The Mark of Power

Kenjiro stormed out of the room, his footsteps echoing loudly in the hallway as he sprinted ahead.

As he reached the stairs, he nearly collided with Sakamoto, who was rushing up from the other direction.

Their eyes met for a brief moment, a shared tension passing between them, before Kenjiro broke away and continued down the stairs without a word.

The hallways had grown strangely quiet. Students were trickling back into their classrooms.

It seems they've figured out it was just a false alarm.

Kenjiro pushed through the doors leading outside, stepping into the fresh air. He dropped into a chair at the café's seating area, his elbows propped on his knees and his face buried in his hands. Frustration gnawed at him, sharp and relentless. That book... was it all for nothing?

Moments later, Hirochi burst through the door, panting, his hair slightly disheveled. "You won't believe it! I barely made it out of there!"

"What's wrong? Are you okay?" Hirochi asked, his concern evident in his voice.

Kenjiro looked up, letting out a bitter, humorless laugh. His expression was tired and full of disbelief.

"What was it? What did you find in the book?" Hirochi pressed, his smile a little forced, as if trying to lighten the mood.

"Nothing," Kenjiro said flatly, his tone devoid of emotion.

"N-Nothing?" Hirochi repeated, his smile fading.

"Yes, nothing," Kenjiro snapped, his voice rising with irritation. "The book was empty! Every single page-blank, glowing, useless. He tricked me! All this time, I was running around chasing answers, and it was all for nothing. He could have just told me the truth! Instead, he played me like a fool!" His hands curled into fists as his anger surged, his words sharp with frustration.

Hirochi blinked in surprise, then burst out laughing. "Oh, wow," he said between chuckles, shaking his head.

Kenjiro glared at him, his annoyance still simmering. But after a moment, the absurdity of it all caught up to him.

A reluctant smirk tugged at his lips. As ridiculous and infuriating as it was, maybe laughing at it was better than staying angry.

Sakamoto strolled down the hallway, his movements calm and calculated, the echo of his polished shoes filling the empty space.

His smirk widened as he stepped into Class seven. There, on the desk, the mysterious book lay wide open, its pages shimmering faintly under the fluorescent lights.

Meanwhile, Kenjiro, exhausted after hours of studying and working at the café, walked home in his school uniform.

His hands were shoved deep into his pockets, his tie slightly loosened, and his hair ruffled by the breeze.

Turning the corner to his house, he froze. Two men lingered near his front door, pacing back and forth like they owned the place.

"Shit," he muttered, ducking behind a tree. His mind raced.

To his surprise, Hirochi, was walking straight toward the house, waving enthusiastically.

"H-Hirochi!" Kenjiro hissed, waving frantically to get his attention. Hirochi noticed him, his head tilting in confusion. He wandered over, crouching beside Kenjiro behind the tree.

"Why are you hiding?" Hirochi asked, his voice dripping with curiosity.

Kenjiro whispered the situation to him, and Hirochi's eyes widened. "A million yen?!" he blurted.

Kenjiro elbowed him sharply. "Shut up!"

One of the men glanced toward their direction but quickly dismissed it.

After the men left, Kenjiro and Hirochi hurried to the house.

The scene inside was chaos-furniture overturned, shelves emptied, and even the already broken door was now splintered beyond recognition.

Kenjiro picked up a small, framed family photo from the rubble. His hands trembled as he held it close. "Thank god... they didn't break this."

The picture showed his blonde-haired, blue-eyed mother in her favorite floral dress, his father looking sharp in a black suit, and a much younger Kenjiro with his trademark long hair, wearing a T-shirt his mom had made with 'Kenjiro' written in Japanese.

He carefully tucked the photo into his bag, his jaw tightening.

"Kenjiro, you can't stay here. It's not safe anymore," Hirochi said firmly. "Come stay with me."

Kenjiro hesitated, glancing at Hirochi. He knew Hirochi's family would welcome him, but the risk of dragging them into his mess was too great. Still, he nodded, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on him.

Trying to lighten the mood, he called out, "You hungry?"

"Always," Hirochi grinned.

Kenjiro rolled up his sleeves and got to work in the kitchen, finding what little food hadn't been destroyed.

He started boiling noodles but lost focus as thoughts of the debt and the mysterious men crept into his mind. The pot hissed as boiling water splashed onto his wrist.

"Shit!" he yelped, pulling back.

Hirochi rushed over, snickering. "Man, you're hopeless even in your own kitchen."

"Shut up and grab a plate," Kenjiro grumbled, wrapping a wet towel around his wrist.

The two ate in the messy living room, Kenjiro icing his burn while Hirochi slurped loudly.

"Does it hurt?" Hirochi asked between bites.

"Just a little," Kenjiro lied, wincing as he adjusted the ice pack.

After a pause, Hirochi smirked mischievously. "So, what's next? You gonna sit here and mope all night?"

Kenjiro shot him a look. "What else am I supposed to do?"

"Well," Hirochi said, stretching dramatically, "I was thinking of hitting up a nightclub tonight."

Kenjiro almost choked on his noodles. "A nightclub? You? Since when do you go to places like that?"

"Some old friends invited me. I wasn't gonna go, but they insisted."

"Then go. Have fun."

"Not alone." Hirochi leaned closer, his grin widening. "Come with me."

"No," Kenjiro deadpanned, taking another bite.

"Come on! I don't want to be the awkward guy standing alone!"

Kenjiro sighed, rolling his eyes. "I'm tired-"

"You're not," Hirochi interrupted. "And what if those guys come back? You'll be safer with me."

Kenjiro paused, considering Hirochi's point. "Fine. But no drinking. Don't even try to convince me."

"Deal!" Hirochi exclaimed, fist-pumping the air.

Kenjiro changed into casual clothes: blue jeans, a white shirt, and a black leather jacket. Hirochi, true to form, simply threw a white jacket over his school uniform.

"Seriously?" Kenjiro raised an eyebrow.

"Don't worry, I'm a trendsetter," Hirochi replied confidently, flipping his nonexistent long hair.

Kenjiro shook his head with a smirk. Maybe, just maybe, the night wouldn't be so bad.

The nightclub was absolute chaos. The music was deafening, a mix of heavy beats and electronic noise that seemed to shake the walls.

Men and women filled the space, some dancing wildly in short dresses and tight suits, others leaning against the bar with drinks in hand.

The air was thick with the smell of sweat, alcohol, and perfume.

"I'll be back," Hirochi said to Kenjiro with a wide grin as he spotted a group of his old friends in the crowd.

Kenjiro, uninterested in mingling, made his way to the bar and sat down on one of the stools. He raised his hand to the bartender. "Just water," he said, his voice barely audible over the blaring music.

As the bartender handed him the glass, Kenjiro stared into it, his mind spiraling. School fees, Dad's debt, the broken house... how the hell am I going to fix all of this?

"Damn it," he muttered under his breath. Desperation crept in, and before he knew it, he raised his hand again. "Actually, give me something stronger."

The bartender raised an eyebrow but complied. Kenjiro downed the drink in one shot, grimacing at the burn in his throat.

A few moments later, Hirochi returned to the bar, a nearly full bottle of alcohol in his hand.

He plopped down beside Kenjiro, swaying as he tried to sit upright. His face was flushed, his grin lopsided.

"Did you seriously get drunk this fast? Looks like I'll have to carry you too. . . what a miserable life!" Kenjiro muttered, shaking his head.

Hirochi burst into laughter, his voice a little too loud. "Just a little! Don't worry!"

Kenjiro couldn't help but chuckle at his friend's ridiculousness.

"Hey, Kenji," Hirochi slurred, leaning closer and pointing across the room. "That guy over there? He's a tattoo artist. I really wanna get one."

Kenjiro followed his gaze to a man sitting in a corner, his arms covered in ink as he worked on someone's back.

"Are you out of your mind?" Kenjiro snapped. "You'll get kicked out of school! You know the rules-no tattoos for students, or you're done!"

"Ah, come on!" Hirochi whined, waving him off. "I'll just hide it. No one will even know!" He stumbled to his feet, bottle in hand, making a beeline for the tattoo artist.

Kenjiro grabbed his arm just in time, stopping him mid-step. The sudden motion caused Hirochi's bottle to tip, spilling its contents all over Kenjiro's shirt.

"You idiot!" Kenjiro barked, looking down at the wet stain spreading across his chest. "Where do you think you're going? And look at what you just did!"

