Well, this is going to be fun

An intense thud reverberated throughout the room as a leather belt hit the skin.

A fifteen-year-old boy wearing his uniform trousers stood in the corner, clenching his fists as he absorbed the burning sting from his body. He gritted his teeth and tried to stay upright despite the pain that almost caused him to fall.

Red streaks and a few older bruises stained his bare back as his adoptive father whipped him one more time. His eyes were squeezed shut and his mouth was set in a thin line as he held back an agonizing cry - wailing would only make the man hit harder.

It was an ordinary evening in Nakashima's household. The boy's adoptive mother, Noriko, clattered dishes and prepared dinner while listening to the radio for local news. She kept her back turned toward the living room, ignoring her husband's treatment of their son.

"This is your last warning. If you do this again, the punishment will be much more severe," Masashi Nakashima, the chief of surgery and one of the most respected doctors in his hospital, grunted and looked at his son's disappointing math exam on his coffee table.

The boy remained still, his posture forcefully composed as he endured the ache in his spine. An angry expression twisted on the surgeon's face as he quickly buckled his belt on his pants.

"Put your shirt on and bring your school books. You won't eat until you finish your homework," Masashi commanded his son. He walked away to wash his hands, letting the tension in the room slowly fade away as he closed the bathroom door.

The pair of blue eyes were empty as they shifted to see the woman in the kitchen, whose brown hair was bunned and whose clothes were 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.

The boy's stare lingered on his mother for a moment before he turned away, more hurt by her lack of interest than by his adoptive father's belt.

(The next day)

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

The young boy ran his hand over his messy coffee-brown hair and looked up at the chalkboard with a tired expression. He had a paler complexion than the other students in the class and his deep blue eye color revealed his mixed heritage.

It didn't take him long to figure out the solution, but rather than stating it, he became unnaturally cheerful.

"I'm not sure. Maybe you can ask something else," he said rebelliously, daring the teacher to confront him.

She shook her head as she pointed with a scolding finger at the boy's untucked shirt and wrinkled pants.

"Fix your uniform, Nakashima. Follow the rules."

He snorted and straightened his legs, sitting even more sluggishly than before. His eyes glinted with a touch of defiance when he refused to do what was asked.

(Later that day)

"Nakashima. I need to talk to you," the teacher stated after the bell rang, dismissing the class.

His hands stayed inside his pockets as he approached her desk and his forehead furrowed as he stifled his wide yawn. She closed her notebook and cleared her throat, keeping her demeanor calm and collected.

"I have noticed a change in your attitude. I would like to know what is going on."

The boy shrugged, remaining silent as he gripped his pockets tightly.

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

The student smiled arrogantly and leaned forward, challenging the teacher's authority.

"Feel free to tell my father whatever you want."

(A while later)

The boy emerged from the dreary hallway, taking a deep breath of fresh summer air as he basked in the afternoon sun.

A burst of laughter erupted in the corner of the yard, where a group of high school first graders enjoyed a well-earned break. He watched them mess around with a small and empty smile on his face.

A girl from his class stepped up to greet him as he walked toward the boys. She smiled shyly and glanced at him as she tucked her long hair behind her ears.

"Uh, Nakashima...? Would you like me to apply that eyeliner one more time...?"

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 were to catch him with makeup again, so he decided to leave it for later.

"Maybe another day, okay?"

The girl nodded as the boy passed her, heading off to meet his loud group of friends. One of them had stolen a cigarette from his mother's bag, which he proudly showed 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.

"What did Miss Cow want?" one of the young teenagers snickered as their friend strolled over to them.

"Same old, same old..."

The blue-eyed boy was the first to be offered the cigarette. He gladly accepted it, taking it from the other one's outstretched hand. He put it between his lips and inhaled deeply, enjoying the smoke's flavor and how it made his head tingle.

"Look who is all alone again. Doesn't he look pathetic?" another boy chuckled, making the whole group turn around to look at the swings, where a lean figure was pushing himself back and forth in a slow rhythm.

Their common classmate had a shorter and a bit smaller frame than everyone else. He was wearing his navy blue uniform neatly tucked in, unlike some of his peers who chose to look more careless. His pale brown downcast eyes were framed by jet-black hair that was combed smoothly and tamed with gel. The boy seemed lost in his own world, without anyone to talk to or to share thoughts with, but it wasn't an unusual sight.

A smirk grew on the brown-haired teenager's lips as he took a second drag of the cigarette and handed it forward to the person next to him.

"Hey, why don't we say hello to the little ghost?"

(Later that evening)

The young boy had hung out with his friends for hours and wandered around 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 had disobeyed and decided to join 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 child's skin through bruises and wounds, they stamped their own marks on the city, leaving graffiti tags and broken windows as a reminder of their existence.

When evening drew near, the boy stepped into his family's home, smelling the scent of grilled fish when his mother cooked dinner. Masashi was already waiting for him in the living room and squinted behind rectangular glasses as he saw his disheveled son.

"Where have you been?" he asked in a low voice.

The boy met the man's stern expression with a confident smirk.

"Would you like me to remove my shirt so you can begin your hobby?" he asked with fake excitement, a wide smile on his face as he stood confidently in front of the imposing figure.

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

"You will show me that you are truly sorry for disobeying me and that you understand the consequences of your actions, Natsuo," he grunted, clenching his jaw as he twisted the boy's strands so tightly that his scalp started to throb.

"Well, this is going to be fun," the fifteen-year-old answered as he refused to look away from his father, the fire of rebellion burning in his blue eyes.