The Awakening of the Unknown

"It Just Happened!"

"It just happened?" Hirochi's voice was a mix of disbelief and outrage. "Are you kidding me, Kenji? You slapped the man so hard he fell down! And all you can say is, 'It just happened'?"

Kenjiro and Hirochi sat side by side on the cold, wooden bench outside the principal's office. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly above them, adding to the oppressive silence of the hallway.

Kenjiro was hunched over, his elbows resting on his knees, staring at the floor like it held the answers to life's greatest mysteries.

Sweat dripped down his face, and his usually calm demeanor was replaced by sheer panic.

"I'm serious," Kenjiro muttered, his voice low and strained. "My hand. . . it just moved on its own."

"Yeah, sure. Next thing you'll tell me, it's possessed," Hirochi scoffed, crossing his arms.

"Look, I'm trying to help you here, but do you really expect anyone to believe that? You slapped the teacher, Kenjiro. Hard enough to make him fall! That's not exactly an everyday accident."

Kenjiro groaned, burying his face in his hands. "I don't know what the fuck is going on, Hirochi! I swear I didn't mean to. My hand. . . it just acted."

"Right, right," Hirochi said sarcastically, waving him off. "Let's just pretend for a second that I believe you. How do you plan to explain this to the principal, huh? 'Oh, sorry, sir, my hand's got a mind of its own!' That's not going to fly."

Kenjiro looked up at Hirochi, his face a mix of desperation and exhaustion. "I. Don't. Know!" he snapped, dragging a hand through his hair.

"You idiot! This is a big mess," Hirochi hissed, leaning closer. "Do you know how much trouble you're in? You don't just go around slapping teachers!"

Suddenly- smack!

Kenjiro's left hand shot out and landed a sharp slap across Hirochi's cheek. It wasn't as hard as the one that took down Teacher Sato, but it was enough to make Hirochi recoil, his hand flying to his face.

"What the hell, man?!" Hirochi yelped, his eyes wide with shock.

Kenjiro stared at his own hand, equally horrified. "See?! This! This is what I'm talking about!" he said, his voice rising with panic. "It just happens, Hirochi! Just like that!"

Hirochi blinked at him, still clutching his stinging cheek. "Kenjiro..." he started cautiously, his voice dropping to a worried whisper. "Are you okay? Like, really okay?"

Kenjiro threw his head back and groaned. "Fuck, No. Do I look okay to you?"

Before Hirochi could respond, the principal's assistant appeared in the doorway. "Kenjiro Takahashi, the principal will see you now," she said, her tone clipped and emotionless.

Kenjiro stiffened, forcing a shaky smile as he stood. His legs felt like jelly as he shuffled toward the office door.

Behind him, Hirochi remained on the bench, staring after Kenjiro in stunned silence, still holding his cheek.

Kenjiro walked into the principal's office, the door slamming shut behind him with a force that made the walls tremble. The tension in the room was suffocating, like thick, choking smoke.

Behind the desk sat the principal, an old man with wild white hair, his face a road map of wrinkles and age. He wore a pristine white suit that looked out of place on someone so clearly worn down by life. His eyes, though-his eyes were sharp, deadly sharp, and they bored into Kenjiro like knives, like he was already carving him up.

The principal's voice shattered the silence, low but venomous, each word laced with fury. "Takahashi... you stupid, worthless piece of shit. Do you have any idea what you've done?"

Kenjiro didn't move. He stood there, spine rigid, sweat seeping through his shirt. His eyes were locked on the floor, but he could feel the weight of the principal's gaze, drilling into him, ripping him apart.

He wasn't allowed to sit. He wasn't even allowed to breathe unless the old man gave permission.

"You slapped your teacher, you arrogant little idiot!" The principal's voice cracked like thunder, the anger vibrating through the room. "Do you think you're untouchable? Do you think I'm some old fool you can walk all over?"

Kenjiro swallowed hard, the words sticking in his throat. He tried to explain, but his voice came out weak, shaking. "It was an accident, sir, I swear. My hand-it just... it just moved."

The principal's face twisted into an expression of pure disgust. "An accident? An accident?!" he roared, slamming his fist onto the desk so hard that the coffee mug rattled and spilled over, staining the papers. "Do you think I'm an idiot? Do you really think I'll buy that?"

Kenjiro flinched, but it wasn't the principal's anger that caused the chill down his spine.

It was the way his own body felt-like it wasn't even his anymore. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, his breath coming in ragged gasps, like he couldn't control it.

"You slapped him so hard his head spun!". The principal was practically screaming now, his face red with rage. "That's not an accident, you little idiot. That's a goddamn attack."

Anger surged through Kenjiro, his fists clenched as he stormed forward, slamming his palm against the desk with a force that sent papers scattering into the air.

