MUNDANE HURT: Chapter 7

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"You’re disgusting!"

Nishizaki shoved the oily-smelling black man away and ran toward the man with the teary mole. The man with the mole was perched on a wide sofa, straddling the lap of an Arab man, letting him grope his crotch over his clothes. He turned back with an annoyed expression.

“What?” he asked, his tone heavy with irritation.

“I-I’m leaving,” Nishizaki stammered.

The man with the mole tilted his head with a mocking sigh. “Huh?”

"I-I didn’t know it’d be with men!"

“If you want to leave, go ahead.” The mole man jerked his chin indifferently. "But you’ll probably get beaten half to death. The ones running this gig are the Mikuruma Gang."

The mole man resumed kissing the Arab man, who was eagerly urging him on. Mikuruma Gang. The name sent a chill down Nishizaki’s spine. Just two days ago, they’d been involved in a shooting in Fukuoka. He swallowed hard, his throat clicking audibly. This is bad. Really bad. What do I do? The yakuza scare me, but I can’t handle being with a guy either. I haven’t even been paid yet, so technically, I could still back out. If I’m going to run, it has to be now.

Just as Nishizaki steeled himself to bolt, someone grabbed his arm. Before he could turn to look, his body was lifted into the air as if he were nothing more than cargo.

“W-what the hell are you doing!?” he shouted.

He was thrown onto a bed, landing on his back with a heavy thud that knocked the wind out of him. Before he could catch his breath, a dark, heavy weight pressed down on him, accompanied by the nauseating stench of sweat and oil.

“Get off me, you stink!” Nishizaki snarled, twisting his torso and flailing his arms. His elbow landed on somewhere solid, and the man above him yelped, “Ow!” The weight lifted momentarily.

Taking advantage of the moment, Nishizaki scrambled to get off the bed, but a powerful hand yanked him back by his hair. Two glaring eyes, wild like a predator's, bore into him. Frozen in terror, Nishizaki caught sight of a raised black fist out of the corner of his eye.

The punch exploded against his cheek, pain bursting like fireworks behind his eyes. Another punch came, then another—right, left, in an unrelenting rhythm. Each blow sent sharp, piercing pain through him. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth as warm blood trickled from deep inside his nose. He couldn’t make a sound, the violence was so overwhelming, so sudden, so... incomprehensible. What is this? It’s terrifying. Terrifying. Terrifying.

The assault ended with a brutal kick that sent him tumbling off the bed. His head struck the corner of the side table with a sickening crack, and his vision dimmed as consciousness slipped away.

“...Ah!”

The intense pain dragged him back to consciousness. Something was shoved inside him—his ass—and it hurt so much he thought it might tear him apart. The agony was so extreme it made his blood run cold. I’m gonna die. This is it. He tried to scream, but his voice was muffled by something forced into his mouth. His arms were pinned above his head, immobile, and his legs were spread wide, held apart so he couldn’t close them. What the hell is this? Some kind of BDSM crap? This is terrifying. So terrifying.

Whatever was inside him began to move back and forth, and a wave of cold sweat broke out over his body. No, no, no, no, it hurts! It hurts! It hurts! The pain felt as if someone had shoved a hand deep into an open wound and was grinding salt into it. The large, dark figure above him loomed forward, reeking and wheezing like a bull. This can’t be real. It’s a joke, right? Am I really being raped by a man? This is some sick joke… No, please, stop… Please…

Four of them had gathered in the hotel lobby earlier. There was the man with the mole, who looked to be in his thirties, two kids barely out of their teens, and Nishizaki. Four in total. What is this, an orgy? he’d thought, disgusted but unable to refuse. But in hindsight, he should’ve turned back and left then.

The room they were led to was near the top floor—an executive suite. He’d barely had time to marvel at the luxurious surroundings before the “guests” they were meant to “entertain” appeared, and his jaw dropped. Two black men, one Arab, and one white man. All men.

It was only at that moment that it dawned on him. I’ve been set up.

Suddenly, the pain in his ass slid away with a sickening squelch. The black man’s crotch drew closer, his erect penis rigid and menacing. Nishizaki’s hair was seized in a rough grip, yanking his head forward until the tip nearly touched his face. A wet, smacking noise accompanied the sudden spray of something warm splattering across his cheeks. The pungent smell made his stomach churn. Isn’t this something men do to women? Why is this happening to me?