"Oops," Hirochi said with a sheepish grin, swaying slightly. "Sorry."

Kenjiro watched him with a wary eye, then sighed. "Stay here. I'm going to the bathroom to clean up. Don't move, and when I'm back, we're going home. Got it?"

Hirochi saluted him sloppily, his grin still plastered on his face. "Yes, sir!"

Kenjiro gave him a warning glare. "I mean it. Don't move."

Hirochi nodded eagerly, still sitting there, swaying slightly, as Kenjiro disappeared into the crowd. He stayed put, humming softly to himself, his mischievous grin never leaving his face.

Kenjiro stepped into the dimly lit bathroom, the faint thrum of nightclub music still echoing through the walls. The flickering fluorescent lights above cast an eerie glow over the cracked tiles and smeared mirror.

He grabbed a towel from the counter, dampened it with lukewarm water, and started scrubbing the alcohol stain off his shirt.

His movements were quick and agitated, muttering under his breath about Hirochi's recklessness.

When the stain was faint enough, he tossed the towel aside and looked into the mirror.

His black hair was slightly disheveled from the chaos of the night. Running his fingers through it, he fixed it into place and took a deep breath, staring into his tired reflection.

The weight of everything-debts, the ruined home, the uncertainty of tomorrow-seemed etched into his face.

He turned to leave but suddenly froze in place.

A strange, icy sensation crept over his body, starting at his feet and crawling upward like freezing water seeping into his veins. His muscles stiffened as if invisible chains were locking him in place. What the hell is happening? he thought, panic rising.

His entire body began to tingle, an unbearable sensation like thousands of needles pricking his skin all at once.

And then, the pain hit.

A sharp, searing agony erupted in his head, radiating outward in waves. It was unlike anything he'd ever felt-a relentless pressure that made it feel like his skull was splitting apart.

"What... what's happening to me?" he gasped, clutching his head with both hands.

His knees buckled, and he collapsed onto the cold tiles, his breaths ragged and shallow.

The pain grew worse with each passing second. It wasn't confined to his head anymore; it spread everywhere. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat sending fresh jolts of agony through his veins.

His hands trembled uncontrollably as he tried to steady himself against the floor, but it was no use.

"Stop... please..." he whispered, barely audible.

Desperation took over. His left hand shot up, pounding his head repeatedly, as if trying to force the pain out.

Tears streamed from his eyes, blurring his vision, but he didn't care. He was trapped in an endless cycle of torment, with no escape in sight.

Then, as suddenly as it started, the pain in his head stopped.

For a brief moment, there was silence-a fleeting, deceptive relief. But before he could catch his breath, a new wave of agony struck, this time in his left hand.

A fiery, stabbing sensation shot through his fingers, up his wrist, and into his arm. His hand felt like it was being burned alive from the inside out.

He clutched it with his right hand, squeezing tightly in a futile attempt to ease the pain. It only intensified.

His body convulsed uncontrollably, sweat dripping from his face as he crumpled entirely to the floor.

His breaths came in shallow, uneven gasps. The world around him spun wildly, his vision blurring into chaos.

He felt his strength draining away, the relentless pain consuming every ounce of his will to move or fight back.

And then, darkness.

Kenjiro's body went limp, sprawled across the cold, dirty tiles of the bathroom floor. His left hand twitched faintly as he succumbed to unconsciousness.

Outside, the nightclub music thudded on, indifferent to the silent battle he had just endured.

. . . . . .

. . . . . .

"Kenjiro, help me, I don't want to go with her, Kenj..." The voice echoed again in his dream, a desperate plea.

All he could hear was his name, faint and distant, a child's voice crying for help.

"Kenjiro..." The voice broke, trembling with fear, and it tugged at something deep inside him.

The sound of the crying filled his head, relentless and sharp, as if it were inside him, pressing against his skull.

He shifted in his sleep, moving restlessly, his body twisting, searching for the source of the voice.

"Help me..." The words echoed again, but this time it was as if the boy's hand was reaching out, suspended in the air, desperate to be saved.

Kenjiro reached toward it, but the boy disappeared, his form dissolving into nothingness.

