Years before Earth was plummeted into war... Ten years after the Great Space Pirate Wars.
Only eight at the time.
Tokyo City still had stars. Sky clear. Streets alive. No panic yet—just dreams.
My father—Kiyora Loke. Orange hair like mine, always wild, like his thoughts were spilling out of him. He wasn't just smart. He was the scientist people credited with reshaping space travel.
Mom—Kei. Brilliant. Calm. Moved like the world slowed down to let her pass. Long black hair, always smooth. Together, they were unstoppable. The reason humans could travel between solar systems.
We lived high up. Penthouse windows stretching across the skyline. Anti-grav traffic humming below me every night. Thought that sound meant peace. Thought it meant we were untouchable.
But I was just a kid.
Eight. Alone most of the time.
"Dad, can we play?"
"Not now, son. I'm in the middle of a breakthrough."
"Sorry, sweetheart. Maybe one of the maids can play spaceman with you," Mom would say, eyes still on her screen.
So I'd walk the quiet halls. Wait for noise that never came.
Then one night—
"Kai, come in the kitchen."
Didn't expect much. Just got up slow. Floor cold under my feet. Lights off. House quiet.
Walked in. Flipped the switch—
Light. Color. Noise.
Confetti shot into the air like sparks. Streamers twisted down from the ceiling fans. Balloons floated up from behind the counters, bumping gently into cabinets. The kitchen looked like a festival had exploded.
On the counter—a cake. Lopsided, thick with frosting, the candles leaning at odd angles. Sprinkles poured on like someone forgot when to stop.
Just blinked. Heart skipped.
No maids. No butlers.
Just them.
Mom rushed over, laughing, arms open. She pulled me in, spun me off the floor just a little, and hugged me tight before setting me down on a tall kitchen chair.
Dad stepped beside her, holding a gift—orange wrapping, silver ribbon. His hand trembled slightly, eyes tired but warm.
"Kai," he said, kneeling. "We've been gone too long."
He pulled me into a hug. Slow. Real. Like he didn't want to let go.
"No more labs. We're done. We're spending time with you now."
Mom stepped closer. Her hand rested on her belly.
"You're going to be a big brother."
The air felt warm. Safe.
They stayed. Talked. Told me all the things we'd do—building model Ships with Dad, picking out names for the baby, taking trips to the old islands. Dad promised stargazing nights. Mom said she'd teach me how to cook, real meals, not the kind from machines.
It felt unreal. Like a dream I didn't want to wake from.
For the first time, I felt full. Seen. Like I wasn't just part of the house—but part of them.
Truly happy
Three months where everything felt like it was finally beginning.
Then came the day at the spaceport.
"Son, we'll be back soon, okay?" Dad said, crouching to my level. His hands moved to straighten my collar. He was smiling, but not like before. The corners of his mouth twitched like they didn't want to stay up.
"Just a quick meeting. An old friend reached out—we'll be home in a few days."
I nodded. Didn't understand why my chest felt tight. Why the air around us felt so still.
"I'll bring you back something cool," he said, ruffling my hair.
"Okay."
Mom kissed my forehead. She didn't say much—just looked at me for a second, longer than usual. Her hand brushed my cheek, then dropped to rest protectively over her belly.
They turned and walked toward the gate. I watched their backs until the crowd swallowed them up, until the shuttle doors closed behind them.
They didn't look back.
"Shall we go, Master Kai?" the butler said softly.
Didn't answer. Just nodded and followed.
Back home, the house felt colder.
I waited.
First a day.
Then two.
Then a week.
Every time the door chimed, I sat up. Every engine I heard outside made me glance at the windows. Every message ping made my stomach twist.
But it wasn't them.
Never them.
Then one evening—
"Master Kai."
The butler knelt beside me while I was sitting in the lounge, holding a book I hadn't turned a page in for hours. His voice was hoarse.
"I need to speak with you. It's urgent."
He paused. His throat worked, but no words came.
Then he looked at me.
That's when I knew.
Didn't need the details. Didn't ask.
Shuttle malfunction. Sabotage. Explosion. Lost in transit. The reports would change a dozen times in the weeks that followed.
Didn't matter.
They were gone.
Just like that.
And the silence that came after wasn't peaceful like before. It was the kind that pressed in on every corner of the house. The kind that watched you while you slept.
