The sharp smell of disinfectant hung in the hospital's hallway. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, sterile and cold. A boy sat slouched on a narrow bench, his right leg bouncing restlessly up and down. His short black hair was tousled, as though he had run out the door without checking the mirror. He wore a heavy hoodie half-zipped over a plain T-shirt, jeans tucked into scuffed sneakers, and a puffy jacket thrown over it all. A scarf was wrapped clumsily around his neck, and his hands were buried in the sleeves, rubbing together for warmth. He kept blowing into his palms, watching the mist vanish into the stale air.
The door ahead creaked open, and a nurse stepped out. She was middle-aged, her eyes kind but tired.
"Yuto-kun," she said gently, "he's ready for you. But be careful. He's still under his medication. Don't tire him out."
Yuto stood quickly, his chair scraping against the tile. "Thank you," he muttered, dipping his head as he brushed past her.
The room was dim, the only light coming from the monitors beside the bed. Their steady beeps broke the silence. Tubes and wires wound into the thin frame of an old man lying back on the mattress. His once-strong face was pale, lined with age and weariness.
Yuto pulled the chair closer and dropped into it, his eyes fixed on his father. For a while, Yuto talked about small things—school, the annoying cafeteria food, the way winter bit at his hands on the way here. His father listened, nodding and smiling, even when coughs interrupted.
Finally, the old man's gaze softened. "Yuto," he whispered, voice hoarse but deliberate. "Where's your brother?"
"He's… he's at home, taking care of the house," Yuto replied quietly, shifting in his seat.
A faint smile broke across the old man's face. "I'm thankful… for both of you. I've been blessed to have you. You've taken care of each other so well… don't ever let him feel alone. Take care of each other, always."
Yuto swallowed hard, words caught in his throat.
Yuto swallowed hard. His smile faltered. "Don't… don't start talking like that."
His father's lips trembled into a smile, though his eyes betrayed the weight of truth. "I probably won't make it another week." He coughed again, clutching at the blanket.
"Listen to me. Don't sign the next round of funding for my medication. Use the money instead for the two of you. There's no point in pouring water into a sinking ship."
Yuto's eyes widened. He sat forward, shaking his head. "No. Don't say that. I'm not gonna let you—"
"Promise me…"
"No… not i am not promising that, there is still a chance for you. Don't give up please…" Yuto said quickly, his voice sharp, his hands clenching on his knees.
The old man's breath grew shallow, his eyelids heavy. "Yuto....." His words faded as sleep overtook him, the monitors humming steadily in his place.
Yuto sat frozen, jaw tight, his body coiled with protest he could not release. Finally, he pushed back the chair, its legs scraping loud against the floor. He rose, staring once more at the frail figure in the bed.
Disappointment weighed on his face as he turned away. Quietly, he closed the door behind him.
The hospital corridors stretched long and sterile as he walked. He pulled his hands deep into his sleeves, head low. Near the exit, the woman at the billing desk called out.
"Yuto-kun," she said softly, sliding a clipboard across. "Your father's forms. It's time to sign."
The boy stared at the papers, his father's words echoing in his head: Take care of each other… use the money…
The boy stared at the papers, his father's words echoing in his head. Don't sign the next round… use the money… no point in saving a sinking ship.
His pen hovered. His chest heaved.
And then—he signed. Each stroke heavier than the last.
Pushing the clipboard back, he muttered a faint thanks and walked away.
At the hospital's glass doors, he stopped only once, lifting the hood of his sweatshirt over his head. The fabric was black, the hood bearing the outline of a pale skull.
With his face shadowed and his hands buried in his pockets, Yuto tepped into the winter night.
The doors slid shut behind him as he hopped onto his bike.
That evening, the winter air bit at Yuto's cheeks as he pedaled his way to his home. The warm light spilled from the windows offering a small comfort. Inside, the house smelled faintly of soap and simmering broth.
Kuro sat alone at the kitchen table, a family photo in his hands. Their father stood in the center, one hand on Yuto's younger shoulder, the other seemingly reaching on empty air. Kuro's gaze lifted as Yuto stepped in, setting the groceries on the counter. He didn't speak immediately, just watched.
