Chapter 7

Nagi's eyes twitched in his sleep. His fingers curled into the sheets, his breath coming quick and shallow. The room around him was dark, silent—except for the soft sound of his own breathing.

But in his dream, the air was sterile and sharp, thick with the lingering scent of chemicals. Cold metal walls boxed them in, humming faintly under the fluorescent lights. The room was empty except for them—three boys standing before a wire cage, full of tiny, writhing bodies.

Rats.

Nagi had always hated rats.

He didn't understand why they were here. Their grandfather had brought them to this underground facility as soon as their parents left, dragging them down the dim corridors without a word. His expression had been unreadable, his grip bruising.

Now, he stood before them, a knife in his hand. He turned it slowly between his fingers, watching the light dance along the blade.

"A simple task," he said, voice smooth. "Take a rat. Kill it."

Nagi froze. His small hands clenched. His stomach twisted.

He took the knife.

The rat was warm and trembling in his palm. He could feel its tiny heart hammering beneath its fur. He squeezed his eyes shut, raised the blade—

And dropped both, stumbling back with a choked sob.

Silence.

Then a chuckle. Low, condescending.

"Weak," their grandfather murmured, watching him with something like disappointment.

From her seat in the corner, their grandmother smirked. "Like his father."

Their grandfather exhaled sharply, like the very idea disgusted him. "I had such hopes for Kenji," he said, shaking his head. "But I suppose it makes sense. He married a Caster woman, after all. That family always had a soft streak."

He lifted the knife again and tossed it at Rei's feet. The sharp clang of metal against the floor made Nagi flinch.

"You," their grandfather said. "Pick one."

Rei stood stiffly. He was barely twelve, small for his age, but his hands were clenched into fists. His jaw was set.

"No," he said.

Their grandfather's gaze darkened. "No?"

Rei swallowed. "I won't."

There was no warning before the slap. Just the sudden, sharp crack of skin against skin—then the dull thud of Rei hitting the ground.

Nagi's breath hitched.

Their grandfather loomed over Rei's fallen form, watching him with cold, assessing eyes. "Do you want to say that again?"

Rei lifted his head, blood on his lip, and said nothing.

Arato moved then, stepping in front of Rei, his expression unreadable. But their grandfather only laughed, his hand closing around Rei's arm. He yanked him up, forced the knife back into his grip.

"Pick one."

"No."

A blow to the stomach this time. Rei gasped, doubling over.

"Again. Pick one."

"No."

A punch to the ribs.

"Pick."

"No."

Again. Again. Again. Each refusal was met with another hit, each protest beaten down until Rei was bruised, shaking, bloodied—until his breathing was ragged and his fingers trembled so badly the knife almost slipped from his grip.

He didn't even speak the final time. Just moved. Slow. Reluctant. Broken.

The rat's body twitched under the blade, the metal slick with blood.

Their grandfather let go of him, looking satisfied. "Good."

Nagi felt sick.

Then their grandfather turned to Arato.

His smile sharpened. "Now you."

Arato was silent.

Nagi's stomach twisted. Rei had lasted so long, had tried so hard to hold out—but he had still broken. Arato was younger. Smaller. He couldn't possibly—

"I won't."

Their grandfather hummed. Then, slowly, he crouched in front of Arato, eyes gleaming. "You won't?"

Arato met his gaze. "No."

Their grandfather laughed.

And then he grabbed Arato by the collar and tore his clothes apart.

The sound of ripping fabric filled the air.

Arato stumbled back, but there was nowhere to go. Their grandfather tossed the shredded remains aside, a sneer curling his lips. "Look at this," he mused. "Rags. Does your mother dress you in this? No wonder you're so pathetic."

He gestured to his wife, and she stepped forward, placing neatly folded white clothes in his hands.

"Put these on," he ordered.

Arato didn't move.

Their grandfather grabbed his wrist, forcing the fabric onto him, his grip unyielding. Rei lunged forward, but their grandfather shoved him back effortlessly, sending him sprawling.

And then he dragged Arato toward the door.

It was a simple door. White, plain. But when it opened, all Nagi could see beyond it was endless white.

Arato struggled, screaming, thrashing with all his strength—but their grandfather shoved him inside, sealing the door shut with a heavy, echoing click.

Silence.

