo laid under the blankets, he tried to focus on the feeling of the smoothness of the silk clothing he was wearing. Now, even cotton was abrasive against his scars.
His master had always said if sleep wasn’t coming easily, then meditate. Let your thoughts pass by, let your thoughts pass by, let your thoughts pass by…
When he wakes up, the first thing Suo feels is how much it hurts. His veins have been replaced with live wires. Like razors embedded into his skin, a searing-hot ache radiates out to the crown of his head and to the tips of his toes. Suo keeps his eyes — eye — scrunched shut, as he tries to pants through the pain. He turns to his side, trying to keep pressure off the mess of wounds that is his back. But just moving lights another wave of fire across his body and Suo bites his lip near bloody as he tries to keep his cry of pain back.
Now, without the all encompassing numbness of morphine, waking up is an exercise of trying to exist while being in enough pain to put down a grown man. The painkillers only do so much. Suo slowly reaches to the bandages cutting a line across his face, covering his right eye. Eye socket. The pulsing hurt is manageable — nothing like having it taken out — overtaken by pure discomfort. It feels sticky and itchy, like the wet, fleshy membrane of his eye socket is soaking into the grainy cotton pad taped over his right eye. Suo resists the urge to scratch at it, instead tapping it, like that will do anything more than just make it hurt more.
Past the ambient noise of the hospital, the beeping of machines, patients and equipment alike being moved around, nurses and doctors rushing down the halls, Suo can hear the door to his room creak open.
The door cracks open slightly and a bolt of fear runs through Suo. What if those loan sharks came back? There’s nothing he can do, he’d just have to take it, they’ll have weapons now. Can he scream loud enough for someone to come? What if— what if they paid off the hospital? Got to his parents first? Suo can’t run, he can’t fight back, or do anything. Please, wait, I’m sorry…
“Hayato?” It’s just his mother entering, “I brought someone to see you,”
Behind his mother is an older woman. Her grey streaked hair is tied half in a bun. The rest just barely touches her modified tang suit, long enough to reach her thighs like a dress, but with large slits up to the hip for greater range of movement. Her pants are loose, but gathered at the ankles, showing off kung-fu shoes. It’s clearly an outfit built for moving in. Suo already knows — this is the person who saved him.
“Suo Hayato, is it? I am Yang Hanmei,” She says, eyes widening slightly at his state. But she steadies immediately, clasping her hands behind her back.
Entirely unlike his mother, who’s already tearing up just at the sight of him. Suo can’t blame her, not really. Your son being beaten to the point of losing an eye isn’t an easy sight. But as of late, Suo’s been the one comforting her, placating her with ‘I’m feeling better’ and ‘It looks worse than it feels’.
Yang Hanmei sits in the chair next to his bed, as his mother hovers near the wall, “I am sorry for not coming in time.”
Suo stays silent. What are you meant to say at that? No, it's fine — I only got my eye stabbed out. No biggie!
“Making you uncomfortable was not my intention. I only wished to see how you were healing. You are strong for making it this far.”
“...Thanks. For saving me,” Suo says, “Those men. What did you do to them?”
“I quickly subdued them. After that, I called an ambulance for you, and stayed by your side until it came.”
Suo grits his teeth. He already knows what happened to him, had it explained to him and by him in explicit detail, “What did you do to them.”
“That isn’t something I should say to a child.” Yang Hanmei replies, staring down at him.
Suo explodes, “I’m not a child! What do you mean, ‘I can’t say that to a child’!? Do you think I was an adult when I got beaten so bad my damn eye had to be removed? My body’s too fucked-up to even move — because of them! — and all you have to say is that!?!”
“Hayato!” His mother scolds, quickly coming to Yang Hanmei’s side, “I’m sorry, he’s just—”
“No, I should be the one to apologise,” Yang Hanmei says. She puts her hand over Suo’s, “I shouldn’t treat you like any other child. That is all the more reason not to tell you.”
Why bother apologising if you don’t even mean it. Suo's face twists and he opens his mouth to say something, before he gets interrupted.
“What would hearing the details do to help you? You only want to know because you want those men to hurt,” Yang Hanmei meets Suo’s eye, gripping his hand in a tight hold. Her eyes are a piercing type of earnest, pinning Suo in place, “It’s a normal feeling. But seeking to hurt another is childish — it will do nothing more than prolong the pain you’re feeling.”