And it didn't end there.
The reports started flooding in. Headlines everywhere. Accusations—drug trafficking, secret experiments, stolen research. Whispers turned into a storm.
Lies. Every single word. But no one cared.
News anchors said their names like they were criminals. Commentators dissected their work like they had always known something was wrong. People who used to shake their hands were suddenly acting like they never existed.
Friends stopped calling. Former colleagues distanced themselves. Teachers avoided eye contact. Invitations vanished. Even the neighbors looked away when I walked past.
Our name became a stain. A warning.
Then came the lawsuits. Every company they ever worked with turned on us. Accounts locked. Assets frozen. Bills piled up. I didn't understand the numbers, but I could feel the weight of them everywhere—like the house itself had started leaning.
Only the butler stayed.
He brought me food, reminded me to sleep, helped me study. Kept the place running while everything else crumbled.
Never said much, but he was there.
Until he wasn't.
One day, I woke up and the house was silent. No footsteps. No voice. No sound of dishes clinking in the kitchen.
Gone.
Didn't leave a note. Didn't say goodbye.
I don't even remember his name anymore. Probably erased it on purpose. Too many names hurt to think about.
But I still had my mind. Still had what Dad gave me.
I tested into one of the top academies in the region—on scores alone. No recommendations. No legacy ties. Just raw numbers.
Thought maybe that would change something.
It didn't.
They whispered behind my back. Threw looks that burned like acid. Called me "corpse boy," "lab rat," "junk blood." They waited until teachers turned their heads. Then came the shoves. The stolen books. The laughter.
Didn't matter how high I scored. I was a walking ghost in the hallways.
One afternoon, I was at my locker, pulling out my tablet.
"Yo, Loke."
Turned.
Zankoku stood there. Hands in his pockets. Shoulders relaxed. Not smirking for once.
"Hey… I'm sorry for being such an ass," he said. Voice softer than usual. "I need help studying. Could you help me?"
Something in his tone froze me. There was no sneer. No glare. Just words.
It felt... real.
Kai hesitated. Everything in me said don't. But I nodded anyway.
Stupid.
Later that day. Behind the school.
Thud.
Back slammed into concrete. Skull snapped back. Stars.
Books hit the pavement beside me.
Laughter echoed.
"You actually believed me?" Zankoku's voice—sharp now. Cold. "You're even dumber than I thought, orphan boy."
A fist drove into my stomach. Breath left my lungs in a wheeze. Dropped to my knees.
Another hit. Ribs.
Sharp pain. Air gone.
Coughed. Blood hit the pavement in a wet splatter.
Didn't scream. Didn't fight.
Just curled in, arms over my head. Waited for it to stop.
Didn't know how long it lasted.
Thoughts drifted—somewhere distant. Detached.
Maybe this is all I'll ever be.
Something people walk past. Step over.
A leftover from someone else's ruin.
.
I was beginning to question why I was even born.
Zankoku's friends rounded the corner—three of them. All demi-wolves like him. Uniforms half-unbuttoned like rules didn't apply to them. Tails twitching. Eyes lit up like they'd found something fun to break.
They weren't here to talk.
"Well, well," one of them sneered. "Little prince is still breathing."
Boot slammed into my side.
Crack.Ribs lit up. I hit the wall, gasping, coughing, choking on blood and breath.
"What you gonna do now?" Zankoku crouched beside me, voice dripping with fake pity. "Call momma and dad?"
Blood ran from my lip. My arms trembled.
But I clenched them.
Something in me snapped.
Pushed myself up—slow, shaky. Legs felt like rubber, but I stood.
Didn't run.
Pulled my fist back. Drove it into Zankoku's jaw with everything I had.
Crack.
He staggered, stumbled, dropped.
"Damn you…"
The others froze.
"The hell…?"
Breath burned in my lungs. Legs threatened to buckle. But I stayed standing.
"There's five of you," I said. "And you're jumping one kid?"
Spat blood at the ground. "And you call yourselves demi-wolves? What the hell are you even proud of?"
Zankoku's face twisted.
"You little—GET HIM!!"
They rushed me.
Fist to the stomach. Another grabbed my shoulders, slammed me into the wall. Vision blurred. Jaw screamed.
A knee crushed into my chest. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.
Still fought back. Threw punches. Wild, messy.
They laughed.
"You think that one punch made you a man?!"
Boot to the back. Another to my ribs.
Dropped to the ground. Curled up. Tried to block what I could. Didn't help.
Insults flew. Jokes about my parents. My name. My blood.
Laughed while they beat me into the dirt.
Couldn't see. Couldn't feel anything but fire and weight and pain.
Blood soaked through my uniform. My ribs felt like shattered glass.
But I still shouted, voice cracked and raw:
"Hurt me all you want! But keep their names out of your mouths!"
Zankoku walked up.
One last kick—hard and deliberate—straight to the gut.
Everything blurred.
I felt myself slipping. Going under.
Then—
BOOM.
Something slammed into one of them like a meteor.
His body flew—lifted off the ground—and crashed into a trash bin with a hollow metal bang.
Everyone froze.
"What the hell was that?!"
Someone stood between me and them now.
Could barely make out the figure through the haze of blood and pain.
Another demi-wolf.
Not one of them.
Jet-black hair. Eyes glowing red, like embers about to ignite.
Didn't say much.
Didn't have to.
He raised his fists and said:
"Pick on someone your own size."
"GET HIM!!"
They charged.
He didn't hesitate.
The first demi-wolf lunged with claws out, aiming straight for his throat.He stepped forward—not back—ducked under the swipe, and slammed his palm into the guy's ribs. A quick twist of the wrist followed—crack—the attacker dropped, screaming, his arm bent the wrong way.
Another came in from behind, fangs bared. He pivoted just as the kid leapt, caught him midair with both arms, and turned the momentum into a brutal over-the-shoulder throw. The demi-wolf hit the pavement hard, air leaving his lungs in a wheeze as he rolled across the courtyard.
"Two down," He muttered.
The third came fast—no hesitation, aiming for a low takedown. Markus jumped back just in time, the guy's hands barely grazing his pants. Before he could recover, He spun, his leg sweeping in low. The attacker's feet flew out from under him and he crashed face-first into the concrete.
Zankoku finally stepped in, teeth clenched, fists raised.
He wasn't like the others. Bigger. More experienced.
He threw a heavy punch aimed at his face.
He leaned just slightly to the side—just enough—and the punch whiffed past his cheek. His response came fast: a jab to the nose, then a crushing elbow to the side of Zankoku's head.
Zankoku stumbled, dazed—but he wasn't finished.
He growled, eyes burning, and went for a desperate grab. Got hold of His shirt.
But he didn't panic.
He let him get close—then slammed his forehead into Zankoku's.
The sound echoed. Skull on skull.
Zankoku staggered back, blood running down from the bridge of his nose. He took one step forward and threw a punch so clean it looked practiced. Zankoku collapsed. Out cold.
The others scrambled to their feet, dragging their wounded with them.
"What the hell is this guy?!"
They didn't wait for answers.
They ran. Limping, cursing, hauling Zankoku like a sack of garbage.
Silence followed.
I was still on the ground. Barely breathing. My ribs were screaming, my shirt soaked in blood, the world spinning.
Then I heard footsteps. Calm. Steady.
He crouched down next to me. His face was backlit by the setting sun, casting a red glow across his sharp features.
"Hey," he said, casual like we were just meeting at lunch.
Then he reached out and grabbed my arm.
Lifted me up with one strong pull. My legs nearly gave out, but he steadied me with one hand on my back.
"…Thanks," Kai muttered. Barely got it out.
Felt dead. Probably looked it. Blood in my mouth, bruises across my side, everything shaking.
But he just grinned.
That stupid, confident grin like he hadn't just wrecked five guys in under a minute.
"You're tough," he said. "Facing all those guys alone like that."
"I wasn't facing them, idiot," I grunted. "I was getting pounded."
He laughed—loud, warm, unbothered. "I guess."
Then he held out his hand.
"Let's be friends."
He stared at it for a second.
Then shook it.
"My name is Markus Sentryon!!" he said, like it meant the world.
"…Kai Loke."
His grin widened.
"Okay, Kai it is!"
"First names already?" I muttered, trying not to pass out.
Looking back...
He's probably the reason I'm still alive.
Now he's gone…
Markus.
Gone like the rest.
No warning. No goodbye. Just silence.
Like he was never there to begin with.
And now…
Rose.
Please…
Don't leave me too.