Side Story II : Only Youthful Scars (II)

“Haru! Haru! Haru!”

Voices thick with panic pierced through the large door that stood between Haru’s room and outside.

Heavy and quick footsteps drew closer, and the door snapped open in one strong push, dragging Haru awake.

“Haru!” his father exclaimed, his figure trembling as he grasped on the door knob. “What happened here?!”

Haru pauses for a moment, trying to register the hurry.

As he went down, his heart stopped.

The house was in chaos.

Like their home was hit by a tornado.

The living room—once pristine—was a wreck. Cabinets and dividers were yanked open. Papers and folders scattered. Figurines and vases overturned, furniture displaced.

The kitchen was no different.

Shattered glass crunched under Kenji’s shoes as he took a sharp step forward, surveying the destruction.

He turned at the windows, and it's clear that it's where the forced entry was initiated.

And in the middle of it all—

Shion lay motionless on the floor, her crimson hair spread like a broken halo around her. Her limbs are twisted in unnatural angles, and some internal wirings are exposed.

Haru stood frozen in the entryway, his breath shallow. His body refused to move, his mind unwilling to register what he was seeing.

His mother’s voice snapped through the air, raw and panicked.

“Shion—Shion!”

Fumi stumbled forward, hands trembling as she knelt beside the android, pressing a desperate hand against Shion’s unmoving chest. A low, broken mechanical whir buzzed from her form, sparks flickering from exposed wiring at her side.

“F-fumi-sama, don't touch me…I'm overheating…”

Fumi ignored her, brushing strands of hair away from Shion’s still-glowing eyes. “Is your core still intact? Can you move?”

A long pause. Then—

“Yes…Fumi-sama.” Shion’s lips parted slightly, static crackling from within. “But I think some of my functions are compromised…”

“She’s not drifting, Fumi. She’s safe.” as Kenji assessed her.

“Let’s check for significant damages.” Fumi responded, helping her up.

Kenji knelt beside them, his expression grim as he examined the damage. “Your stabilizer is still intact,” he muttered, pressing his fingers to the panel at her side. He let out a slow breath. “No fatal errors. Reset GUI is auto-locked, maybe because of wild password guesses.”

A sharp metallic crunch echoed as he popped Shion’s dislocated shoulder back into place.

"Apologies, Kenji-sama…" Her voice was softer than usual, weaker, words glitching in and out. “I wasn't able to defend your home…"

“Do not stress about it.” He argued, “Your duty was to serve our family, but not to the point of trading it for your own life.”

A sickening weight settled in Haru’s stomach.

He had the power, the capability, the courage to repel them but tonight, he was the clear loser.

He was caught off guard.

And now—

His home was torn apart. His parents were horrified. His Sentinel, the one who had been with him through everything, was already on the verge of being incapacitated.

He clenched his fists, his breathing erratic. His body shook, but whether from anger or regret, he couldn’t tell.

His eyes land on a piece of black cloth caught on a sharp glass shard from the broken windows.

It was still recognizable, and painfully familiar.

A ripped part of a hoodie.

His heart sank, anger and frustration brewing in like a storm within him.

That alone reminded him where it belonged.

The group of delinquents he called his ‘friends’. His allies, his brothers that fought with him against their rivals.

He made a fool of himself. He was tricked. He was stabbed from behind.

The realizations came heavy, gluing his feet on the shards of glass beneath them.

This was his fault.

He had been followed.

He had let those bastards know not just where he lived, but also the weaknesses and entry points of their security.

It not just wasn’t him on the line. Shion too, and his family.

They brought him the best of what life has to offer, and now he brought them danger in return.

Kenji turned to him sharply. “Haru.” His voice was stern, edged with something unreadable.

Haru flinched.

His father’s gaze bore into him, unrelenting. “Who did this?”

Haru opened his mouth—then closed it.

What was he supposed to say?

That he had been reckless? That he had gotten caught up in fights that spiraled beyond his control? That he thought throwing himself into danger would finally make his parents pay attention?

That he never imagined it would come to this?

His friends—betraying him?

Fumi’s head snapped toward him. “Who were they, Haru?” she asked, voice tight. “Did they follow you home?”

Haru couldn’t answer.

That was enough of an answer.

His own feet took control, moving him back to his room wordlessly. Every scolding and questions faded into the background, leaving only him and the voices in his head telling him how weak he was, unforgiving and unstoppable.

***

The next day, without even a second of sleep, and without even the sun rising, Haru was already fully armed.

A hoodie. A mask. Black gloves.

He didn’t feel fatigue and exhaustion, let alone the desire to sleep. It was only anger fueling him forward.

He had spent the entire night staring at the ceiling, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles constantly rounded.