Suo hunches his shoulders and stares down. Like this, he can see where the sleeve on Yang Hanmei’s hand had ridden up. Starting at the back of her hand, down the length of her wrist is an old, jagged scar. Suo can imagine the path the knife took, where it caught on bones, where it would curve, cutting clean through the muscle. It would look the same as the ones on his back.
Abruptly, he lets go of Yang Hanmei’s hand — when had he held on? — and turn his head to the side, “You… you got hurt like me. Why didn’t you tell me?”
Yang Hanmei sighs, “It’s not something I particularly want to share. Though, perhaps I should have, if it would’ve made you feel better.” She smiles slightly, tiredly staring through her lashes.
“I— How did you beat them up? I mean, like, what method did you use?”
“I fought them.” She states plainly.
Fighting is something Suo is more than used to. But beating four fully grown men? Without getting a single scratch? It’s unfathomable.
“How…? Can you — can you teach me?”
Yang Hanmei gives a real smile, eyes lighting up. “If you’ll be my disciple.”
Suo doesn’t hesitate, “I will.”
Suo smiles blandly, “Sorry, I didn’t get your toy.” Actually, I broke it on one of your bullies' heads.
The kid sniffles and pouts, lower lip trembling. Suo really doesn’t want to comfort some 5 year old, so he turns around to leave. Except the kid grabs his arm, perfectly in his blind spot. Suo flinches, hard, and rips his arm away from the kid’s grip. His eye darts around, expecting to see the claustrophobic walls of that alley, but it's just open space, with people milling about. Phantom sensations of glass digging into his back cause him to grimace. The kid’s eyes are wide and glassy and Suo slides a smile back onto his face.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to do that. You caught me off guard,” Suo says, trying to seem comforting but falling flat, “Don’t tell anyone about this, ‘kay?”
He doubts it’ll do anything. By now, his master has probably already heard about this. Suo can imagine the disappointed stare, eyes hard and mouth pinched. Despite all his training, Suo can only pretend he’s a good person — that he beats up people to take back toy trains and not because he wants to punch something. The embarrassment of being caught off guard by a 5 year old and the shame of being his masters perpetual fuck-up mix into a heavy feeling in his chest. Suo wants to turn invisible and never be seen by anyone again.
Suo walks off, weaving between people wandering around the street, keeping his head low. He can hear someone calling out to him, trying to thank him. It just makes Suo walk faster. The people of Makochi are so nice. It’s a tight-knit community, held together by the glue called Bofurin. His master had thought of it as a good place for him, as a role model, or maybe just a place to put his desire for violence to good use. Suo doubts it’ll be any different to the other schools he’s been to. Classes he can put the bare minimum in, bullies to punish, and acquaintances to pass time with until he has to leave again.
“Are you serious!?” His mother shouts, “Your son, your own son, had to go to the hospital because of those loan sharks, and you’re still going out!”
Suo grimaces as his father grumbles about it ‘it not being for gambling, he’s just going to a normal bar’. Getting dragged into one of these fights is a sure way to waste the night. He sighs, turning away from the hallway and back to the living room, where his mother and father stand at opposite ends of the room.
His mother grabs Suo, pushing him in front of her, while she shoves her bruised arm next to him, “Look at us! We’ve been brutalised by those men, and they’re not going to stop. We have to get out of here!”
“Oh, how do you expect us to do that? Should we sleep on the streets and bathe in the river?” His father replies, lazily crossing his arms.
“There’s a cheap place being rented out near Makochi. A friend knows the owner, she’ll talk to them about our situation, plus she can lend us 500,000 yen—”
“So a loan, hmm? And you were talking to me about being reckless…”
Suo zones out, staring blankly at the wall. He’s heard this argument enough times to recite every point his parents are going to say to each other. Suo hasn’t gone back to school yet, but he knows rumours spread quickly. He can barely handle the needle-like stares of the neighbors. The thought of going back to face everyone he’s beaten up, helpless and weak, makes Suo want to throw up. He really, really wants to get out of here. Makochi, horrible reputation aside, is where his master is.
Even though Suo is officially her disciple, Yang Hanmei hadn’t even done the basics of training. And it isn’t just because he’s injured. He’s seen her say playing Go with her other disciples — his brothers, they’d asked to be called — and said it counted as a lesson. Learning strategy, apparently. If they move, at least she wouldn’t have to take the hour trip to meet him.
