Kota sprinted through the deserted streets, his heart pounding harder than the rain pelting against him.
The wind howled around him, carrying leaves from the autumn trees that seemed to scatter in every direction.
The storm brewing in the sky mirrored the turmoil in his chest, but he paid no mind to the cold or the coming tempest.
His focus was singular—getting home, away from the humiliation, the rage, and the shame.
After losing to Haruto, Daiki's indifference had cut deeper than any punch. Not a word, not a glance, just a silent departure that screamed louder than any reprimand.
Kota's battered body had been left sprawled on the ground, the rain mixing with his tears and blood.
The humiliation burned like acid, worse than the time Daiki had physically lashed out at him in anger.