"Emiko..." The name slipped from his lips before he even realized it, and with that, he jerked awake, gasping for air, his chest heaving.

His face was slick with sweat, his eyes bloodshot and wide, still haunted by the remnants of the dream.

He was disoriented, his surroundings unfamiliar. His white shirt clung to his skin, and his jacket lay discarded on the chair beside him.

He sat up, taking in his surroundings. This wasn't his house. It was bigger, grander, with high ceilings and a polished floor that reflected the light. He was lying on a sofa in the living room, the remnants of the dream still clouding his mind.

He rubbed his face, trying to shake off the lingering terror, when he heard the sound of something sizzling in the kitchen. He looked over and saw Hirochi moving around, cooking.

The smell of food wafted through the air, and his stomach growled in response.

"What happened?" Kenjiro's voice was hoarse as he glanced at Hirochi, confused and still trying to piece together the fragmented memories of last night.

Hirochi looked over at him, a grin on his face. "As you see, I'm the one who carried you home. You're at my place, and my parents are at my grandparents' house for the weekend."

Kenjiro blinked, trying to clear his foggy head. "But... I don't remember drinking that much."

Hirochi chuckled and shook his head, coming closer with a cup of coffee in hand. "Yeah, but you didn't let me get the tattoo. But you were the one who did it."

Kenjiro stared at him, still groggy and confused. "What are you talking about?"

Hirochi set the coffee down in front of him and gestured to his hand. "That tattoo."

Kenjiro looked down at his hand, unsure of what Hirochi meant.

"What tattoo?" Kenjiro asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

Hirochi pointed to his left hand. "The one on your left hand."

Kenjiro turned his gaze to his left hand, and the moment his eyes landed on it, he froze. His heart skipped a beat, and a cold shiver ran down his spine.

"What the hell..." He whispered, his voice shaky.

He looked back at Hirochi with a smirk, trying to brush it off. "This is a joke, right?"

"No," Hirochi replied, his voice casual, but there was a hint of seriousness in his eyes. Kenjiro could tell when his friend was joking, and this wasn't one of those times.

Kenjiro touched his left hand gingerly, his fingers trembling as they brushed over the mark. It was real.

"What the hell is this?" he muttered, still trying to process the surreal reality of the situation.

On the back of Kenjiro's hand, a mysterious green tattoo appeared in the shape of a hexagram, its sharp edges intricately interwoven in a balanced design.

Inside the star, six circular gaps were precisely distributed, adding to the intricate and enigmatic pattern. At the center of the star, a black circle stood out, as if it were the core of this unknown symbol.

This was no ordinary tattoo—it seemed to hold a secret that Kenjiro had yet to decipher.

"I think it's awesome," Hirochi said, laughing as he leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying Kenjiro's frustration.

"Shut up. Where's the bathroom?" Kenjiro shot back, annoyance laced in his voice.

Hirochi pointed lazily in the direction of the bathroom, still chuckling. Without another word, Kenjiro stomped off.

The small bathroom was clean but cluttered with towels and bottles of shampoo scattered around the sink. He turned on the faucet, letting cold water run over his hand.

The symbol tattoo stared back at him, unchanged.

Dripping water from his hand, he rubbed at the green design furiously, hoping it would smear or fade. Nothing. It remained sharp and vibrant, as if freshly etched.

He grabbed the soap, scrubbing his hand until his skin turned red. Still, the tattoo stayed, taunting him with its permanence.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath, leaning over the sink, his face twisted in frustration.

Kenjiro returned to the living room, holding his reddened hand up. "They're definitely going to kick me out of school!" he exclaimed, panic clear in his voice.

Hirochi, seated at the table with a bowl of rice in front of him, laughed mid-bite. "Relax! Just wear fingerless gloves. No one will notice."

Kenjiro glared at him but didn't respond. His stomach growled, reminding him he hadn't eaten since the night before. Reluctantly, he sat down, grabbed a pair of chopsticks, and began eating.

The aroma of freshly cooked rice and miso soup filled the room, but Kenjiro couldn't fully enjoy it. His mind kept drifting back to the strange tattoo and the bizarre circumstances that led to it.

After finishing their meal, they cleaned up together. Hirochi patted Kenjiro on the back, grinning. "See? No big deal. Just cover it up, and no one will even know."