Nagi stared at the door, stomach churning. His hands were shaking.

"…What's in there?" Rei whispered, voice hoarse.

Their grandfather only smiled.

"Would you like to find out?"

Nagi bolted upright, gasping.

His sheets were damp—soaked through with sweat. His hair clung to his forehead, his body trembling from the memory of something long past but never forgotten.

He peeled back the blankets, heart hammering.

…Had he wet himself?

Hastily, he lifted the fabric to check.

Sniffed.

No. Just sweat.

He fell back onto the mattress, staring at the ceiling, breath still shaky.vIt was just a dream. Just a dream. Except it wasn't. That week had actually dragged on like a never-ending nightmare.

Arato never came out of that room.

Nagi and Rei weren't allowed near it, but they could hear him. The first day, he had screamed until his voice gave out, his fists pounding against the walls until the dull, rhythmic thuds were the only sound left. By the second day, there was only silence.

Their grandfather, however, went in whenever he pleased.

The moment the heavy lock clicked open, Rei and Nagi would brace themselves. And then—Arato's hoarse, ragged screaming would tear through the halls, echoing against the metal walls. It wasn't the kind of scream that came from a single hit or a scare—it was the kind that stretched, raw and relentless, like he was being broken down piece by piece.

After a while, their grandmother would follow, carrying a large, white bucket of water. Whenever she came out, the water was red.

Nagi never asked. He didn't want to know. Rei, however, did.

Nagi remembered when one night, while their grandmother passed by with another bucket, he demanded, "What the hell are you doing to him?"

His voice was hoarse from exhaustion—he hadn't slept in days. The dark circles under his eyes were almost as deep as the bruises covering his body.

His grandmother barely spared him a glance. "Cleaning up."

That was it. That was all she said before she shut the door behind her. He remembered Rei punching the wall in frustration.

Plus, they weren't just waiting around while Arato was locked away. No, their grandfather had had no intention of letting them sit idly by.

"We're going to make men out of you two," he had said with a wicked grin. What followed was brutal.

The training was relentless. Their grandfather didn't ease them into it, didn't teach them step by step—he threw them straight into the deep end and watched to see if they'd sink or swim.

For Nagi, who was the youngest, the punishment was lighter. Lighter, but not light. Whenever he failed to follow orders, he was beaten—simple as that. But Rei—

Rei had a temper. And Rei had never been good at keeping his mouth shut, and their grandfather hated that more than anything.

Every time he spoke out, he was hit. When he refused to comply, he was hit harder. When he cursed at their grandfather, when he spat blood on the floor, when he glared even after being beaten half to death—his punishments became worse.

At one point, their grandfather got sick of it altogether.

"Fine," Nagi remembered him say with the calmest voice he had ever heard. "Let's break that attitude of yours."

And then, without warning, he grabbed Rei, yanked him off his feet, and tied his ankles together.

Rei barely had time to react before he was hoisted upside down. The first strike landed across his stomach, knocking the air from his lungs. The next landed against his ribs. Then his back. His legs. His arms. There was no pattern to it. No rhythm, no mercy. Just hit after hit, pain after pain, until his body was on fire and his thoughts were a haze of agony.

At some point, Nagi had tried to stop it. He had lunged forward, clinging to their grandfather's arm, sobbing, "Please, please stop! He'll listen, he'll listen!" Their grandfather shoved him back so hard he hit the ground with a thud.

Rei had been there for an entire day. By the end of it, He was barely conscious, his body limp and shaking, his face pale. Nagi was sure Rei was going to die, but thankfully their parents came back.

Their mother had stormed through the house, demanding to see them. She found Rei first, hanging like butcher meat, his body battered and broken, barely able to move. His eyes flickered open when she stood beside him, and for a moment, she just stared.

Then she turned her head, fury radiating off her in waves. "What have you done to my children?" Her voice was deathly quiet.

And nothing could have matched Kenji's pain, when he opened the white door. The one that had been locked for seven days.

Nagi remembered seeing Kenji come out with a wildly thrashing, clawing, kicking and feral Arato. His breathing was ragged, his body trembling violently. He and Rei went mute for a long time after.

Nagi buried his face into the pillow, gripping the sheets as his body trembled. The tears came fast, silent at first, then harder, shaking his small frame. It was times like this that still felt like he was back there.