The two of us laughed, Agari Rikoto and I, just another ordinary moment at school in Kyoto, surrounded by the usual crowd. We were oblivious to the nightmare about to shatter our peace. Then, the piercing shriek of the alarm ripped through the air, a hellish warning siren that made my blood run cold.
Panic erupted instantly.
Students screamed, desks crashed over, and chaos swallowed the classroom whole. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. My breath hitched, and my legs turned to lead, refusing to obey my frantic commands. Fear had me in its icy grip. Agari's hand clamped onto my shoulder, shaking me roughly.
"Mikimo, we gotta go! We'll be fine if we just get out of here!"
Agari's voice trembled, yet a forced, reassuring smile flickered across his face.
Swallowing hard, I willed my legs to move.
Together, we stumbled toward the hallway, weaving through the overturned furniture and the desperate crush of students. Just as we stepped out…someone was waiting.
A gang member stood at the end of the hallway, a shotgun clutched in his hands. Time seemed to warp and slow. My eyes locked with his just as he raised the weapon.
Boom!!!
The deafening blast ripped through the air, the sound echoing in my ears. A warm spray speckled my face. My body went rigid as I watched Agari fall backward, his forehead split open, a horrifying crimson bloom spreading on the floor.
My best friend—gone in an instant.
My stomach lurched violently. My vision blurred at the edges. My hands trembled uncontrollably. But something primal, a raw instinct for survival, took over. Before my mind could even register the horror, I spun and sprinted toward the staircase.
The gang member's cruel grin sent a fresh wave of terror through me as he gave chase, leaving Agari's lifeless body abandoned on the floor.
My lungs burned with each ragged breath as I ran, my feet pounding a frantic rhythm against the linoleum. I didn't dare stop, not even when my legs screamed in protest, threatening to buckle beneath me. I reached the front doors, threw them open—though they weren't even locked—and burst outside…only to be confronted by a scene that utterly annihilated my reality.
Kyoto was in ruins.
Buildings crumbled like sandcastles, fires raged and spread like a malevolent plague, and thick, black smoke choked the sky, turning day into a suffocating twilight. Planes spiraled downwards in fiery trails, crashing into streets with earth-shattering impacts. Cars exploded in violent bursts, sending jagged debris flying in deadly arcs.
Helicopters twisted and bucked like wounded beasts before slamming into skyscrapers, showering the streets with lethal rain of glass shards.
My body shook uncontrollably. My breathing became shallow and ragged. My mind screamed in denial, begging to wake up from this impossible nightmare.
Then, a voice, small yet insistent, whispered from the depths of my mind.
"Go home. Find your sister."
Our parents were on a trip, miles away on the other side of Japan. My sister was all I had left nearby. I had to reach her. I had to protect her from this madness.
Without a second thought, I sprinted through the ravaged city, dodging fallen debris, weaving through the mangled wreckage of what was once a peaceful home.
Screams echoed around me, a chorus of terror and despair. Blood stained the sidewalks, turning familiar paths into gruesome trails. Corpses lay scattered like discarded dolls.
By the time I reached our house, the front door hung ajar, swaying slightly in the acrid breeze.
A cold dread clenched my heart in its icy grip.
Slowly, my hand trembling, I pushed the door open wider.
Inside, the room was dimly lit, shadows dancing under the flickering light. A Yakuza leader stood there, his face obscured by shadow. He had my older sister in his grasp, a gun pressed cruelly against her temple, the cold glint of a knife hovering just above the delicate curve of her throat.
"If you come any closer, I'll slit her throat," the Yakuza leader sneered, his voice a venomous rasp. "And if you even think about calling the police…I'll high-five her head with a bullet."
I froze, my blood turning to ice in my veins.
A bone-deep chill permeated my being. My body threatened to collapse under the weight of terror, but I couldn't let it. My sister's eyes, wide with unimaginable fear, locked onto mine, silently pleading for help, tears streaming down her pale cheeks.
With excruciating slowness, I moved my hand behind my back, my fingers fumbling desperately for my phone. Without breaking eye contact with the Yakuza leader, I pressed the emergency number.
But he saw it. A cruel smirk stretched across his lips.
"Time to say goodbye."
My world shattered again, the pieces falling into an abyss of despair.
A single, swift movement—too fast for my mind to even register.
The razor-sharp blade sliced across my sister's throat, a horrifyingly clean line that instantly welled with crimson. Almost simultaneously, the deafening crack of a gunshot ripped through the room. Blood splattered against the wall like a grotesque painting. Her body, once so full of life, crumpled to the floor like a discarded ragdoll.
My mind went blank, a vast, empty void. Yet, somehow, my body continued to move, acting on a primal instinct beyond thought.
Rage—pure, unadulterated, uncontrollable rage—surged through me, eclipsing the terror and despair.
I launched myself at the Yakuza leader, a desperate, animalistic leap that knocked him off balance, sending him sprawling to the floor. My hand, guided by a force I didn't understand, found a knife lying discarded nearby, my fingers closing around its cold, hard grip.
The man thrashed beneath me, a guttural growl escaping his lips, but I pressed the blade against his throat, the cold steel a stark contrast to the burning fury within me.
"Talk," I hissed, my voice raw and unfamiliar.
The leader merely grinned, a defiant, mocking expression that fueled my rage even further.
Wrong answer.
My fingers dug into his eye sockets, a sickening squelch accompanying his agonizing scream. He writhed beneath me, his body convulsing, but I held him down with a strength born of pure desperation.
And then, with a single, brutal motion, I plunged the knife deep into his throat.
The gurgling, choking sound was the last thing the Yakuza leader ever made.
I sat there, panting, the bloodied knife still clutched in my trembling hand. My body shook violently, my vision swam in a haze of red, but no tears came. I couldn't cry. The world had already stolen everything from me.
And now…I had nothing left but the cold, hard promise of revenge.