The alleyway behind the arcade was always freezing, even in the middle of summer.
The second Reian stepped off the brightly lit main street, the noise of the city—the traffic, the laughter, the neon signs—just died.
It felt like someone had slapped a pair of heavy, noise-canceling headphones over his ears.
The only light came from a single, buzzing yellow streetlamp fixed high up on a cracked brick wall.
It flickered rhythmically, casting long, sketchy shadows over stacks of broken wooden pallets and overflowing commercial dumpsters.
Reian shoved his hands deep into his uniform pockets, his sneakers clicking softly against the damp concrete.
He just wanted to get home, wash the chemical soot off his face, and eat whatever discount food Flame brought back.
He hadn’t even made it halfway through the shortcut when the shadows ahead shifted.
Three guys stepped out from a dark doorway, completely blocking the narrow exit.
Reian stopped dead in his tracks.
His stomach dropped, and every single instinct in his body screamed at him to run.
They weren’t high schoolers.
They were older, wearing dirty leather jackets, and had that casual, predatory look of people who spent their lives looking for an easy target to rob.
The guy in the middle—clearly the leader—stepped into the dim yellow light.
He had a jagged, nasty scar running along his jawline.
He looked at Reian’s neat school uniform and let out a cold, mocking laugh, cracking his knuckles with a loud, sickening pop.
“Hey there, schoolboy.
End of the line,” Scarface sneered, taking a slow step forward.
“You’re trespassing in our spot.
And around here, there’s a toll for using the shortcut.”
Reian’s heart started hammering violently against his ribs.
A cold sweat broke out across the back of his neck.
He instinctively took a step back, intending to just turn around and bolt toward the main street—but he froze.
The other two thugs had already quietly circled around behind him.
He was completely cornered.
Trapped like an animal.
“Look, I don’t want any trouble,” Reian said, trying his best to keep his voice from shaking.
He held his hands up so they could see he wasn’t a threat.
“I don’t have anything valuable on me.
My brother and I…
we’re just orphans.
We live in the cheap apartments down the block.
I don’t carry cash.
I don’t even have a wallet.”
“Do we look like we care about your pathetic little life story, kid?” one of the thugs behind him barked, letting out a harsh laugh.
“Every rich schoolboy says the same thing.
Empty your pockets.
Wallet, phone, whatever you’ve got.
Move it before we make you move.”
“I’m telling the truth!” Reian insisted, his back hitting the cold, rough brick wall.
The leader’s eyes went completely dead.
He didn’t waste any more words.
Moving with a practiced, brutal swiftness, he lunged forward and drove a heavy, unforgiving fist straight into Reian’s stomach.
Oof!
The air rushed out of Reian’s lungs in a violent gasp.
The pain was white-hot and immediate, exploding through his core.
The sheer force of the blow threw him against the wall before his legs completely gave out.
He collapsed onto the dirty concrete, curling tightly into a ball to protect his ribs.
“Look at him, he’s pathetic,” the leader spat.
“Check his bag.”
Before Reian could even breathe, heavy boots began kicking ruthlessly into his side, his shoulders, and his back.
Every hit felt like a hammer striking iron, bruising his skin and leaving him gasping for air in the dirt.
Through the blinding, agonizing haze of pain, a desperate spark of survival flared up inside him.
Reian’s right hand blindly, frantically slipped into the inner pocket of his school jacket.
His trembling fingers brushed against his mobile phone.
He didn’t dare pull it out; if they saw it, they’d smash it.
Relying entirely on muscle memory, he squeezed the phone inside his pocket and held down the number ‘1’ key.
His speed-dial.
Flame.
The phone gave a tiny, hidden vibration.
The call was through.
Reian opened his mouth, a choked, bloody cough escaping his lips as another boot slammed into his shoulder.
He forced his voice through the agony, whispering desperately toward the hidden microphone.
“Flame…
help…
near the arcade…
the alley…”
Inside the warm, bright convenience store, Flame was standing in front of the dairy aisle, completely relaxed.
He was scanning the shelves for a discount, casually reaching out to grab a carton of milk, wondering if they had enough coins left for a couple of instant ramen bowls.
Suddenly, the phone in his trousers pocket began to vibrate violently.
Flame raised an eyebrow, pulling it out.
He flicked it open, fully expecting Reian to be whining about him taking too long.
But the moment he pressed the phone to his ear, his entire body went rigid.
“Flame…
help…
near the arcade…
the alley…”
Reian’s voice was barely a whisper over the small speaker, weak and broken, instantly followed by the sickening sound of a heavy physical impact, a desperate gasp for air, and the distant, echoing laughter of unfamiliar men.
In a fraction of a second, the relaxed high school student completely vanished.
Flame’s posture straightened, every muscle in his body instantly locking into place like a coiled spring.
His eyes turned terrifyingly cold, sharp, and focused, flashing with a sudden, lethal intensity.
He didn’t think twice.
He didn’t pause to pay, and he didn’t care about the store rules.
Flame’s fingers tightened around the carton of milk, and then, without a word, he just let it go.
The carton dropped straight to the floor, bursting open and splashing white liquid across the polished tiles.
Before the store clerk could even open his mouth to yell, Flame bolted.
He hit the sliding glass doors at an impossible speed, bursting out into the evening air like a demon unleashed from hell.
Hope you enjoyed the second chapter!