"Alright " Yuto said unloading bags. "Picked up some groceries on the way here. You can make whatever you want tonight. I'll be late at work, though, so don't wait up for me."
Kuro's brows furrowed as he set the photo aside, his movements deliberate, almost too slow. "How's… Dad?" His voice was soft, almost a whisper, it made Yuto pause mid-bag.
"He's… he's fine," Yuto said quickly, not meeting Kuro's eyes.
Kuro's gaze sharpened. "Do you… believe that?"
Yuto stiffened, gripping the edge of the counter until his knuckles whitened.
"He's going to be fine. Doctors said so, yeah. Anyway… I'll be late for work. See you at dinner, alright?"
Kuro leaned slightly forward, the shadows from the lamp catching the sharp lines of his face. His gaze lingered on Yuto a moment too long. The stillness in the room pressed down, and Yuto felt the familiar, strange chill that always came from his brother. It wasn't malice. Not exactly. But it was… unsettling.
"Mm," Kuro replied finally, voice low. He didn't ask again. He only watched as Yuto picked up his bag and stepped back out into the winter.
*********************
A year ago, Yuto's father body had begun betraying him, slow but relentless, until the hospital became more his home than the little house they shared. Yuto stopped being just a student after that. He still went to class when he could, but missed more days than not. Instead of worrying about exams, he worried about water bills and empty cupboards. At fifteen, he was a freshman in high school and a full-time grocery boy, his backpack traded for delivery bags.
The wheels of his secondhand bike rattled against the uneven pavement, the delivery bag strapped across his chest. The order was simple: a packet of dry fish chips and a can of diet soda. Easy.
Until he saw the address.
He coasted to a stop at the cemetery gates, squinting at the glowing screen. The order pin blinked stubbornly inside. He frowned.
"Seriously?" he muttered. But work was work.
Pushing through the iron gates, he pedaled slowly along the gravel path, his breath fogging in the cold air. That's when he spotted them — two figures slumped against the stone wall just inside, both dressed head-to-toe in black.
Homeless, maybe. Or drunk. Yuto's first instinct was to keep going. He went small distance into the cemetery but stopped deciding it was better to call the customer.
So he took out his phone and called, a ringtone chimed — seemingly from the girl's pocket.
Yuto blinked, ended the call. The ringtone stopped. Just to be sure, he hit redial. Again, her pocket chimed.
"…What the hell?"
He crouched, poking her shoulder lightly.
The girl's eyes flew open, sharp and alert. She sat up with a sudden grin, snatching the bag out of Yuto's hands before he could react. Without a word, she tore open the chips and stuffed them into her mouth, crunching noisily.
Yuto froze "…Uh. The money?"
She raised a finger — wait — and went right back to chewing. Half the bag was gone in seconds. Still chewing, she leaned over and shook her companion. "Mm-mmfh," she mumbled through the food.
The guy stirred, groaning, eyes half-closed. His mouth opened in a wordless yawn. The girl tipped the rest of the chips into his mouth like she was feeding a baby bird.
Yuto's jaw dropped.
The boy swallowed, and something strange happened — a shiver passed through his body, like a current jolting him awake. His shoulders straightened, eyes flashing with sudden energy. He exhaled deeply, then smiled faintly.
The girl downed the soda in one long gulp, crushed the can with one hand, and tossed it aside with a satisfied sigh.
She waved at her companion and pointed at Yuto.
The boy reached into his wallet, pulled out a few notes, and handed them to Yuto with a polite nod. Then he turned and followed the girl deeper into the cemetery, both of them slipping into the shadows between the tombstones.
Yuto stood frozen, cash in hand, trying to process what just happened.
"That was something...."
He pocketed the cash, got back on his bike, and pedaled toward the gate.
The ringtone again. His phone this time. The hospital's number lit up the screen.
His stomach dropped.
He yanked the earbuds out, fumbling with the answer button. "Hello?!"
The voice on the other end was sharp, urgent. He didn't hear half the words before the meaning hit him: emergency.
Yuto hands slipped. His bike toppled. His phone hit the ground with a crack. But he didn't care.
He was already sprinting toward the hospital.
