"You bastard!!" he roared, his fist slamming into my face with all his weight behind it.
My head snapped to the side, a sharp burst of pain blooming across my cheek. Blood pooled in my mouth, and I spat it out, a crimson splatter marking the floor. But I didn't fall. I didn't even flinch back.
I stood tall, my eyes locked onto his with unwavering fury, the metallic tang of blood on my tongue only fueling the fire in my chest.
It hurt—of course it did. But compared to having your head crushed beneath a vending machine? Your lower half mangled under a collapsing concrete pipe? Plummeting from sixth floor and slamming into the ground?
No.
This punch was nothing. This pain was familiar—and far too weak to stop me.
Seeing that I didn't even budge, Kurosawa's rage flared like gasoline to fire. With a guttural yell, he raised his fist again, aiming to hammer it down on me once more.
But I wasn't just some helpless punching bag waiting for another hit.
As his punch flew toward me, I met it with one of my own. Flesh collided with flesh. Bone struck bone.
A loud *crack* echoed through the room.
"Aghhh!!" Kurosawa shrieked in pain, stumbling back and clutching his hand in agony. His knuckles had taken the worst of the impact, swollen and possibly fractured. Judging by his reaction, it was clear—this man wasn't used to real fights. He might've had a gun, but when it came down to bare fists… he was no fighter.
And why should I give him even a second to recover?
Without hesitation, I surged forward—my fist drove upward in a sharp uppercut, slamming into his jaw and snapping his head back. Before he could even react, I followed it up with a ruthless kick to his ribs. The impact sent him crashing to the floor, a pained grunt escaping his throat.
He writhed for a moment—but I didn't let him breathe.
I straddled his chest and rained down punch after punch, each strike louder and heavier than the last. Blood splattered. Skin split. My knuckles split, but I didn't stop. I couldn't stop.
Because in that moment, all I could imagine was Sanae.
Her terrified face. Her broken voice, crying for help.
How much she must've begged this monster to let her go. How much pain she must've endured. How many nights she must've cried alone in silence.
He killed her.
That innocent girl… he killed her.
My rage roared like wildfire, burning away every rational thought. My vision blurred at the edges, my surroundings vanished. Nothing else existed anymore.
Only him. Only my fists. Only this unquenchable storm inside me that screamed—this man deserves no mercy.
It wasn't until I felt two pairs of hands grabbing me—pulling me back—that the haze began to lift.
"Stop! Hayato! Come back to us!"
Sanae's voice pierced through the fog of fury that had taken over my mind.
I froze.
My breathing was ragged, chest heaving like I'd been drowning and finally found air. Slowly, I looked down.
Kurosawa lay there—unconscious. His face was unrecognizable, swollen and bloodied beyond recognition. Teeth scattered across the floor, his cheeks streaked with something I never thought I'd see—tears. The monster cried.
And my hands…
They were no better. My knuckles were torn open, drenched in blood, skin shredded to the bone in places.
As I stood up from Kurosawa's chest, my legs shaky beneath me, my eyes happened to glance toward the bathroom mirror—its door still ajar.
And that's when I saw it.
The reflection of a stranger. A young man with disheveled black hair and eyes like blood—crimson and cold, lifeless yet burning with something primal. His face was painted with splatters of red, not his own.
I stumbled back as if I'd been struck, retreating from the image—retreating from Sanae and her mother. My back hit the wall, and I slid down, hands clutching my head as if I could crush the thoughts racing through it.
"Wha—Hayato?" Sanae called out, her voice confused, concerned. But I couldn't answer.
My thoughts spiraled, spinning into chaos.
What have I done…? I'm making the same mistake again. What if they're scared of me now? What if… they start to hate me? Just like in my previous world.
My breaths turned shallow. Every sound around me dulled except the frantic drum of my heartbeat. The memories from my previous life came crashing in like a flood—faces twisted in fear, backs turned in rejection, the crushing weight of solitude.
I don't want to go back. I don't want to be alone again… please… don't hate me. Please forgive me…
I pleaded in silence. Desperate.
And then—warmth.
A gentle embrace wrapped around me. Not out of pity, not out of fear, but kindness. Acceptance.
I froze. Slowly, hesitantly, I looked up.
Sanae was holding me.
Her arms trembling, her eyes still glistening with everything she had been through—but there was no fear in them.
Only warmth.
"Thank you for saving us. You can relax now, everything is okay," she whispered softly, her voice carrying a warmth that gently wrapped around my shattered thoughts. Gratitude. Affection. Comfort.
It was the exact opposite of what I expected—no fear, no disgust, no cold silence like I once knew. Just her… holding me, anchoring me to the present.
I didn't know how to respond. My throat tightened, and words refused to come. So I didn't speak.
I simply stayed like that, frozen in her embrace, letting the warmth of her presence seep into me—calming the storm inside, telling me I wasn't alone anymore.
And for now… that was enough.
Soon, all the adrenaline that had been surging through my veins finally hit me like a crashing wave. My limbs grew heavy, my vision blurred, my body gave in and I fall unconscious.
Soon after Hayato collapsed, the police finally arrived—late, as always. What greeted them at the scene was utter chaos: blood smeared across the floor, and two unconscious men—one barely breathing and the other with bloodied knuckles.
Sanae's mother quickly rushed to explain everything, detailing Kurosawa's actions and Hayato's intervention. Though she was still shaken, her voice remained steady as she recounted the horrific events.
One officer, glancing around, asked, "Who called us?"
She paused for a moment, confused. She hadn't called, nor had Sanae. Then her eyes fell on Hayato's unconscious form. "It must've been him…" she muttered, a mix of admiration and sadness in her voice.
