Well, this is going to be fun

WARNING: domestic violence

A leather belt hitting the skin made a vile sound, over and over again. The sharp noise came back with each lash, spreading throughout the room like a relentless, sickening rhythm.

A fifteen-year-old boy wearing his uniform trousers stood quietly, clenching his fists as he absorbed the burning sting from his body. The pain almost caused him to lose his balance, but he gritted his teeth and managed to remain upright. Red streaks, along with some older bruises, stained his bare back as his adoptive father whipped him one more time. He squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lip to hold back his agonizing cry - wailing would only make it worse.

It was an ordinary evening in Nakashima's household. The boy's adoptive mother, Noriko Nakashima, chopped vegetables and prepared dinner while listening to the radio for local news. She kept her back turned toward the living room and completely ignored the way her husband treated their son, their only child, whom they had taken in as a baby.

"This is your last warning. If you do this again, your punishment will be much more severe," Masashi Nakashima, the chief of surgery and one of the most respected doctors in his hospital, grunted. He gave one more disgusted look at his son's mediocre math exam on the coffee table - the reason why the belt was raised in the first place.

The boy remained still, enduring the lingering pain while maintaining a forcefully composed posture. Masashi was about to fasten his belt again, but his eyes caught a bit of blood on its surface. He wiped it with a handkerchief, but didn't offer that kind of consideration to his son's condition.

"Get dressed and bring your school books here. You won't eat until you finish your homework and extra assignments," the man commanded in a harsh voice. He walked away to the nearby bathroom to wash his hands, letting the tension in the room slowly fade away as he closed the door.

The boy's blue eyes were empty as they shifted to see the woman in the kitchen, who had her dark hair bunned and whose grey dress had been neatly ironed. Her gaze was focused on the boiling pot as she clutched wooden chopsticks and pretended nothing had happened behind her shoulder - just like any other evening. His stare lingered on her for a moment before he turned away, more hurt by her silence than by his adoptive father's belt.

(The next day)

"Nakashima? What is the answer?" a female teacher inquired in front of the classroom and glanced at the leisurely sitting student in the center.

The boy in question ran his hand over his messy coffee-brown hair and looked up at the chalkboard with a tired expression. His pale complexion and deep blue eyes revealed his mixed heritage, but he spoke fluent Japanese like any other local. It didn't take him long to figure out the solution, but rather than stating it and getting it over with, he became unnaturally cheerful.

"How can you call yourself a teacher if you don't know?" he replied rebelliously, defying her authority. Some of his classmates suppressed their smiles, while others exchanged glances - it wasn't the first time he had ridiculed her expertise.

The teacher shook her head. With a scolding finger, she pointed at the boy's untucked shirt and wrinkled pants.

"Fix your attitude and uniform, Nakashima. You should know better than that."

The boy snorted and sat further back in his chair. Obviously, he knew better than to obey blindly like a dog.

(Later that day)

"Nakashima. I need to talk to you," the teacher stated before dismissing the class.

The boy's hands stayed inside his pockets and his forehead furrowed as he stifled his wide yawn. The teacher closed her notebook and cleared her throat, opened her mouth and closed it again, almost like she didn't know where to begin.

"I see you repeating this inappropriate behavior. That is completely unacceptable."

The boy shrugged, remaining silent. Without even noticing, he gripped his trousers tight, making his knuckles turn slightly white.

"I need you to take your studies seriously and follow the rules. Otherwise, I must contact your father again. Do you understand that?"

He smiled arrogantly, then leaned forward.

"Oh, I can't wait to hear what he says about this."

(A while later)

A fresh summer breeze greeted the boy as he emerged from the school's dreary hallway.

Loud laughter erupted from the yard's corner. His eyes flicked over to observe as a group of high-schoolers in their school uniforms teased one another, causing his lips to curl into an empty smile.

As he walked toward the boys, a girl from his class stepped forward to speak with him. She blushed and tucked her long, silky black hair behind her ear.

"Uh, Nakashima? W-would you like to use my eyeliner again?"

He momentarily considered the girl's offer, but shook his head. A phone call from his teacher and the fact that he failed his chemistry were enough to annoy his father that night. He knew Masashi would be outraged if he caught him with makeup again, so he decided to leave it for later.

"Maybe next time, okay?"

The boy walked over to his classmates, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. As he approached, they greeted him with nods and smirks, each acknowledging him in their own way.

One of them had stolen a packet of cigarettes, which he proudly displayed to the others. He sparked it up with a match, taking a puff and blowing out a cloud of smoke that was snatched away by the wind.

"So what did Miss Cow want?" other one snickered.

"Same old, same old..."

The classmate offered him the pack of smokes. The blue-eyed boy put one between his lips, lit it with a lighter, and inhaled deeply. Seconds later, his head began to tingle, easing the tense feeling that had built up on his shoulders.

"Hah, look who is all alone again. How pathetic is that?" another boy chuckled, making the whole group turn around to look at the swings, where a smaller figure pushed himself back and forth in a slow rhythm.

The figure wore his navy blue uniform properly tucked in, unlike some of his peers who chose to look more careless. His face was framed by jet-black hair combed smoothly and tamed with gel, without even a single strand sticking out. He had pale brown eyes that stared downward, lost in thought, looking like he was waiting for something or someone who might never come.

A smirk grew on the blue-eyed boy's lips as he took a second drag of the cigarette.

"Hey, how about we say hello to the little ghost?"

(Later that evening)

As soon as school was over, the young boy left with his friends to explore Tokyo, the city of neon lights and endless energy.

Masashi had ordered his son to come to his office to do his homework, but he disobeyed and joined his classmates instead. As they wreaked havoc around the neighborhood, the boy felt a strange connection to his father - just as the man had etched his signature on his skin through bruises and wounds, he stamped his own marks on the city, leaving graffiti tags and broken windows as a reminder of their existence.

When evening eventually arrived and darkness began to fall, the boy made his way into his parents' home, smelling grilled fish as his mother made dinner. Masashi was already waiting for him with a stern expression, but his stare only grew more serious as his disheveled son entered the room.

"Where have you been?" he asked firmly.

The boy met the man's intense gaze with a confident smirk. Once, seeing the throbbing vein on his forehead or the angry lines at the corners of his eyes would have scared him, but no longer.

"Would you like me to remove my shirt so you can begin your hobby?" he asked in an overly polite tone.

"Don't you dare talk to me like that!" the man shouted and grabbed the boy's brown hair.

"You will show me that you are ashamed of what you have done and beg for my forgiveness, Natsuo," he growled with a clenched jaw, twisting the boy's strands so tightly that his scalp throbbed.

"Well, this is going to be fun," Natsuo answered as he refused to look away from his father, a fire of rebellion burning deep within him.