He shuddered at the slippery warmth sliding down his face and cracked his eyes open, only to freeze in horror. A dark red tongue slithered across his filthy cheek like an animal licking its prey. He twisted his face away, but a hand gripped his jaw, holding him steady as the tongue dragged over his skin again and again. It felt like a slug was crawling across him, and his stomach churned. Nauseated, he shoved his knee into the man’s stomach.

For a moment, the movements stopped, and Nishizaki’s hopes surged. But then the man scowled, his brows knitting together before his open palm cracked across Nishizaki’s face. The force sent his head rocking side to side like a pendulum, and the rag stuffed into his mouth tumbled free. Gasping for air, he cried out, his voice raw and broken.

“P-please, help me!”

“Hel—ugh!”

The blow came hard and fast, scattering sparks behind his eyelids. Another hit, then another. The man’s fists hammered his face, and by the fifth strike, Nishizaki’s body went limp. The fight drained out of him completely as he was flipped over like a doll. Pain tore through him again as the man forced himself back inside. He gasped helplessly, his limp body swaying with every thrust.

Why... why is this happening?

A face flashed in the back of his mind—his mother’s. It had been three months into her hospital stay when she’d jumped off the roof. He hadn’t understood why, hadn’t believed it was real. After the initial shock wore off, all that was left were the memories and a mountain of regret. She wanted so badly to go home... Why didn’t I let her?

The mansion hadn’t even been sold yet. They could’ve let her spend her final days in the house where she’d raised them. Even if it was empty, it was still her home. Instead, her funeral had been a quiet, private affair.

And the day before her forty-ninth-day memorial, his brother killed Dr. Aisaka.

Until Aisaka’s death, Nishizaki had no idea the man had been engaged to his aunt, Miyoko. Afterward, Miyoko became the tragic centerpiece of a public spectacle, wailing hysterically on television as she portrayed herself as the grieving fiancée of a murdered man. The media devoured her performance, and sympathy poured in. Nishizaki’s brother, meanwhile, refused to speak, maintaining his silence while television analysts speculated wildly about “the dark mind of the medical student.”

Their family became outcasts, bearing the stigma of being associated with the murderer. The condemnation was relentless, both openly and behind his back. Whispered insults became an unending refrain. Nishizaki couldn’t bring himself to continue attending university.

Then, one news article changed everything. A former patient came forward, claiming that Aisaka had raped her using sleeping pills. At first, it was one woman. Then another, and another. By the end, there were seven victims, one of whom had become pregnant and later had an abortion. It was also revealed that before working at Nishizaki’s uncle’s hospital, Aisaka had committed similar drug-assisted assaults at his previous workplace.

Another devastating truth came to light through a tabloid scoop: Nishizaki’s mother had been three months pregnant at the time of her death. The revelations brought everything into the open, and for the first time, his brother broke his silence.

His brother explained that he had learned about their mother’s pregnancy and suspected Aisaka might be involved. A nurse confirmed his suspicions, leading him to confront Aisaka. He accused the doctor of raping their mother and threatened to take legal action. But Aisaka had only mocked him, sneering, “The dead can’t speak. But if you do, I’ll make sure everyone sees the porn I filmed of your dear mother.”

"I want to go home. I want to go home right now. I can't stand this place anymore."

"Please, take me home. I'm begging you."

His mother's voice thundered in Nishizaki's mind, sharp and unrelenting. She had been drugged and raped. Even in her groggy state, she had sensed something was wrong. She must have suspected Aisaka and reached out to her son for help. She couldn’t bring herself to say what was happening, couldn’t explain the horrors inflicted on her. Instead, she had pleaded over and over again, "I want to go home. Please take me home."

Could I have saved her? If I hadn’t brushed her off, if I’d just taken her home instead of thinking she was being a hassle… maybe…

Nishizaki could feel the black man trembling violently inside him. He ejaculated inside. No. I hate this. I’m scared. Pregnant. I’ll get pregnant. No, that’s impossible. I’m not a woman. But the reality was undeniable. He was being raped, just like his mother. No. No. I don’t want this!

Terror surged through him, and he screamed, a raw, guttural cry. Even when his mouth was covered, the scream couldn’t be stopped, muffled against the pillow that his face was crushed into.

The assault continued, relentless and violating, leaving no space for resistance or dignity. "His voice, his body, his will—everything was stripped away. A filthy dick was thrust into him, and semen was ejaculated inside him like he was nothing more than a toilet. Why is this happening to me? What did I do to deserve this? Is it because I’m a worthless idiot? Because I dropped out of college, couldn’t hold a real job, ruined my liver as a host, leeched off women, became a junkie? Is this punishment for being a person nobody would miss?

After being creampied twice, he was thrown aside, discarded like trash. Lying face-down, he barely had time to register being flipped onto his back. The Arab man pressed down on his arm, and Nishizaki felt the prick of a needle against the inside of his elbow.

No way. Hardcore stuff like this—injecting—that’s too serious. I’ve always been terrified of it. This feels like the end.

The syringe loomed in his blurred vision, and for a moment, his mind went still. Maybe it’s fine. Maybe I’m ready for it to end… He stared blankly at the needle, resignation dulling his thoughts.

Cold liquid slid into his veins, creeping steadily through his body. Halfway through the injection, clarity hit like a flash of light, sharp and jarring. His head felt clear, the haze lifting suddenly. A strange smell was forced into his nose, sharp and acrid, stinging the back of his throat

The Arab man pinched Nishizaki’s nipple, sending a strange tingling sensation down his spine. When his tongue flicked against it, a ticklish feeling stirred. When he sucked it, a shiver of pleasure coursed through him, arching his back involuntarily.

The Arab man’s hand moved to Nishizaki’s knee, spreading his legs wide apart. It’s going to hurt again. He knew it, but the blind panic that had overwhelmed him before was strangely muted now. The Arab man’s thick member pushed its way inside. There was still a dull, throbbing discomfort, but the sharp pain had faded. And when the man wrapped his hand around Nishizaki’s penis, a shuddering wave of pleasure shot up his spine.

"Hi-ahh..."

A sweet voice escaped his lips, so foreign that even he was surprised by it. The Arab man narrowed his eyes with a grin and began stroking Nishizaki’s penis. A vortex of sensation churned low in his abdomen. The rough handling made him feel like his penis would be torn apart, yet the searing pleasure pierced through his head, making him dizzy.

"Ah, ahh, ahhhh!"

It feels good. It feels good... What is this?

As his hips were rammed relentlessly, his penis was roughly toyed with. Looking down, Nishizaki noticed he wasn’t even erect. Then why... why does it feel this good, like my toes are going numb?

"You’re feeling pleasure from being raped. You’re a perverted freak."

A voice echoed in his mind, and he whipped his head around in shock, searching for its source.

"You’re trash. Human garbage. Die, die, die."

An orchestra of insults and commands to die clanged in his head, merciless and unending.

He was flipped onto his stomach, and something foul and black pounded deep into his throat, forcing tears to prick at the corners of his eyes.

"You’re such a worthless failure, it’s your fault you’re being skewered by two dicks. This is all your fault."

That voice... he’d heard it before, somewhere.

The black rod was finally pulled from his mouth, leaving his jaw slack, saliva and semen dripping freely down his chin like an obscene stream of drool.

"It’s your fault. It’s your fault. You’re worthless. Just die. Die. Die."

Oh… I remember now. That’s my uncle’s voice.

“Kill me…”

His voice sounded faint, distant, as if it belonged to someone else.

“Please… just kill me…”

I’m trash. It’s fine now. I can die. There’s no point in living.

The raw scraping sensation deep in his throat. The soaking, dripping sensation of his violated anus.

Suddenly, it felt as though something cracked inside him, splitting him in two. One part of him floated weightlessly, rising toward the ceiling. The other remained trapped, pinned down, still being ravaged by the Arab man and sobbing pitifully.

“Help me…”

The part of him floating above watched with a detached gaze, its expression calm, almost serene, as it stared down at the other half—broken, weeping, and utterly humiliated.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

He was on a plane. Now that he thought about it, there had been a time when overseas trips were a regular thing. His brother sat to his right, his mother to his left. Their destination was New York. His brother’s voice bubbled with excitement as he said, “Let’s go to an art museum,” while his mother opened a pamphlet and said, “I’d love to see a play.”

So, all that was a dream?

Losing everything, living out of a manga café, getting tricked by a dealer, and being raped by men—that was just a dream?

Suddenly, a shrill siren blared, and the cabin lights dimmed. A loud crash resounded, and everything around him vanished. His body began to descend—slowly, inexorably—falling into the void.

The jarring impact of his body hitting the ground snapped Nishizaki awake.

The surface beneath him was hard. A short-pile brown carpet, patterned with white ovals, came into view. This isn’t the manga café… Where am I? It didn’t matter. His body was unbelievably heavy, his head swimming as if it were stuffed with muddy water being sloshed around. His face hurt. His hips hurt. His ass hurt. He felt awful. Why…Why does everything… hurt so much?

A rough yank on his hair pulled his head upward at an awkward angle. The pain squeezed a strangled gasp from his throat, “Agh…!” Three faces came into his view.

One belonged to a man with a broad forehead and a round face, dressed in a suit. Another was thin as a stick, with bleached blond hair and wearing a Sukajan jacket. The last, holding his hair in a solid grip, was grotesquely fat, almost pig-like.

They all gave off a menacing vibe. Fragments of memory flashed back— Tsubame perched on that playground elephant, the black and Arab guys, the icy liquid shooting into his veins…

Round Face clicked his tongue. “Is this the only one?” The man in the jacket nodded. “Yeah,” he replied flatly. Round Face stepped closer and pressed his shoe against Nishizaki’s bruised cheek.

“Stop… it hurts…” Nishizaki muttered, but Round Face only ground his foot harder into Nishizaki’s cheek, which was pinned by the fat man’s grip, leaving no chance to escape.

“Where’d the others go?”

…The crowded room from last night is empty now. Besides these three, there’s no one around.

“I… I don’t know.”

“Don’t give me that crap!” Round Face’s shout seemed to shake the very air. Nishizaki flinched, his body trembling like a terrified dog.

“I’m asking where they ran off to without paying their share!”

“I-I don’t know, I don’t know… I was just here for a job…”

A sharp kick landed under his chin, sending him sprawling onto his back. In that vulnerable position, the two men—the one in the jacket and the fat one—started kicking his bare abdomen mercilessly. Each blow hit him directly, unbuffered by any clothing. With each kick, a pathetic sound, “Guh…ugh…” escaped him like a crushed frog. He instinctively clutched his stomach and curled up, only to be kicked hard in the back.

“Stop… please stop…”

His own voice sounded like noise in his ears, barely recognizable. The kicking only intensified, each blow landing on his stomach, back, and head, as if he were nothing but a soccer ball. Something oozed out from his ass with a soft squelch; he was too weak to stop it. Another kick to his stomach turned his insides inside out, and he vomited with a heave, something slipping from his ass at the same time. The stench of bile, semen, and feces filled the air, making him retch again.

“Ugh, filthy… look at what you did to my shoes, you piece of shit!” the man in the jacket sneered, giving his face one more sharp kick, sparks bursting in Nishizaki’s vision.

“Don’t kill him here. We still need answers from him,” Round Face muttered.

As his vision faded into darkness, the voice echoed and gradually, gradually faded into a distant blur.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

His left eye was swollen shut. His body throbbed with pain—his ass, stomach, back, everywhere. Waves of nausea kept rising up, and a little while ago, he couldn’t hold it back anymore, retching up nothing but yellow bile, only to be rewarded with a kick to the face and a snarled, “Don’t dirty up the office!”

He tried to stay still, swallowing back the nausea that threatened to bubble up again. He knew if he vomited, he’d get kicked. He pressed his lips tightly together, but the pressure was too much, and a thin trickle seeped out, forming a pale yellow puddle on the carpet. If they saw it, he’d get kicked again. But the Round Face man was on his flip phone, not looking his way. His hands were tied behind him, making it impossible to wipe anything away, so he pressed his cheek to the carpet, rubbing the puddle into it.

When he’d come to his senses, he was lying here naked, hands and feet bound. The room was around fifteen tatami mats in size, and he’d been dumped near the door. There was a large desk facing the window with only a phone on it. Against the wall, there was an enormous taxidermy bear, at least two meters tall, and a decorated fan inscribed with “Mikuruma Gang” on display.