*******************
Yuto burst through the hospital's sliding doors, almost colliding with a nurse holding a clipboard. She opened her mouth to scold him, but he was already sprinting down the corridor. His breath hitched in short, painful gasps as he took the stairs two at a time, his legs shaking from the climb.
He reached his father's floor, shoved the door open—
—and froze.
The bed was empty. Sheets stripped. Monitors gone.
A cold spike of panic stabbed through his chest.
He lunged back into the hallway and grabbed the nearest nurse by the forearm.
"Where's the patient who was in room 314? My father—where is he?!"
The woman flinched at his grip but answered quickly.
"He suffered respiratory failure. We transferred him to the ICU—life-support unit. They're stabilizing him, but you—"
Yuto didn't hear the rest. He was already running.
He tore through the hallways, dodging carts and nurses, his lungs burning. When he reached the ICU wing, two staff members caught him before he could push through the double doors.
"You can't enter during an active code," one said firmly, blocking him with an arm.
"You need to wait outside. Please."
Yuto shoved against them, voice cracking.
"He's my father! Let me in—please, I have to see him!"
"Yuto-kun," the second nurse said more softly, gripping his shoulders. "Listen. The doctors are doing everything they can. If you rush in, you could interfere with life-saving treatment."
"I don't care!" he snapped, but his voice wavered, breaking apart. "I need to— I need to be there—"
Then it came.
The sound every hospital feared.
A shrill, continuous alarm.
Code Blue.
The nurses holding him froze, exchanging grim looks—then rushed inside.
Through the gap before the doors swung shut, Yuto saw flashes—doctors crowding the bed, a defibrillator charging, orders barked over the alarm. His father's frail body jerked under the shock paddles.
"Charge again—clear!"
Another jolt.
The doors didn't close all the way.
Just a sliver remained open.
And through that narrow slice of chaos—
Yuto saw it.
A figure draped in a pale yellow raincloak stood at the foot of the bed, unnoticed by the medical staff. It leaned over his father, its face shadowed beneath the hood. With trembling hands, it reached forward—as if drawing something invisible, fragile, from his father's chest.
Something that shimmered faintly in the air.
A tear slipped from beneath the hood, falling onto the sheets.
The machines screamed one final, unbroken note.
BEEEEEEEEEP.
***************************
Yuto didn't remember falling.
One moment he was staring through the crack in the ICU doors—his father, the machines, the yellow figure fading like mist—
and the next, the floor slammed up to meet him.
Everything after that blurred.
Hands on his back.
Someone calling his name.
A nurse whispering, "He's in shock—get a chair."
He felt himself lifted, guided, sat down. Papers slid under his hands. A pen pressed between his numb fingers. His signature scrawled in jagged strokes he didn't recognize.
Voices softened around him, muffled as though he were underwater.
"I'm so sorry, Yuto-kun."
"Take your time."
"Do you have someone to call?"
He said nothing.
He just stood eventually—somehow—and let his legs carry him out of the ICU, down the hall, through the cold, bright lobby. The automatic doors opened with a hiss.
The night wind hit his face.
And there—right outside the hospital entrance—
stood the figure in the yellow raincoat.
Yuto's heart lurched.
He took one step back—
—but the hood lifted.
And beneath it was Kuro.
His brother's dark eyes were shining, swollen, raw. His thin frame trembled under the soaked coat. He stood completely still, like he'd been waiting there a long, long time.
"You…. you promised," Yuto cried, shoving him back.
"He was going to die," Kuro said quietly.
"So you decide to horde him inside of yourself"
"He's not gone, he never will."
Yuto grabbed his coat, shaking. "This isn't a decision you can just makey...….nothing about him was ever your decision"
Kuro didn't fight back.
He just stared at Yuto—stunned, soaked, unmoving—rain rolling down his face like a second layer of tears.
"He's my dad too," Kuro murmured, voice barely audible over the storm. "I wasn't going to let him go—"
"He wasn't," Yuto snapped. "He was never your dad."
Kuro flinched.
"You… don't mean that," Kuro said softly,
"I DO."
Yuto's voice cracked. Hard. "You're not my brother. You're not his son. You're not—anything!"
Something fragile cracked in Kuro's eyes. A small fracture of light..
"You shouldn't," he whispered, voice dropping, thickening. "Say that."
Yuto pushed him again, harder this time.
"Why? Because it hurts?"
Yuto's breath trembled. His chest shook.
"Good. Good it's raining—" His words twisted with grief and venom.
"—you look just like you did the day we found you. Alone. Soaked. Unwanted."
Kuro's pupils widened—just a fraction—but enough.
Before Yuto could breathe, Kuro moved.
He rolled Yuto over and pinned him onto the pavement, rain splashing between them.
"Don't," Kuro said, voice different now—lower, almost echoing. "Say that."
Yuto shoved him. Hard.
Kuro stumbled a step, stunned—but Yuto came again, swinging raw grief more than strength.
A sloppy punch.
Another.
Thunder cracked overhead.
Kuro didn't want to hit back.
But the words still rang—
Unwanted.
His jaw tightened. He threw a short punch to Yuto's shoulder.
Yuto staggered, then lunged again. They collided, slipping in the flooded pavement, grabbing clothes, shoving, fists hitting blindly.
Not clean. Not cinematic.
Just brothers hurting each other because they didn't know where else to put the pain
Yuto swung wide—Kuro caught his arm and shoved him down.
Yuto scrambled up, landed a weak punch to Kuro's ribs.
Kuro grunted—then his face folded with something like betrayal.
He grabbed Yuto by the collar and pushed him down again, pinning him. This time harder. Breath heavy. Knuckles raw.
Rain hammered on both of them.
Yuto hit him once in the chest.
Twice.
His punches got softer.
Slower.
His breath hitched.
Then broke.
He curled his arm over his eyes, hiding the tears as his voice cracked apart into short, helpless sounds.
Kuro froze mid-swing. His fist hovered above Yuto's shoulder—trembling—but he couldn't bring it down.
Slowly, the anger drained from Kuro's shoulders.
His fist lowered to the ground beside Yuto's head.
His breathing steadied, even as his whole body shook.
Kuro stayed where he was—straddling Yuto, hands planted in the wet pavement on either side of him, breath trembling. Rain streaked down his face, washing blood from a cut on his lip.
Yuto's sobs were muffled behind the crook of his elbow.
His body shook.
He didn't look at his brother. Couldn't.
Kuro swallowed hard.
"He… he doesn't want us to fight," he said quietly.
Yuto's shoulders hitched.
But he didn't answer.
"I hate this," Kuro whispered,
"I hate hurting you. I hate when you look at me like I'm… something else…..like I don't belong…"
Yuto's fist trembled by his chest.
He was still hiding his face.
The storm eased just for a moment—soft rain, softer silence.
Kuro leaned closer, voice barely above the patter of water.
"He loved us. Both of us. I know you don't wanna hear it. But he did."
Yuto's breath caught—painfully.
The kind that stabs from the inside.
Kuro hesitated… then reached out, gently pressing his fingers to Yuto's sleeve-covered wrist.
"Please," he whispered. "Look at me."
Yuto's arm tensed… then slowly, shakily, he lowered it.
His tear-streaked eyes met Kuro's.
Kuro's eyes—usually dim, unreadable—were hollowed out from the fight…
but glowing faintly.
A soft, warm light pulsed inside them, the same way their father's eyes did when he smiled in the dark kitchen, telling them stories he thought they were too young to remember.
That glow reflected in the rain between them.
Yuto froze.
Kuro's voice came out low… and wrong.
"As long as you are together," Kuro said, each word trembling with an echo not his own,
"I will be there."
Yuto's breath shattered.
He almost choked.
"N-No… don't—"
He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking, refusing to hear that voice coming from anyone else.
"Stop… stop talking like him—"
Kuro leaned back slightly, expression collapsing with guilt.
"I'm not trying to— I just—"
But then—
A gust of wind hit them like a hammer.
A sudden, violent blast.
Yuto barely had time to gasp before Kuro's body was ripped backward, torn off of him.
The force flipped Kuro midair—
once, twice—
before he crashed and skidded across the pavement, water splashing up around him.
"Kuro!"
Yuto scrambled onto his elbows, still half-sobbing, blinking through the storm.
His vision blurred with tears and rain as he tried to see—
Wind circled the curb like a tightening noose.