He had been weak, careless and naive.

And because of that, his family had paid the price.

He wouldn’t let it happen again.

He moved with quiet precision, slipping through the house like a shadow. Every step is fueled by a burning sense of purpose.

As he reached for the front door, ready to disappear into the streets, something stopped him.

His parents’ voices.

They were loud.

Arguing, even.

Chill ran down his spine, gluing him on the spot.

And he listened.

“Do you even hear yourself?!” The voice of his father was louder than usual, almost breaking. “You’re the lead researcher! The greatest resource our company has!”

"Kenji," his mother replied, voice steady, resolute. "My decision’s final. I’m leaving the lab."

Her words slammed into the house like a bomb, leading to a total pause.

“…What?” Kenji’s voice was stiff. “Fumi, we are on the brink of completing Project A2—do you understand that?”

“I do.”

“So tell me why are you acting like this all of a sudden?! After this, we might start breaking ground for Sentinel permanence, evolution—”

"I don’t care."

Her voice was sharp, cutting through the space between them like a knife. “I’d rather have impermanent androids than a son who is lost.”

The argument paused briefly.

“That is not fair, Fumi.” Kenji's voice was low and defeated.

“What is not fair here is how we ignored our own son’s change just because we cared too much for something that we didn’t even create in the first place!” Fumi responded, tone sharp and determined. “I hated that I ignored him. I hated that I ignored the changes. I hated how he looked at Shion lying on the floor, broken, and didn't even react. Nothing! Haru used to be kind and gentle, Kenji!”

Right. He used to be.

Used to beg to donate his own toys to orphanages.

Used to help her arrange her research notes.

Used to make breakfast for Shion, even though she didn’t need food.

“Fumi, I—”

“No.” Fumi left out a bitter chuckle. “I have spent half of my life researching Sentinels and I already forgot to be a parent to him. I cannot lose him, Kenji. I cannot let him spiral into that world he currently thrives on.”

A long stretch of silence ensues in the house.

Muffled sobs. Probably from his mother.

At the same time, a lump started to form on Haru’s throat.

They just wanted them to care.

Now they did, but the damage is already done.

"Was I a failure of a parent, Kenji?"

Haru's teeth gritted from walls across, the tight grip on the doorknob never relaxing.

"You are not—"

"But why do I feel like one? Haru is already distant! Do you even remember the last time he hugged you, Kenji? The last time he wanted to?”

A pause. 

"...I don't."

"That's it! Because neither do I. Those...those people...they called us gods, yet we can't even be  proper parents to him. That's why I'm leaving everything. I hate to think that I had attended research conventions before I could appear in his parent-teacher meeting. I hate to—"

“I trust you, Fumi."

Kenji’s voice was quieter now, laced with something almost vulnerable. "You'll bring him back, right?"

"...We will."

Haru's face was streaked with tears. Realizing this, he blinked them all away.

Right before he could get swallowed whole by his guilt, he heaved a deep and long sigh.

“There’s no need to sacrifice. It’s a mess I created, so I’ll fix it myself.” Haru whispered, much to himself as he slowly pulled the door open.

He exhaled sharply once more as he pulled it close.

To him, this won’t stop just by repelling and defending.

He must bring the war back to his so-called friends and finish what he started.

***

Above him were dark skies, a reflection of his own heart—if he ever had one right now.

The streets were cold and empty.

Above all, Silent. Save for the constant high-pitched buzz of cicadas and Haru’s own footsteps, steady and unrelenting.

The abandoned house stood at the edge of the district, half-swallowed by vines and rubbish. Its windows were shattered, its doors barely hanging on their hinges.

He once laughed in this room, huddled. Made brothers. Fought.

But today, bodies will fall and soldiers will cry.

And inside—a busy conversation filled with constant rough laughter.

There are people inside, patiently waiting.

The same bastards who tore his home apart.

The moment he stepped into the threshold, a dozen red-rimmed eyes snapped toward him.

Tension thickened the air.

Some sat hunched over, looking as sleepless as he felt. Others leaned against broken furniture, smoke curling from cheap cigarettes. A few snickered under their breath, their voices low and mocking.

“Howdy, little soldier. On a mission today?” a familiar voice drawled.

Haru’s gaze flicked toward the one who spoke. A guy with greasy hair and a hoodie far too familiar—the same fabric he found dangling from his broken window.

The tears are still intact through the fabric.

“Tch, not gonna speak, are we?” He followed up.

One delinquent chimed in. “Maybe some rival punks stole his candies and he wants us along.”

A chorus of nasty laughter echoed in the room.

Haru’s fingers twitched, and he found himself standing against people years ahead of him.

The guy smirked. “What? