2:17 am, Paulo's House
The doorbell rang again, a shrill buzz that sliced through the silence of Paulo Satoshi's empty house.
It was not a polite chime, it was insistent, demanding, a predator clawing at the door. Paulo sat in the dark living room, the collapsible baton resting across his knees, its cold aluminium a lifeline.
His black hoodie was zipped to his chin, hood up, casting his bruised face in shadow.
The only light came from the streetlamp outside, bleeding through the curtains in thin, jagged slivers.
His blue eyes, once bright with warmth, glinted like chipped ice, fixed on the front door.
The burner phone in his pocket vibrated, another message from the recreated "Sakura Survivors" group chat.
He did not need to look.
He had seen the last one: Come find me.
His address, sent to the void.
An invitation.
A trap.
He was not sure which anymore.
The line between strategy and madness had blurred hours ago, somewhere between Mizaki's Polaroid and the rumours that painted him as a monster.
They made me this.
The thought looped, a broken record in his skull.
The rumours, Mizaki's venom, had spread like plague.
By nightfall, Sakura High's social media was a warzone: screenshots of Paulo screaming on the rooftop, doctored images of him lurking in shadows, whispers of assaults and trophies.
The freshman girl he had supposedly brutalized had a name now, Hana, Class 1-C, too scared to leave her dorm.
None of it was true, but truth was irrelevant.
Belief was a weapon, and Mizaki wielded it like a scalpel.
The doorbell buzzed again, longer this time, followed by a heavy knock.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
Paulo's pulse synced with the rhythm, steady but fast, a drumbeat of war.
He stood; the black baton sided into his left hand with a soft and loud snick as he extended the baton to its full size of 21 inches long.
His ribs screamed, bruised, maybe cracked from the bridge, but pain was just data now. He moved to the door, silent on the worn hardwood, and peered through the peephole.
Three figures stood on his porch, bathed in the orange glow of the streetlight. Rin Itō, violet-purple hair shimmering, golden eyes glinting with predatory glee.
Shin Takahashi, towering at 6 foot 3, purple hoodie stretched tight across his shoulders, fists already clenched.
Alexis Smith, blonde hair tousled under his green hood, red eyes darting nervously.
No Miya.
No Mizaki.
Just the muscle and the traitor.
Paulo's lips twitched, not a smile but something feral.
Three against one.
Fair odds for a ghost.
He did not open the door.
Not yet.
He leaned closer to the peephole, letting them stew.
Rin's voice cut through the wood, sharp and mocking, "Satoshi! We know you are in there, you coward. Come out and face it!"
Shin's laugh was a low rumble, "What, you gonna hide like a bitch after sending that address? Thought you were tough."
Alexis said nothing, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, shoulders hunched.
Paulo's gaze lingered on him.
Traitor.
The word burned hotter than the pain in his ribs.
Another voice joined, unexpected, from the shadows beyond the porch.
"He is not hiding. He is waiting." Mizaki Kirazaka stepped into the light, her bubble-gum-pink hair tied in a high ponytail, violet eyes luminous. She wore a black crop top and designer jeans instead of her uniform, a silver necklace glinting at her throat.
Her smile was radiant, poisonous, "Aren't you, Paulo-Kun?"
Paulo's grip on the baton tightened.
She came. Of course she did.
Mizaki did not just start fires, she danced in the flames.
Rin spun toward her, annoyed, "The hell are you doing here, princess? This is our business."
Mizaki's smile did not waver, "Oh, Rin. You are just the cleanup crew. I am here for him."
She tilted her head, eyes locked on the peephole as if she could see Paulo through it, "You sent the invite, didn't you, Paulo? I would not miss it."
Shin cracked his knuckles, grinning, "Whatever. Let us just drag him out and finish what we started."
Alexis shifted, his voice low, "Guys, maybe we shouldn't—"
"Shut up, Alexis," Rin snapped, shoving him, "You are the one who said he looked at you like he wanted to skin you. You in or out?"
Alexis's jaw tightened, but he did not answer.
His red eyes flicked to the door, then away.
Paulo's mind raced, cataloguing. Rin's aggressive, leading the charge.
Shin's the heavy hitter, sloppy but strong. Alexis is the weak link, hesitating, guilty.
Mizaki was the wildcard, not fighting but orchestrating.
He needed to separate them, thin the herd. The house was his battlefield, narrow hallways, blind corners, furniture to exploit.
His Taekwondo training hummed in his muscles, overriding the pain.
He could do this.
He would do this.
But first, he needed them inside.
He unlocked the door, the click loud in the silence.
The knob turned slowly, deliberately.
He stepped back into the living room, baton hidden behind his thigh, and waited.
The door swung open, spilling light across the floor.
Rin entered first, his loose tie from the school uniform replaced by a black tank top, his silver earring catching the light.
Shin followed, his purple trousers scuffed with dirt, his grin all teeth.
Alexis hesitated on the threshold, then stepped in, his green hoodie pulled low.
Mizaki glided in last, closing the door behind her with a soft click that sounded like a gavel.