“Only one of the rent boys was left at the hotel,” Round Face said as he toyed with his red tie, seated on a sofa in the middle of the room. “There should have been three others, but two were amateurs recruited online.”

He continued talking into the phone, casually mentioning, “Turns out one of the rent boys and that dealer, Tsubame, were in on it together, made off with the money. Got people out looking for them now, and when they’re found, they won’t be left alive.”

Round Face snapped his phone shut and stood up from the sofa, walking over with slow, deliberate steps. Nishizaki’s heartbeat thudded in his chest. He was terrified. What are they going to do to me? I can’t take any more hitting, any more kicking. He tried to compose an excuse in his head—I don’t know anything, I’m innocent—but before he could say a word, Round Face kicked him in the stomach, forcing a strangled gasp from his lips.

He looked up, trembling. Round Face narrowed his eyes at him, clearly irritated.

“So, you’re Nishizaki, huh?”

A chill ran down his spine. How does he know my name? I never even told Tsubame…

“You were a host in Shinjuku, right? And a good customer of Tsubame’s. Tell me where he hangs out.”

“I-I don’t know. I only contacted him when I bought stuff from him. We didn’t meet anywhere specific, usually just a diner or maybe a—mmpf!”

A shoe shoved into his mouth, pressing down hard and twisting, pushing deeper toward his throat.

“Ah… augh…,” he choked, unable to breathe.

“A filthy little freak who spreads his legs for men. Because of those bastards, I’m catching hell from my boss. Don’t think you’ll get out of this in one piece either. You’ll be paying up.”

Paying up? It made no sense. He had nothing to do with Tsubame’s betrayal or the money they’d run off with. Hell, he’d been the one raped and hadn’t even gotten paid for the so-called “job.” I’m the victim here. Why do I have to suffer like this? Why, why, why…

The door opened, and Round Face turned, stopping mid-twist of his shoe. The man in the Sukajan jacket came in, casting Nishizaki a quick glance before saying, “Shall we deal with him later?”

“Don’t worry about this trash,” Round Face replied, giving Nishizaki’s throat one last punishing twist before removing his shoe. Sukajan Jacket handed Round Face a brown envelope, who took it and began flipping through the contents.

“There’s nothing on that lawyer,” Sukajan Jacket said. “His only family is his mother, but she’s remarried and moved away, and no one knows where. I’d like to dig deeper, but we’re under police surveillance since that idiot Kagiyama got himself busted. We can’t risk anything that’ll attract attention.”

Round Face sighed, flicking the papers in his hand. “Kagiyama’s a colossal idiot, picking a fight with a lawyer,” he muttered.

“If he had a wife or girlfriend, we could apply some pressure that way, but there’s no gossip about anyone. Doesn’t even go to hostess clubs.”

Round Face sniffed derisively.

“Is he gay, maybe?”

“Honestly, I thought it was possible, so I checked. He did have a girlfriend before, though,” Sukajan Jacket replied calmly.

“Then work her angle. If she’s his ex, he might still have feelings.”

“She’s married to someone else now and living in Berkeley.”

“Berkeley? Is that a bar in town?”

“…Berkeley’s in America,” Sukajan Jacket clarified.

Hearing the absurd back-and-forth, Nishizaki couldn’t help letting out a small laugh, despite himself. But then he met Round Face’s gaze, and the sheer ferocity in his eyes made his stomach clench.

“…Did you just laugh?” Round Face growled.

Unable to speak, Nishizaki shook his head slightly.

“Don’t lie, you piece of shit!” Round Face yelled, driving a kick into his stomach.

“Die! Die!”

Round Face struck him across the face with a sheaf of papers, alternating between right and left slaps. On the last hit, the paper bundle exploded, scattering documents that fluttered down onto Nishizaki’s face. One document landed in his line of sight, and his eyes focused on the name at the end:

Seishu Law Office, Attorney Masayuki Nagano.

Masayuki Nagano. Images came rushing back—short school uniforms, a seat by the window, textbooks, the green sash trailing as he ran on the track with a graceful stride…

“Masayuki Nagano,” he murmured, unaware he had spoken aloud.

