Chapter 72 : The one I hate, the one I fear

Sakolomé then slowly turns his gaze toward Salomé and Sally.

Sakolomé (calmly, but firmly):

— We're going to have to leave you.

Without another word, he walks away from Oscar, leaving him frozen there, standing with his face in the shadows.

Oscar's gang members, stunned, begin to stir.

— Oscar? Why are you letting him go like that?

— Fuck him up! Go on! What are you waiting for?!

But Oscar does not move.

Sakolomé, Salomé, and Sally head in the opposite direction. Their steps are calm but heavy with meaning.

Oscar finally shakes his head, as if to come back to himself. He raises his eyes and shouts:

Oscar (more serious):

— So… that was it. Your true face…

Sakolomé does not answer, completely ignoring him. He keeps walking as if those words had no hold on him.

Oscar (insisting, almost trembling):

— I saw it. The face of your clan. You looked at me with that look… your true face.

Sakolomé stops. Salomé does too. Sally also freezes, surprised.

Sally (impatient):

— Sakolomé… Let's go. We have no more time to waste with these idiots.

But Oscar continues, bitter, spiteful:

Oscar:

— We are right to despise you. You don't have the same look as us.

A long silence follows. Then Sakolomé sighs, as if he has tolerated these absurdities for too long.

Sakolomé (weary):

— Obviously… That look you just saw, it's the first time you glimpse it. So you think that's my true self. But Oscar… You've pissed me off enough, don't you think?

He slowly turns his head toward him.

— I never reacted before, not because I was afraid of you. But because deep down… I was trying not to care. And also… because I didn't want trouble.

He fixes Oscar with his gaze, his red eyes gleaming slightly.

— Sally, by pushing you to avoid me, by being cold, distant, contemptuous since we became friends… it wasn't to protect me from you.

He pauses.

— …It was to protect you from me.

Sally lowers her head. She says nothing. But her eyes show that she acknowledges every word.

Salomé also lowers her gaze, the silence weighing on her.

Oscar remains silent, his fists trembling.

— You want to know what you saw earlier, Oscar? It was only a fraction of me. The part I never wanted to show you. But now that you've seen it… what will you do?

A shiver runs down Oscar's spine. He clenches his teeth, rage on the verge of spilling.

— You called me assassin, killer, demon… You never stopped. But tell me, Oscar… How can you despise so much those you think are capable of taking your life? Have you never feared provoking one of them? Have you never thought… that you might die?

A flash passes in Oscar's eyes. Memories flood in: his mockeries, his provocations, his humiliations… All those moments when he played with Sakolomé as if there was no danger.

And he understands.

He understands that he flirted every day with death, without ever realizing it.

Sally (exploding):

— Enough!! You've said enough bullshit!

She grabs Sakolomé's hand, pulling him sharply to move forward.

Sakolomé (surprised):

— But Sally… Wait!

Too late. They leave. Sakolomé lets himself be pulled along.

Oscar, standing back, watches them walk away. He closes his eyes.

And thinks.

(Oscar's thoughts):

I always hated that guy… but maybe not that much.

At school, I had always been the coolest.

The one everyone wanted as a friend.

The strongest, the toughest among the students.

I was the very image of popularity.

But then… you arrived.

Sakolomé Satsujin Otoko.

A descendant of the Killer Man.

A full-fledged Killer Man.

Your family, their reputation…

Killers. Outcasts. Feared beings.

A lineage surrounded by rumors and fear.

And that single ancestry made you, without a word,

a "tough guy" far more imposing than me.

Your presence in class…

It was a threat.

If others saw you as interesting, fascinating because of that blood,

then I was going to become a shadow.

I would no longer exist in their eyes as before.

I had only a few options left.

Force you to become my friend…

Or make you hated by all.

But another idea grew inside me:

to put you down. Humiliate you.

Make the light you brought

go out under the weight of my own presence.

I knew…

Even before others understood who you really were.

I knew you were a Satsujin Otoko.

But that day, I pretended not to know.

I wanted to create a fair starting point,

make them believe in shared ignorance.

But you weren't who I imagined.

I expected a distant, cold, contemptuous guy…

Someone who commands respect through fear.

And instead, you were calm.

You helped others.

You even had good grades.

You didn't fit the image of the killer I had built in my mind.

So I made a decision.

To ruin your life.

Push you to the edge.

Make what you wanted to hide from us come out…

The Killer Man.

I tried. Again and again.

But you stayed calm.

Unmoved by my provocations.

And yet, I succeeded in part of my plan:

everyone hated you.

I remained the cool guy.

You became the outcast… without even doing anything wrong.

Then, you went to prison.

I don't know why.

But I was proud.

It was the perfect chance to twist the knife.

I played the card of the dark legend of your family,

that of the Satsujin, the Killer Man.

And it worked perfectly.

Even after your release, even after Madame Alia tried to defend you…

You were still rejected.

People were afraid.

But me… deep down,

I didn't believe you were capable of harm.

And that's where it gets ironic.

