No More Waiting

Tomo's breath hitched. Her chest felt tight, her body frozen in place.

Her eyes darted to her mum, still on the ground, struggling to breathe, fingers weakly grasping at the floor, trying to push herself up.

A shiver ran through her.

Slowly, her gaze shifted back to the bastard pinning her down.

That smug, lazy grin still on his face. The atomizer still in his grip. Like he had all the time in the world.

No.

No no no.

"Don't" Her voice cracked. She wanted it to be firm, strong, a command that cut through the air.

But it wasn't.

Too soft.

Too weak.

Like she was begging.

Her stomach twisted.

She hated how she sounded. That raw, breathless desperation, it didn't belong to her. She wasn't used to it. She had never felt this helpless before.

But she wasn't stupid.

She knew where this was going.

For her. For her mum. For Misuzu.

And the worst part?

She couldn't do a damn thing about it.

The thug chuckled, low and amused. "Weren't you all high and mighty just a few minutes ago?"

SLAP.

Her head snapped to the side. A sharp sting spread across her cheek.

"This is for your mum throwing that damn pot on my partner."

SLAP.

Her head snapped to the side. The sting spread across her face, hot and raw.

"And that's for kicking me, you little bitch."

SLAP.

The second hit stole her breath. Tears pricked at her eyes. She gritted her teeth, trying to swallow them down, but they slipped free, hot against her bruised skin.

Why was this happening?

If she hadn't come when Misuzu called, if she had just stayed home, would her mum be safe right now?

Would she be safe?

Did being a good person always mean getting ripped apart in the end?

Her thoughts froze as she saw him move again. His hand rising.

Not again.

Her body tensed. Her eyes squeezed shut.

Then.

"Release my hand."

A voice. Sharp. Unwavering.

Tomo's eyes snapped open.

The thug's wrist was caught in mid-air. Frozen.

Someone had stopped him.

Takashi.

The boy who had brought Misuzu's mum home earlier.

No hesitation. No words.

Just action.

CRACK.

His fist connected. The thug's head snapped back.

Takashi didn't stop.

He grabbed the bastard by his collar, ripped him off Tomo and threw him aside, freeing her.

The weight lifted. Tomo gasped, sucking in air.

The thug barely had time to react before

WHAM.

A brutal kick to the gut.

The bastard gagged, doubling over, but Takashi didn't let up.

A knee to the ribs.

A sick wheeze left the thug's lips. His body folded, pain overriding any fight left in him.

Another fist buried itself in the thug's stomach. Another strangled gasp.

Then.

CRASH.

Glass shattered. Plates hit the floor. The thug stumbled back, barely catching himself against a broken table.

But he didn't go down.

Groaning, he wiped at the blood trailing from his split lip. His eyes locked onto Takashi, burning with pain and rage.

"You little shit…" he spat, forcing himself upright.

Takashi cracked his knuckles.

"Still conscious? Good."

His gaze flickered toward Tomo.

"You good to stand?"

Tomo didn't respond. Couldn't. Her brain was still catching up, stuck in the moment, stuck in the sting on her cheek, the bastard's laughter still echoing in her ears.

Then.

"Oi, snap out of it!"

Hands on her shoulders. Shaking her.

Misuzu.

Her wide eyes darted around, locking onto the thug who was still on his feet, swaying but not down.

Then past Tomo.

To the other one. The bastard who had slapped her.

Unconscious.

Takashi had already dealt with him.

A single chop to the neck.

Clean. Efficient.

The stench of sweat and blood lingered in the air. Broken glass crunched under Takashi's steps as he approached the thug still standing. The man wasn't scared. No, his eyes burned with something else, annoyance, not fear. He clearly saw what had happened as nothing more than a fluke, a momentary lapse on his part.

Takashi didn't blink. He didn't slow.

"Give me the antidote."

The thug exhaled sharply through his nose, amusement flickering in his eyes. He reached into his pocket, not for a vial, but for something else.

A folding knife.

A quick flick, and the blade was out.

"You think you're some big damn hero?" the thug sneered, shifting his stance, gripping the knife tight. "You got lucky. That's all."

Takashi tilted his head slightly, as if considering his words.

"Yeah?" His lips curled up, not a smile. "Let's test that theory."

A straight thrust, aimed for the gut.

But Takashi had already moved.

A side-step. A pivot. His hand snapped forward, seizing the thug's wrist before he could retract the blade.

A twist.

A sharp, ugly pop echoed through the room.

The knife clattered to the floor. The thug staggered back, his mouth opening in a soundless cry, his arm bent at an angle it shouldn't be.

Takashi didn't wait.

He closed the distance in an instant, his fist slamming into the man's ribs, once, twice, before a final blow to the jaw sent him crashing onto the broken table behind him.

The thug groaned, dazed but still conscious.

Takashi crouched beside him, gripping his collar, dragging him close until their faces were inches apart. His voice was quiet, almost gentle.

"I don't like repeating myself."

**********

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