Realizing the urgency of the situation, the officers immediately radioed for medical backup. Both Hayato and Kurosawa were in dire need of medical attention, especially Kurosawa, whose injuries were critical.
While waiting, one officer carefully picked up the discarded handgun using special gloves, sealing it in an evidence bag. It was a key piece—proof of intent, of danger, of everything Kurosawa had tried to do. It would speak for the victims when they couldn't.
And so, amidst flashing lights and hurried steps, the nightmare finally began to end.
---------
When I woke up, I found myself staring at an unfamiliar ceiling, my knuckles and cheek still stinging with pain. The discomfort was sharp, but it wasn't enough to overwhelm me. I raised my hand to touch my cheek, only to find my knuckles carefully bandaged and a band-aid covering the tender spot on my face.
Confusion settled in as I scanned my surroundings. The sterile white walls, the constant beep of machines—this wasn't my room. My body felt heavy as I managed to push myself up into a sitting position on the hospital bed, my muscles protesting from exhaustion. The effort to rise was met with a dull ache, but I managed.
Then my gaze shifted to my side. There, curled up on the floor with her head resting gently on the edge of my bed, was Sanae. She was sleeping, her face peaceful.
I couldn't help but stare at her for a few moments, my heart tightening in my chest. She had stayed by my side, even after everything that had happened. Despite all the chaos and fear, she was still here.
Gently, I reached out and brushed a lock of hair from her face, not wanting to wake her just yet. But even that subtle touch was enough. Her eyelashes fluttered, and her eyes slowly opened, meeting mine with a sleepy gaze that quickly sharpened with realization.
For a second, she looked stunned, as if unsure whether she was dreaming.
I gave her an awkward smile, my voice soft and a little hoarse. "Sorry for waking you up," I said, almost like a whisper.
Her eyes welled up as she shook her head side to side, her voice barely holding back the emotion.
"No, I'm glad you woke up."
I laughed awkwardly, scratching my cheek with my good hand, unable to meet her eyes. Not yet. Not until I got this off my chest.
"A-Are you… scared of me now?"
For a moment, silence filled the space between us, heavy and uncertain. My heart sank. But then, her voice broke through, soft and confused.
"Why should I be? You saved us."
Her words felt like a weight lifting from my chest. My eyes widened slightly—was this what I'd always been longing to hear? I never realized it until now. Even though I had braced myself for rejection, had accepted that fear and isolation might be my fate again… she showed no signs of either. It was hard for me to believe.
"B-Because… I showed you that side of me," I murmured, eyes lowered to the sterile white of the hospital sheets.
To my surprise, Sanae let out a soft, almost amused chuckle, as though my fears were nothing more than a silly misunderstanding. I lifted my gaze to meet hers just as she reached out and gently took my hand in hers.
"Why are you acting like that?" she asked, her voice tender. "There's no way I could be scared of you for what you did. You were protecting us. If anything, I'm grateful. And honestly… that man got exactly what he deserved, you did nothing wrong."
She paused, her fingers tightening slightly around mine, as if gathering courage. Then, in a smaller voice, she continued, "B-But… there's something I did that might make you scared of me. Something I've been hiding from you. Something I should've told you earlier. But I'm scared you'll hate me when you find out…"
I couldn't help but burst into heartfelt laughter, the kind that bubbles up from deep within and washes all the tension away. In that moment, all my worries, all the what-ifs, simply faded. Me? Scared of this girl? Not in a million years.
"That was a good one," I said between soft chuckles, wiping a tear from the corner of my eye. "There's no way I could ever be scared of you… or hate you."
Her voice trembled slightly, but her eyes didn't leave mine.
"R-Really?" she asked, her gaze filled with a fragile blend of uncertainty and hope.
I closed my eyes with a small sigh and waved a hand in front of me as if brushing away the weight of her worry. "If you don't believe me, then go ahead—tell me. Let's see if it really changes my mind."
There was a pause. Sanae lowered her eyes, collecting her thoughts, her fingers nervously fidgeting on the edge of the bed after she let go of my hand
Then she finally spoke.
"Do you remember when I told you that my mom got promoted and transferred to this side of the city? And that I just happened to enroll in the same school as you?"
She looked up again, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I lied."
My smile faded, and a strange stiffness settled in my chest. I couldn't move, couldn't even speak. 'What…?' The word echoed in my mind, hollow and uncertain.
Sanae continued, her voice soft, almost fragile, as she began to unravel the truth I never saw coming.
"After I spent that night at your place… when I returned home and everything finally calmed down, my mom was overwhelmed with guilt for not noticing what I'd been going through. She told me she'd do anything to earn my forgiveness."
She took a deep breath, her fingers clutching the blanket.
"And in that moment… the only thing that came to mind was you. I wanted to see you again. I wanted to be near you, to talk to you more, to spend time by your side. Every single day."
Her eyes lifted, locking onto mine, raw with emotion.
"So… I chose to be selfish. I told my mom I wanted to move here… to live closer to you. I had seen your school uniform in your room, so I did a little digging. It wasn't that hard to find which school you went to. My mom—she quit her job and found work here just to grant my wish."
She hesitated for a heartbeat, then continued.
"I enrolled in your school. Though it was pure coincidence that I ended up in the same class as you…"
She paused once more, her eyes now hazy—an unfathomable depth swirling within them, carrying something intense, something I wasn't ready to confront.
"And now, Hayato… tell me. What do you think of me now?"
(AN: One more chapter to go before the end of volume 2. As always, i would love any feedback.)