His gaze locked onto him, but the words that escaped his lips weren't his own. They were cold, venomous, dripping with rage-harsh and alien, like something far darker than his usual self.

The air in the room seemed to grow heavier with each word, thick with a suffocating tension.

"Call me an idiot again, and I'll rip your skin off with my bare hands."

The words hung in the air like a curse. The principal froze, his face going pale, his mouth gaping open in shock. His hand shot to his chest, as if to steady himself.

"Sorry, sir," Kenjiro muttered, his voice coming out strangled, unsure. "I didn't mean it, I didn't... I don't know what's happening to me."

The principal's eyes flicked between Kenjiro and his own trembling hand. His body seemed to sag as if the weight of the situation was too much. "Get out, Now! " he spat, his voice dripping with venom. "I don't want to see your face again."

Kenjiro turned without another word, his heart hammering in his chest. He couldn't even look the old man in the eye.

He could feel something shifting inside him, something he couldn't understand-something dark, something dangerous.

The principal's voice rang out as Kenjiro walked away, his words sharp and bitter, filled with finality. "You're suspended for three months unless Teacher Sato forgives you. I will not interfere in this matter!"

The door slammed shut behind him, and Hirochi was waiting outside, his face pale and wide-eyed.

"I heard everything," Hirochi said, his voice barely a whisper. Kenjiro's heart dropped. He could already feel the weight of the darkness inside him growing heavier.

Kenjiro didn't respond. He couldn't. All he could do was walk past Hirochi, his steps slow, heavy, and uncertain.

He didn't know what had happened to him, but he could feel it, something inside him was waking up. And it scared the hell out of him.

"Where are you going?" Hirochi asked, his voice laced with unease as he quickened his pace to keep up with Kenjiro.

"To that cursed nightclub," Kenjiro replied, his tone cold and resolute. His fists clenched tightly at his sides, his stride unwavering.

The silence between them was thick, a palpable tension lingering in the cool night air. As they neared the nightclub, its flickering neon sign buzzed faintly, casting an eerie glow over the cracked and uneven pavement.

Workers moved methodically around the entrance, hauling crates and sweeping away the remnants of chaos from the night before.

Kenjiro halted abruptly, his intense gaze locking onto the building as if it held answers he desperately sought. After a beat of silence, he spoke, his voice lower but heavy with conviction. "Where did you find me that night?"

Hirochi hesitated, his gaze filled with unease before answering. "You were lying on the floor, unconscious. I noticed the tattoo when I took off your jacket."

Kenjiro's jaw tightened, the muscle twitching as he absorbed the words in silence.

"I'll ask for him. Just wait here," Hirochi offered, his voice steady, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of doubt. Without waiting for a response, he stepped into the nightclub, the door creaking as it swung shut behind him.

Kenjiro stayed outside, his thoughts swirling. The distant thrum of music and the hum of voices were little more than static in his mind.

He barely noticed the passing seconds before Hirochi reappeared, his expression unreadable.

"He's here, but. . ."

Kenjiro didn't wait for an explanation. He brushed past Hirochi and entered the nightclub.

The interior was dimly lit and chaotic, a disorienting mix of stale alcohol, lingering cigarette smoke, and the faint hum of machinery.

The air felt heavy, oppressive. Kenjiro scanned the room until his eyes locked on a man hunched over a table, working on a customer's hand with a tattoo gun.

Without hesitation, Kenjiro stormed over, grabbed the man by his shirt, and slammed him against the wall. The sound of the impact echoed, drawing startled glances from the few workers scattered around the room.

"What the hell did you do to me?" Kenjiro demanded, his voice low but lethal, brimming with barely restrained fury.

The man's face drained of color, his hands trembling as they hovered in the air. "Who are you? What are you talking about?" he stammered.

Kenjiro's grip tightened. "The tattoo! The one you put on me!" He revealed the strange green hexagram-shaped mark on his hand. "This thing is driving me insane! What the hell did you do to me?"

The man stared at the mark, his eyes wide with confusion and fear. "I... I didn't do that! I've never even seen you before!"

"Don't lie to me!" Kenjiro snapped, his voice rising with anger.

"I'm not lying!" the man pleaded, his gaze darting between Kenjiro and the mark on his hand.

He reached out cautiously, his fingers hovering near the tattoo. "That... that's not a tattoo. I don't know what it is, but it's not my work. Where did you even get that?"

Kenjiro froze, his mind spinning. The man's fear and sincerity were unmistakable. Slowly, he released his grip, letting the man collapse onto the floor, gasping for air.

"Shit," Kenjiro muttered under his breath, his voice strained. He wore the gloves again and turned to leave, his steps heavy with frustration and confusion.

Hirochi followed him, hesitant to speak.

"I'm going home," Kenjiro said, his voice cold and distant. "I need to be alone."