“Quit staring at it,” Round Face snarled, noticing his reaction. Sukajan Jacket began hastily gathering the scattered documents as Round Face barked at him to hurry, pausing to look back down at Nishizaki.

“You know this attorney, don’t you?”

“Not really…”

“What’s with that answer? Which is it?”

A kick landed hard on his thigh.

“Th-there was someone with the same name in my class…”

Round Face squatted down, eyeing him closely. “How old are you?”

“Thirty.”

Round Face turned to Sukajan Jacket. “How old is this attorney?”

“About thirty, I think.”

“Bring up his picture,” Round Face ordered. Sukajan Jacket pulled out his phone, quickly finding the photo and handing it over. Round Face thrust the screen right in Nishizaki’s face.

“This is him. Recognize him?”

It was a close-up of a man in a dark blue suit, looking tense, his jaw clenched with determination. The face was matured, but it was unmistakably Masayuki Nagano, his old high school classmate.

“…Yeah, we were classmates. In high school.”

Round Face grabbed Nishizaki’s hair and yanked him upright, a sharp pain flashing across his scalp.

“Tell me—does this guy have anything to hide?”

“If… if I tell you Nagano’s weakness… will you let me go?” Nishizaki ventured.

Round Face gave a sly smile, and for a split second, Nishizaki thought he’d struck a deal. But then a punch came out of nowhere, smashing him sideways, his mouth filling with the metallic taste of blood from a reopened wound.

“You think shit like you can negotiate with me? I’ll kill you!”

Nishizaki pressed his forehead to the floor in submission. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Start talking, now!”

“N-Nagano’s dad was once arrested for fraud and attempted murder,” Nishizaki rattled off, hoping it would be enough. He’d been saving that fact as a trump card, but Round Face scoffed.

“Already knew that, idiot,” Round Face sneered, kicking him hard in the ass. “The guy’s been dead for years.”

The ace I thought I had was nothing but trash?

Seriously? All I’ve done is make things worse and gotten kicked harder for it. This is the worst…

A blow to his head sent it spinning, the room tilting until everything went dark.

When he came to, cold droplets were dripping down his face. Someone had splashed water on him, leaving his hair and face soaking wet.

"Hey."

Round Face was looking down at him.

"If you do exactly as I say, I’ll clear up all your messes so far."

Sensing a sliver of hope to escape this nightmare, Nishizaki nodded, "Y-yes." He’d do anything—anything not to be hit or kicked again.

“Your classmate, the lawyer—he’s got a video file with footage of a safe. Get the original data and bring it to me.”

“A… video of a safe?”

“It’s gray, with a family crest engraved on the door.”

“Is the data on a hard drive or an SD card?” Nishizaki asked.

Round Face jerked his chin impatiently. "How the hell would I know? All we know is that it was recorded on a video camera. An old friend like you can probably get him to drop his guard. Chat him up, bring up the good ol' days, find out where he keeps it, and bring it back here... Hey, what’s the deadline for submission to the court?"

Sukajan Jacket pulled out his phone. "February 25th."

"Then by the 24th, the day before."

Maybe it was the drugs, but Nishizaki couldn’t keep track of the date. He knew they’d crossed into a new year, but... what day in January was it?

"Why do you need the video of the safe?"

"That’s none of your damn business."

…So, probably something criminal. Whatever it was, there was no choice but to comply. Defying them would definitely get him killed.

"Get it by the deadline. And don’t even think about running away. We’ll be watching you the whole time. Try to bolt, and I’ll have your limbs chopped off one by one and fed to the dogs. Remember that."

Round Face grinned, and the combination of his unflinching brutality with the gruesome threats made it clear he wasn’t joking.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

The clothes Sukajan Jacket handed over with a "Put these on" were a grimy pair of briefs and a black tracksuit that reeked like a musty, damp rag—big enough that it might as well have belonged to a sumo wrestler. The waistband bunched awkwardly, creating a sagging, pumpkin-like silhouette, and the jacket’s shoulders drooped almost to his elbows, making it impossible to reveal his wrists without rolling up the sleeves again and again. Despite the awful getup, being given anything to cover himself felt oddly relieving after being left naked in that office.