Kenjiro wasn't convinced, but he nodded anyway. "I guess I don't have a choice."

"Wait, Kenji, where's the burn mark on your hand from last night?"

Kenji glanced at his hand, baffled to see it completely gone. "Maybe it healed... super fast."

Hirochi raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "Are you kidding me right now?"

Kenjiro glanced at his hand, still confused.

Hirochi sighed, then walked over to his desk and pulled out a pair of black fingerless gloves, tossing them to Kenjiro. "Here. Wear these. Better than trying to hide it with your cuffs."

Kenjiro caught the gloves and pulled them on, feeling the snug fit. The tattoo was now completely hidden.

Leaving Hirochi's house, Kenjiro headed straight home. The quietness of his home felt suffocating as he opened the closet and pulled out his school uniform.

The crisp white shirt and blazer felt heavier than usual as he put them on, but the gloves were already in place, covering the tattoo.

He stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the gloves. Grabbing his bag, he slung it over his shoulder and headed out.

The walk to school was filled with unease. His thoughts raced with worst-case scenarios. What if someone saw it?

What if the school thought it was some gang symbol or worse?

By the time he reached the school gates, Kenjiro's nerves were on edge. He adjusted his gloves one more time before stepping inside, praying silently that today would pass without incident.

Kenjiro walked into the physics classroom, his mood already sour. He sat down, but just as he did, the chair beneath him vanished, and he crashed to the floor.

He shot up, his face twisted with anger, his sharp gaze locking onto Ichino, who leaned back with a smug grin. Of course, it was him.

Kenjiro's fists clenched, his glare colder than ever, but before he could act, Hirochi grabbed his arm and pulled him back into his place.

"Let it go," Hirochi whispered, trying to keep the situation from escalating.

Kenjiro sat down reluctantly, his jaw tight as Teacher Sato entered the classroom. The lesson began, and like every other time, Kenjiro raised his hand to answer. And, as always, he was ignored.

The anger bubbling inside him was familiar, but this time, it felt different-stronger, more consuming.

His left hand began to tremble, and his blood felt like it was on fire. Gritting his teeth, he curled his fingers into a tight fist, trying to suppress the growing heat.

The laughs behind him didn't help. When Sato called on someone else, Kenjiro couldn't hold back anymore.

"The answer is 9.8 meters per second squared."

Sato's expression darkened as he turned to Kenjiro. "Oi, Takahashi-kun, what do you think you're doing? Did I give you permission to answer?"

"No," Kenjiro replied, his voice calm but firm.

The room fell silent, the air thick with disbelief. Hirochi stared in shock, Ichino and the others too stunned to speak.

"Come here and apologize in front of everyone," Sato demanded, his tone cold and commanding.

Kenjiro muttered under his breath, "What have I gotten myself into?" He stood and walked to the front, his shoulders tense.

Standing before Sato, he lowered his gaze. "I'm sorry, Sensei," he said quietly, his voice barely audible. .

The class erupted in laughter, the sound cutting through Kenjiro like a blade.

"I didn't hear you!" Sato barked, leaning closer with a mocking smirk. "Say it louder, you idiot!"

Kenjiro froze, his entire body tense as the sharp sound echoed across the silent classroom.

SMACK!

His hand-the tattooed one-had moved on its own, delivering a hard slap to Teacher Sato's face. The impact was so strong it sent the teacher stumbling back, crashing against his desk.

Kenjiro stared at his hand in utter disbelief, his fingers trembling as if they belonged to someone else.

His breathing grew erratic, and sweat formed on his brow. "W-what the hell just happened?" he whispered, his voice shaky and full of panic.

The room was dead silent. Every student sat frozen in shock, eyes wide. Ichino's mocking grin had vanished, replaced with stunned disbelief.

Hirochi was half out of his seat, his mouth slightly open, unable to process what he had just witnessed.

Kenjiro slowly clenched his hand, trying to feel like it was still his own. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't shake the sensation that it had acted entirely on its own. Why did it move?

Hirochi was the first to speak, his voice low and full of disbelief. "Kenjiro... what did you do?"

Kenjiro turned to him, his face pale and his wide eyes still glued to his hand. His lips trembled as he struggled to form words.

"I... I don't know."