His parents seem content with continuing the fight until midnight, so Suo takes the chance and shuffles back to the kitchen. He’d bought some manju on recommendation from one of his brothers, made to match with the green tea that's now cooling on the table, left behind when his father tried to leave. If Suo times it right, he’ll have finished his food in time to sneak off to bed without his parents even noticing. He brushes aside a fly sitting near his cup.
It’s fine, staying in these four walls. Suo isn’t officially stuck in here, but because of his recent ‘escape’ he’s been highly encouraged to only leave for the bathroom and to get food. His room is plain, everything stripped and half put in boxes. It’s not like he isn’t used to packing his things away, just that he can’t muster up the strength to do it. His mother will get on his case for it but Suo’s body won’t listen to him. He keeps lying on his thin futon, hard floor digging into the bruises on his back. The ache radiates out meeting his nose in a crackle of pain.
Suo can’t help but twitch his mouth up slightly. Nirei really could throw a punch. His disciple had grown so far, compared to when he’d first asked. Suo can only hope Nirei will be thoroughly discouraged after what he did to him. Guilt pools in his stomach, like ink to water, dying his dull room even darker. Even still, Suo can imagine Nirei busting through the door,
“Suo-san!” Nirei exclaims, a hazy smile on his face, “You’re here, we’ve been looking this entire week!”
Sakura leans back into the doorframe, calm and mellow, “Suo, you’re a real pain in the ass. Who knew we had to beat some minions to get to you, huh? They won’t be botherin’ Makochi anymore.”
“You can come back! The school didn’t accept your withdrawal request.” Nirei says.
“We won’t even ask you any questions about this. In fact, we got here entirely blindfolded.”
Nirei reaches out slowly, mindful of his injuries, though they’ve been healing well.
Suo reaches back, only to meet the dust motes floating around. Idiot. Imagination is necessary to grow into an adult, but too much and you loop back around into childishness. Ever since he’s left Furin, he’s felt no taller than a child. Suo closes his eye and wishes for sleep.
Suo’s morning routine has practically become a part of him. He wakes up at 5 am without any alarms. Meditating on his house’s small balcony is easy now. It’s good for clearing out unwanted thoughts, a way to reset before a new day. And the view of the sunrise certainly isn’t bad.
After that, he’ll run through his katas in the backyard. It’s another type of clearing your mind, this time with the burn of muscles moving. He feels settled, knowing his master and his brothers — the other disciples of his master — will be moving in tune with him from all over Japan and China.
Once he’s worked up enough sweat, Suo will take a shower. By now, it’s 7 o’clock and his parents are stirring awake, though they’ll take another hour scrolling on their phones or sleeping through their alarms. Suo makes sure the spray from the showerhead doesn't hit his eye socket. It’s healed, but hot water makes it the sensitive skin of his scarred eyelids sting.
After that, Suo deals with his eye. He wipes it with a cotton pad to rid any discharge, and washes it with a cool saline solution. After that, he puts in a lubricating ointment, so it won’t dehydrate in the summer heat.
Breakfast is a quiet affair. Suo tends to forego any true meals, just brewing some tea and having fruits if he feels truly hungry. This time, he’s just drinking some Sapin-cha — technically imported chinese jasmine green tea — given to him by his master. Its fragrant jasmine notes and light earthy bitterness is refreshing in summer. Though on a hot day like this, some ice-cold Mujicha would probably be better. He’ll have to restock on that soon. Perhaps he can drag Sakura and Nirei to buy some with him after school…
Suo slips out of the house just before his parents start to get ready. He lives far away, but the long walk to Furin isn’t all too bad. On his way, he can see the sights of Makochi waking up. He passes frazzled salarymen rushing not to miss the train, a pack of mothers walking their dogs, younger children laughing and joking on their way to school. The smell of freshly prepared food wafts through the air as storeowners converse with their first couple of customers. Suo helps a struggling deliveryman pack his food, and deftly avoids any offers at food or drinks as thanks.
Once Suo arrives at Market Street, he goes to do his current favourite thing — following silently behind Nirei. He walks, smile wide on his face and hands behind his back, until—
“Gah! Suo-san, how long were you there!”