Yuto, still shaking, pushed himself up from the pavement.
A shape dropped down behind Kuro.
Another landed lightly beside it.
A boy and a girl, dressed in all black uniforms, eyes sharp with purpose.
The boy carried a floating bow of pale, shimmering wood; the girl cracked her knuckles with surgical calm.
Kuro slowly turned, rain dripping from his jaw.
"I don't want trouble," he said, voice steady but wary.
"Just leave us alone."
The girl stepped forward.
"No can do."
The boy added, tone flat with certainty:
"You're what we came for."
Kuro didn't understand the words—but he understood the intent.
He stepped back.
"Stay away."
They didn't.
A gust exploded outward as the boy flicked his fingers—Kuro twisted aside just in time, the wind carving a trench in the pavement where he'd stood.
"Kuro!" Yuto shouted.
"Yuto, go!" Kuro snapped, backing toward him. "Just run—"
But the girl was already there.
She lunged, spinning low. Kuro dodged the first punch, ducked the second—
—but the third grazed his jaw, snapping his head to the side.
He stumbled, not fighting back, only evading.
"I don't want to hurt you!" Kuro yelled.
The girl didn't care.
The boy didn't blink.
They moved like a pair trained since birth.
A gust curved around the girl, pushing her into perfect striking range. She jabbed, sheaved, elbowed—each attack sharper than the last.
Kuro dodged—barely.
His breath shook.
He refused to swing back.
But dodging meant he didn't see the stray wind shot curving toward Yuto.
"Yuto—!"
The blast hit Yuto in the ribs, launching him off his feet.
He crashed across the wet road, coughing.
His pupils constricted.
The rain around him bent inward—
And black smoke surged from his skin like a waking beast.
"Stay away from him!" Kuro barked.
The smoke whipped around him like armor as he dashed in, faster than before—instinct replacing hesitation.
The siblings' eyes widened.
The fight erupted.
The girl charged. Kuro met her, parrying her punches with smoke-hardened arms, deflecting wind blasts with shadowed sweeps.
But they were overwhelming him—
The boy's wind lifted the girl mid-strike, rotating her around Kuro in a tornado of coordinated blows.
A kick slammed Kuro sideways.
A gust hammered him into a wall.
A punch cracked across his jaw, rattling his vision.
He crashed to the ground, coughing smoke.
The girl strode forward, ready to finish it.
Yuto saw everything blurry through the rain.
The girl raised her fist.
"Mission complete"
She struck.
"NO!" Yuto lunged.
He shoved Kuro aside—
—and the blow sank into Yuto's torso.
A sickening crunch.
A burst of wind.
Blood sprayed across the pavement.
The girl froze, eyes wide.
"Shit—!"
Yuto collapsed into Kuro's arms.
"YUTO!"
Kuro caught him—hands trembling, voice breaking in a way he never did.
Yuto's legs folded. His breath hitched wetly.
A hole gaped through his side, bleeding fast, too fast.
Kuro held him tight, fingers shaking on the wound.
"Don't—don't go—don't—"
Yuto's eyelids fluttered.
His soul—pale, flickering light—began to lift from his body.
"Kuro…" he whispered, barely audible.
Kuro shattered.
His scream tore the sky open.
The Black Blade howled, its sheath cracking, black smoke erupting in a violent cyclone that burst outward and pushed the girl like a ragdoll across the street.
The boy caught her with a gust, sliding them both back to regain footing.
"oh fuc–" the girl shouted, shaken.
"Its kai is… spiking—!" the boy whispered, fear creeping into his tone.
Kuro didn't hear them.
He only saw Yuto slipping away.
He pulled Yuto closer, forehead pressed to his, sobbing.
"Stay with me… stay… please…"
The black smoke surged.
It wrapped around them both—
dense, heavy, oppressive—
The smoke condensed—
flowing like liquid shadow toward the wound in Yuto's torso—
sealing it, filling it, swallowing the light trying to escape.
Yuto's eyes opened— hollow
Blackened like Kuro's.
Kuro's eyes widened—turning pure white.
The street pulsed once, the boy and girl catching their breath.
"What….... what kind of trait is this?"