The living room was sparse: a couch, a coffee table with the black notebook open to the page of names.
a single lamp casting long shadows.
Paulo stood in the centre.
hood up.
his bruised face half-hidden.
The swelling around his left eye had worsened, the skin purple-black, but his posture was upright, defiant.
The baton was still behind his thigh, out of sight.
"Well, well," Rin said, spreading his arms, "The ghost himself. Gotta say, you look like shit, Satoshi."
Shin laughed, cracking his neck, "River did not finish the job, huh? We can fix that."
Mizaki did not speak.
She leaned against the wall near the door, arms crossed, her violet eyes fixed on Paulo with a mix of adoration and hunger.
Her presence was a weight, a distraction. Paulo ignored her, his gaze shifting between the three boys.
"You came to my house," Paulo said, his voice low, steady despite the storm in his chest. "Big mistake."
Rin smirked, stepping closer, "Big words for a guy who got his ass beat by three of us. What is the plan, hero? You gonna cry again?"
Paulo's eyes flicked to Alexis, who stood near the couch, avoiding his gaze, "You got something to say, Alexis? Or you just here to stab me in the back again?"
Alexis flinched, his hands balling into fists, "I did not… I did not want it to go that far, Paulo. I swear."
"Bullshit," Shin cut in, stepping forward, "You were swinging just like us. Do not play innocent now."
"Enough," Rin said, raising a hand.
His golden eyes narrowed, locked on Paulo, "Here is how this goes. You come quietly, we take you somewhere private, and we make sure you do not crawl out of the river this time. Or you fight, and we break you here. Your call."
Paulo's lips curled, a ghost of a smile, "You think you are in control, Itō? You are in my house."
Mizaki's laugh was soft, almost musical, "Oh, Paulo-Kun. So brave. So stupid."
She pushed off the wall, stepping into the light.
Her ponytail swayed, her necklace glinting, "You rejected me today. In front of everyone. You made me look weak."
Her voice dropped, venomous, "You are nothing but a sunducker, Paulo. Hiding in your little house, pretending you are above us. You are pathetic."
The word hit like a slap. Sunducker. A nonsense insult, childish, but laced with intent.
It was meant to provoke, to strip him of dignity, to make him snap.
The room tilted, the rumours echoing in his skull: psycho, stalker, monster.
His vision pulsed red, the fracture in his mind widening.
Mizaki's smile was a blade, twisting.
Rin laughed, loud and sharp. "Sunducker! Holy shit, Mizaki, that's gold."
Shin joined in, his booming laugh shaking the walls.
Alexis did not laugh, but his silence was complicity.
Paulo's grip on the baton was white-knuckled.
The pain in his ribs faded, replaced by a cold, clarity.
Mizaki wanted him to break.
She wanted chaos.
She would get it. but not the way she expected.
"You done?" Paulo asked, his voice a whisper, deadly.
He stepped forward, the baton still hidden, "You came here to finish me. So, try."
Rin's grin vanished. He lunged, faster than Paulo expected, his fist aimed at Paulo's jaw.
Shin moved a split-second later, circling to Paulo's left, his massive frame cutting off escape. Alexis hesitated, then stepped forward, his red eyes wide with panic but his fists raised.
Paulo's Taekwondo instincts kicked in, muscle memory overriding pain.
He ducked Rin's punch, the air whistling over his head, and spun, bringing the baton up in a blur.
The aluminium connected with Rin's forearm, crack, and Rin staggered back, cursing.
Shin roared, charging like a bull, his haymaker wild but powerful. Paulo sidestepped, using Shin's momentum to shove him into the coffee table, the notebook flying.
Alexis froze, caught between loyalty and fear.
Mizaki clapped while being delighted, "Yes, Paulo-Kun! Show them!"
The fight was on, but Paulo was outnumbered, outgunned, and running on fumes.
Rin recovered, his golden eyes blazing, blood dripping from a cut on his arm.
Shin was back on his feet; furniture splintered around him. Alexis raised his fists, trembling but committed.
Paulo backed toward the hallway, baton raised, his breath ragged.
The narrow space would level the playing field, but three against one was a death sentence unless he was perfect.
His sanity hung by a thread, Mizaki's sunducker echoing in his ears, the rumours a chorus of hate. He was cornered, battered, but alive.
Rin cracked his knuckles, advancing. "No river to save you this time, sunducker."
Shin grinned, bloodlust in his eyes.
Alexis took a shaky step forward, his betrayal complete.
Paulo's back hit the wall, the hallway looming behind him.
His blue eyes burned, defiant, unhinged. The baton spun in his hand, a promise of violence.
Come on, he thought, teeth bared. Let us dance.
The three charged as one, fists flying, shadows merging in the dim light.
Paulo raised the baton, ready to strike.
The first blow was inches from landing, the air thick with the promise of blood.
Who would fall first?
Would Paulo's training hold against the odds, or would the mob finally break him?
Mizaki's laughter echoed, a siren in the chaos, as the fight teetered on the edge of catastrophe.