I didn't even need to speak anymore.

You carried the burden of hatred without me saying a word.

As if I had stolen all your light.

And left you… not even a crumb.

But one day, she came.

Sally Liuly.

From the prestigious Liuly family.

Pink hair. Eyes like diamonds.

I fell for her. Immediately.

She was stunning.

And yet…

she came to you.

You, the most hated in class.

You, the shadow I had shaped.

I didn't understand.

I was frustrated.

That very day, I wanted to set things straight.

But no.

Sally loved you.

It was obvious.

As if she had known you forever.

And that…

drove me crazy.

I thought I had extinguished you.

But beside her, you shone again.

Sally gave you back the light I had taken from you.

And me…

I'm madly in love with her.

She is everything I want:

beautiful, smart, thoughtful.

For me, it's her.

She's the one I need.

I tried everything.

But she always got in the way.

To push me away, or to defend you.

Every word she said to me burned me.

Every look she gave you poisoned me.

At night, I thought about it.

Again and again.

And the more I thought, the more I boiled.

I couldn't accept it.

In my head, Sally…

is my girl.

She had to walk by my side.

Not with you.

That's how I arranged everything in my head.

And you, you ruin it all.

I don't know if you're a couple.

But deep down… it doesn't matter.

Because I want her.

She is all that matters to me now.

And to have her…

I'm ready for anything.

Even to kill you, Sakolomé.

Oscar suddenly snaps out of his thoughts.

His face twisted with rage, eyes bloodshot.

He grits his teeth, clenches his fists,

and screams in the courtyard like a wounded animal:

— SAKOLOMÉ!!!

The shout cuts through the air.

Sakolomé, Sally, and Salomé stop dead.

Silence falls.

The three slowly turn around,

surprised faces.

Even Oscar's gang steps back a bit.

Oscar:

— Who do you think you are, huh, Sakolomé?!

He starts running straight at him.

Fist raised, arrogance slung over his shoulder,

voice trembling with hatred:

— You don't scare me, hear me?!

You're just a freak, a dirty clown playing tough!!

But Sakolomé does not react.

He watches him…

impassive.

Silent.

Cold as steel.

And just as Oscar's fist is about to fall…

CLACK.

A flash strikes.

Oscar doesn't understand.

His body twists, his feet leave the ground.

He rolls twice in the dust before collapsing.

Silence.

All eyes widen.

Even his gang remains frozen.

Salomé stands there.

Fist still extended.

Trembling.

Sakolomé, a sigh:

— …Salomé? Why?

She slowly lowers her arm, a bit confused:

— I… I don't know what came over me. I acted on my own.

Sally's eyes widen, shocked:

— You went a bit too far, didn't you?

Behind, in the crowd:

— She's the one who hit him?

— What kind of monster is that?

— How old is she? Nine? How can she hit like that?!

Oscar coughs, gets up as best he can.

Blood flows from his lip.

— Dirty… little…

Salomé steps forward.

Cold. Precise.

— You should go home.

You've been humiliated enough today.

Oscar explodes:

— How dare you talk to me like that!

I don't care that you're Sakolomé's sister…

I'm going to fuck you up!!

And then he charges.

Head down, like a furious bull.

But Salomé, without flinching, dodges,

places a hand on his shoulder,

and throws him to the ground with a perfectly mastered technique.

Oscar screams.

Struggles.

Tries to hit.

But she anticipates every move.

Twists his arm.

Makes him lose balance.

Pushes him away.

Pins him down.

Every movement is fluid. Calculated.

And yet… she holds back.

Terribly.

She could break him. With one blow.

But she dominates him just enough.

To humiliate him.

Without killing him.

Oscar ends up face down, panting, unable to get up.

That's when his gang steps in.

Ten against one.

They scream.

Rush toward her, each with their ridiculous tough-guy stance.

But Sakolomé still does not move.

Salomé just looks up, sighs…

Then takes action.

The first one rushes, arms raised:

— LITTLE BITCH!!!

She spins, lifts her knee.

CRACK.

He collapses clutching his stomach.

A second tries to grab her from behind.

She grabs him by the collar,

throws him over her shoulder.

He crashes down, motionless.

Three others try a group assault.

But Salomé spins, strikes with her elbows,

delivers a heel kick to the tallest one's knee.

He falls, screams.

In less than a minute,

the scene becomes chaotic.

A silent massacre.

They fall. One by one.

Some faint.

Others flee, crawling.

She never hits them full force.

But every blow is placed, methodical.

Just enough to neutralize them.

And when the last one falls…

Salomé stands up.

Her breathing barely ragged.

Fists clenched.

Her gaze hard.

Around her, bodies are scattered.

Ten teenagers, bigger, stronger,

reduced to nothing by a nine-year-old girl.

And in the distance, Sakolomé murmurs,

arms crossed, almost weary:

— I told you not to get too angry, Salomé.

She answers, wiping sweat from her forehead:

— It's their fault. They asked for it.

Sally, stunned:

— Hahaha..?!