Hirochi opened his mouth to respond but stopped when Kenjiro walked off without waiting for an answer. He stood there in silence, watching his friend disappear into the daylight.

Kenjiro staggered into his house, his mind a swirl of confusion and frustration. He headed straight for the kitchen, hoping to find something to calm his nerves.

Reaching for a bottle of water, his fingers twitched, but his left hand wouldn't move.

It was as if it were frozen, lifeless-just hanging there like the hand of a corpse. He tried to lift it, but it wouldn't respond. It felt like an alien appendage, unconnected to his body.

With a mix of frustration and disbelief, he used his right hand to gently move the left, guiding it to grab the bottle.

He sat down heavily on the floor, the bottle in his hand, and took a long drink, the cold water slipping down his throat.But something was off.

His left hand, still completely immobile, just lay there on the ground, like a forgotten object.

The cold water trickled down his throat, but his thoughts were consumed with panic.

He couldn't stop staring at his useless left hand.

"What's wrong with me?" he muttered under his breath, the words tasting bitter in his mouth.He felt the creeping pressure of insanity threatening to take over.

"I'm going crazy," he whispered again, more to himself than to anyone else, as his gaze shifted to the floor. "I was fine. Everything was fine, until..."

"Until that damn book."

The thought hit him like a punch to the gut. He reached over with his right hand, slowly lifting his left to inspect it again. His fingers brushed over the strange green mark, the design burning into his vision.

It was exactly the same shade as the cover of that cursed book-the one that had changed everything.

He pulled off the gloves again, his heart racing as the mark stared back at him, relentless and unyielding.

"But... that's impossible. How can a book do this? Am I just losing my mind?" He laughed bitterly, but the sound held no amusement.

Kenjiro stood up, his body trembling as he tried again to move his hand. Nothing. His left hand stayed limp, unresponsive to his commands.

Frustration boiled inside him. He grabbed his useless hand with his other, slamming it against the wall in a desperate attempt to feel something, anything.

But nothing. No pain. No sensation. Just... nothing.

"What the hell?" His voice was low, the disbelief heavy in his chest.

His mind raced as he paced back to the kitchen. His eyes darted across the counter, landing on a fork.

He grabbed it with his right hand, his fingers tight around the cool metal, and placed his left hand on the counter. He then raised the fork and stabbed it into the palm of his left hand.

The shock of the metal puncturing his skin should have brought pain, but it didn't.

There was no sharp sting, no immediate reaction. Just emptiness.

His face twisted in anger, and without thinking, he twisted the fork deeper into his flesh.

This time, his skin broke open, a thin line of blood oozing out. But still, nothing. No pain.

His breath hitched in his throat. His mind raced as he watched the blood trickling from the wound.

Then, to his horror, he saw something he couldn't believe.

The wound began to heal-right in front of his eyes. The blood stopped flowing, and the skin knitted itself back together, erasing all trace of injury. It was as if nothing had ever happened.

Kenjiro's eyes went wide in shock. His pulse raced in his ears, his hand still in the same position, the fork dropped to the floor, forgotten.

"Am I dreaming?" His voice cracked, the words barely escaping his lips. His heart pounded in his chest as

he looked down at his healed skin, his mind struggling to process what had just happened.

This couldn't be real-yet it was. It had to be.

The mark etched on his hand, the strange, uncontrollable abilities, the miraculous healing-it all traced back to that book. But no matter how much Kenjiro turned it over in his mind, the pieces refused to fit.

The rest of the day, Kenjiro stayed at home, his mind spiraling as he tried to piece everything together.

His hand, lifeless just hours ago, had miraculously regained movement. Now, as he lay sprawled on the floor, his gaze fixated on it.

At first, his fingers twitched harmlessly, as if testing their newfound freedom. But then, his hand began moving on its own, tracing patterns in the air.

Kenjiro stared, baffled and uneasy.

Suddenly, without warning, his hand lunged at his throat, squeezing with a force that stole his breath.

Panic surged through him as he clawed at it with his free hand, desperately trying to pry it away.

After a harrowing struggle, he managed to wrest it off, gasping for air as he collapsed back against the floor. "I'm losing my mind," he muttered hoarsely, his voice trembling with fear.

Determined to prevent another attack, Kenjiro stood and rummaged through his drawers until he found a length of string. He tied his rogue hand tightly against his torso, securing the knot with his teeth. For a fleeting moment, he felt a shred of relief.

But that moment quickly faded when his hand flexed, snapping the string with a sharp tug.

Kenjiro froze, staring in disbelief at the shredded cord dangling from his body. He swallowed hard, his pulse racing.

That night, sleep was impossible. Every creak of the floorboards, every rustle of the wind sent him into a panic, fearing his own hand would strike again.

By morning, exhaustion etched deep lines into his face. He donned his school uniform, tucked a fork into his backpack, and made his way to the hospital.

When the nurse called his name, Kenjiro stepped inside the doctor's office and sank into the chair. The doctor, a bald man in his fifties with a thick black mustache, studied him curiously.

"Doctor, I know this sounds insane, but I'm losing my mind," Kenjiro blurted out, his words tumbling over each other. "My hand... it moves on its own. Last night, it attacked me! It's alive-"

The doctor raised a hand to calm him. "Slow down. Take a deep breath, and let's start from the beginning, okay?"

Kenjiro inhaled sharply, frustration boiling over. "My hand wants to kill me! and i can't feel pain. Look!"

Before the doctor could respond, Kenjiro yanked the fork from his bag and plunged it into his hand.

Pain shot through him, and he screamed, clutching his wrist as blood began to pool.

The doctor jumped to his feet, his face pale. "What the hell are you doing? Are you crazy?" he shouted, rushing around the desk.

Kenjiro staggered to his feet, his head spinning. The doctor's reaction confirmed his worst fear-he thought Kenjiro was insane.

Without another word, Kenjiro bolted from the room, his footsteps echoing down the sterile corridor.

As he ran, he glanced at his hand, his heart pounding. The pain was gone, the wound completely healed, leaving only unblemished skin.

His eyes widened as he noticed the star tattoo glowing faintly.

"Shit," he cursed under his breath, his voice filled with a mix of dread and disbelief.

Kenjiro made his way to school, his thoughts heavy and distracted. As he approached the café, his eyes landed on Hirochi, sitting calmly at a corner table, waiting for him.

"You okay?" Hirochi asked, concern evident in his tone.

"No," Kenjiro replied bluntly, his exhaustion bleeding into his voice.

"Let's go," Hirochi said, grabbing Kenjiro's hand and pulling him forward.

"Where are you taking me?" Kenjiro asked, frowning.

"To apologize to Sato-sensei, smartass," Hirochi replied with a smirk.

Kenjiro planted his feet firmly, refusing to move. "No. I'm not going."

"Then why are you even here? You're expelled, or did that slip your mind?" Hirochi snapped, his tone cutting.

"Fine, I'll just go home," Kenjiro shot back, spinning on his heel to leave.

"No, you're not," Hirochi said firmly, yanking Kenjiro back and practically dragging him toward the school.

In the hallway, they came across Sakamoto-sensei's wife. Both boys bowed in respect, expecting nothing more than a polite nod in return. Instead, she stopped and addressed Kenjiro directly.

"Kenjiro-kun," she said with an unsettling smile, "I heard about what happened to you. I'm truly sorry. Remember, if you ever need anything-or someone to talk to-I'm here for you." Her smirk deepened as she walked away, leaving a chill in the air.

Kenjiro's thoughts spiraled. Does she know something?

Could she have answers about what's happening to me?

Before he could dwell on it, Hirochi tugged him forward. "I need to talk to Fugimoto-sensei."

"You'll talk to her later. We're doing this now," Hirochi insisted, his grip unrelenting.

They reached the classroom where Sato-sensei was seated alone at his desk.

Hirochi shoved Kenjiro inside despite his resistance, their brief scuffle ending with Kenjiro stumbling forward.

Kenjiro stood with his head bowed. "Sensei, I'm sorry. I-"

"Shut up," Sato cut him off coldly.

Kenjiro raised his head, confused.

"I've spoken to the principal," Sato said, pausing for effect. "I've decided to forgive you."

Relief washed over Kenjiro's face, and a small smile began to form-until Sato erupted into laughter.

"You idiot! You should've seen your face! Of course, I didn't forgive you. Get out."

Kenjiro's smile vanished, his expression hardening. His hand began to tremble uncontrollably, and he clenched it with his other hand in an attempt to stop it.

It's the word, Kenjiro thought. Every time someone calls me an idiot, this happens.

"Why are you still here? I said get out," Sato barked, standing and walking toward the door.

But as he passed Kenjiro, the rogue hand acted on its own. It clenched into a fist and struck Sato square in the chest, sending him sprawling to the ground.

The door opened, and Hirochi stepped inside. "What happened?"

"He fell," Kenjiro muttered, brushing past him and leaving the classroom.

He ran down the hall, his legs carrying him to Fugimoto-sensei's office. When he arrived, she was standing by the window, her back to him. She turned as he entered, her expression calm, almost expectant.

"My hand," Kenjiro said, his voice shaking. "It moves on its own."

Fugimoto-sensei didn't look surprised. Instead, her lips curled into a knowing smile. "So, you touched the book?" she asked, her tone almost teasing.

Kenjiro's eyes narrowed. "Yes."

Her smile widened, tinged with something unsettling. "You're in a big mess, Kenjiro-kun. Do you realize that?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said, his frustration mounting. "But I need help."

She stepped closer, her gaze piercing. "Come, sit down. Let's start from the beginning."