When Round Face had been nearby, Nishizaki had been tense, bracing himself. But with some distance and a moment’s calm, the full exhaustion hit, making him feel like he might collapse. Whatever those foreigners had given him was probably speed, and now that it was wearing off, he was feeling the inevitable crash. Even knowing that the low would eventually pass didn’t make the current wave of misery any easier.

A strong gust sent the street trees along the main road swaying heavily.

“Cold out here,” muttered Sukajan Jacket, hunching against the wind. The faint scent of soy sauce wafted over from the exhaust vent of a nearby restaurant, but it was hard to tell if Nishizaki was hungry—his stomach was faintly aching, his mouth sore, and nausea still hovered under the surface.

“There he is.”

Sukajan Jacket jabbed Nishizaki roughly with his elbow. With his left eye still swollen shut, Nishizaki squinted his right eye, peering down the main street. A man in a black coat and suit was approaching from the direction of the station.

“That’s your lawyer buddy. Go on.”

Sukajan Jacket shoved Nishizaki so hard he staggered and nearly went down. Grabbing him by the scruff, Sukajan Jacket growled close to his ear. “We’ve been out here freezing for ages, and now you’re just standing around? Get moving.”

“I… I feel terrible. I don’t even know what to say to him…”

Honestly, Nishizaki couldn’t care less about Nagano. He just wanted to lie down, to escape this moment, this pain… If only he had something to make this stop. Something to make it all go away.

“You got anything on you?” he asked, voice shaky.

“Huh?” Sukajan Jacket frowned.

“Speed, heroin, whatever. If I can get a hit, I’ll snap right out of it…”

“You piece of shit. You think this is a joke?”

Sukajan Jacket grabbed him by the collar and sent him sprawling with a punch. Nishizaki tumbled from the alleyway out onto the main sidewalk, landing flat on his back. Before he could recover, Sukajan Jacket yanked him upright and hissed in his ear, “If you need an excuse, I’ll give you one. Scream for help, loud as you can.” He punctuated his words with hard punches to Nishizaki’s face. But no matter how hard he hit, Nishizaki couldn’t scream; he could barely get a sound out.

“Hey! What are you doing?” a sharp voice rang out, seconds before Sukajan Jacket’s fist crashed into Nishizaki’s left cheek. He crumpled sideways, a blunt impact radiating through his temple. His brain felt like it was rattling in his skull, and his vision went dark for a brief, terrifying moment.

"……"

…Something faint. A sound.

"……what……is……it…"

Like a poorly tuned radio, the words came in jagged fragments, static-filled and incomprehensible.

"Are you alright?"

When Nishizaki opened his eyes, his surroundings wavered, blurred between proximity and distance. Faces hovered above him, some close, some farther away. The closest one, leaning in, seemed oddly familiar, though he couldn’t quite recognize it.

"Can you hear me? If you can, please respond."

Through the fog in his mind, he managed to mumble, "Y-yeah…"

"You’ve hit your head. You need to go to a hospital for an examination, just in case."

"Wa… wait…"

He tried to sit up, but a dull, throbbing pain pierced through his skull. The nausea that had receded came rushing back in an overwhelming wave, and he vomited on the spot, though there was nothing left in his stomach but bitter stomach acid.

"I’m calling an ambulance immediately."

The edge of a smartphone came into view. Panic surged. Nishizaki reached out, grabbing at the hem of a coat. "N-no, stop! Don’t!"

A hospital was out of the question. If they took blood, if they found the drugs, it was over. He’d be arrested for sure.

"It’s for your safety—"

"Please! I’m begging you, don’t do it. Please… just… please…"

Clutching the coat's hem with trembling fingers, he pleaded. He couldn’t go to the hospital. He didn’t even have his insurance card. Everything felt too heavy, too much. He was exhausted. This is too much. Help me.

"…Wait a second, is that you… Nishizaki?"

The voice jolted him, and he lifted his head.

The man wore a neatly pressed pinstripe shirt, the kind that looked stiff with starch. A navy suit complemented by a gold badge gleamed on his chest. His short hair was clean and tidy, exuding a polished air.

“Who… are you?”

He didn’t recognize this man—or maybe he did, but refusing to acknowledge him was a point of pride. Nishizaki had nothing left to cling to, except the defiant shards of his dignity.

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