Chapter 8 – Cracks in the Mask
I didn't understand her.
Aika.
She was human. Mortal. Ordinary.
And yet, she looked at me like she could see through everything.
Not just my silence.
Not just my distance.
But deeper.
As if she saw the monster behind the human mask I wore every day.
And what made it worse?
She didn't flinch.
The next few days, I tried to ignore her. Pretend that moment on the rooftop meant nothing.
But humans are more stubborn than we give them credit for.
Every day, she sat closer.
Every day, her eyes followed me.
And every day, her presence pulled me in like a storm I couldn't escape.
Something about her energy… it was always cold.
Not evil. Not angry.
Just… empty.
Whatever pain she carried inside her—it was deep.
And without meaning to…
I started to feel it too.
Thursday.
Rain painted the city gray. The clouds hung low like a weight pressing down on the world.
After school, I walked past the back gate. I wasn't heading home.
I just needed space.
Then I heard it.
A scream.
Muffled. Sharp. Real.
My head snapped toward the alley to the left.
Without thinking, I ran.
There were three of them.
Humans. Boys from school. Older. Laughing.
She was cornered.
Aika.
Her uniform was soaked from the rain, her bag thrown to the ground. She wasn't crying. Wasn't yelling.
She just… stood there.
Frozen.
One of the guys grabbed her wrist.
"Hey—!" I growled, my voice deeper than it should've been.
They turned.
"Oh look, her silent little boyfriend," one smirked.
I stepped forward. One look at my eyes and his smile faded.
"You don't want this," I said coldly.
"Or what? You'll call the teacher?"
I smiled.
"Worse."
They moved first. Fast. Sloppy.
But to me? They were snails.
I dodged the first swing.
Grabbed his arm.
Slammed him into the wall.
The second one didn't get the chance to swing.
I swept his leg, dropped him, and crushed his phone under my heel.
The third ran.
Smart.
My breath was heavy.
Energy. Rage. Fear.
I felt it all.
Their fear—
it charged me.
For the first time in weeks, I felt alive again.
Aika looked at me.
Not with fear.
Not with gratitude.
But… confusion.
Like she couldn't decide whether to thank me or ask what I really was.
"…You okay?" I asked.
She didn't speak.
Then, softly—
"…I've seen you before."
I blinked. "What?"
She looked away.
"In my dreams."