“Who knows?” Suo smirks
They continue to converse as they walk down the street. Nirei talks about the previous day, the extra training he did after their own session, the new pair of sunglasses he wants to wear that would honestly suit you pretty well, Suo-san. Suo talks about a book he’s in the middle of reading and complains about the assignments that all seem to be due this week.
“Having seconds already Sakura-kun?” Suo says as he walks into Pothos, nodding at Kotoha, who's preparing ingredients for the day.
Sakura sits at the counter, next to two plates of omurice, already digging into the fluffy egg of one. He’s half-hunched over his plate, protective of his food even in the homey atmosphere of Pothos.
“Hey! No, I just..” Sakura says, turning his head away slightly, “just, bought it for you. ‘Cuz, y’know, you guys tend to come here around this time.”
Nirei rushes to Sakura and holds his hands, a wide smile crinkling the corners of his eyes, “Thank you Sakura-san!!”
Sakura flushes, as pink as his namesake. He’ll blush at the slightest teasing — sometimes not even that.
“Urgh, whatever!” Sakura shouts, red faced and puffing up like a cat, “I ordered tea for you, Suo, ‘cuz of you—, uh, your diet and stuff,”
Suo’s eye widens and his mouth drops. He knows his thing with eating is — irregular at best. Usually, it’ll invite a round of questions for Suo to evade, or odd looks every time he denies food. Furin’s been more accepting than most but no one had acknowledged it like that, taken it in stride. Suo softens, letting his hands fall to his sides.
“Thank you, Sakura-kun,” Suo smiles softly, sitting next to Sakura with Nirei on his other side. He rests his head on his hand, the tassels of his earrings tickling his jaw, “Our captain has grown more considerate, hmm?”
There’s been someone following Suo for the past ten minutes. He’s been slowly looping around the streets, and he’s figured out his pursuer isn’t one of the usual ones. The man certainly isn’t as flashy as the usual suspects — those loansharks who tape bills outside of his house, shout at his family in the middle of the night, generally harass them at work, walking around, everywhere. Those men haven’t been overly violent — nothing like three years ago — but Suo has bruises from when he’s been roughly handled.
It’s beyond infuriating, having to take every hit, keep his body limp as his mind screams at him to dodge. Suo’s style of fighting tends to be humiliating for the other participants, and it’s a sure way to get them pissed and even more aggressive in their methods. Not that beating multiple grown men would be easy, especially when he has to favour his left side. This one is mostly his fault, going in to protect his drunk father instead of taking him away. The ensuing fight had Suo sorely on the back-foot trying to keep his father where he could keep him safe. Of course, having to fight two battles means losing one, and although his father was unharmed, he had to limp away with a sprained ankle and a smattering of bruises across his ribs.
Suo reaches a split in the road. He could go to his master’s house, and take refuge there, or walk to the more populated shopping area. Suo doesn’t want to burden his master any further. She’s already given him so much, trained an unruly kid like him without a second thought. He’s just taking advantage of her, at this point.
Suo turns, taking the alley down to the shops. It’s bracketed on either side with the backs of houses, long and thin enough for it to echo every step someone takes through it.
A second pair of footsteps join Suo’s and he stops. That man really followed him here too? Suo turns on his heel and shifts into a fighting stance. The dark haired, black-clad man just stands there squinting, and looking down at his phone.
“Why are you following me?”
The man doesn’t do anything, only staring at his… eyepatch? Suo tenses, drawing his hands up, yet the man only fiddles with his phone — no, calling someone.
“Endo-san, I’ve found the boy you wanted.” Endo? What?
“Wait!” Suo shouts, but the stalker just runs off, surprisingly fast.
Suo chases after him, only seeing the flap of his jacket before the man disappears. He pants, wondering what the hell just happened. That man is clearly athletic, each footstep having a weight to it. And he’s an underling of Endo, apparently close enough to have a direct line to him, and to what — find some kid? It’s clear that Endo has no interest in Suo, so why would he bother looking for him.
Unless it isn’t Endo that wants to find him. Suo knows his friends wouldn’t give up, but he never thought Sakura would ask Endo of all people. Shit. It’s early in the morning, before school starts. Endo’s efficient — he’s probably already told Sakura. He has maybe a couple hours until the next patrol, until Furin comes down on his head.
Suo rushes off, straight to his house. If he works quickly, hopefully, hopefully, he’ll be able to miss them.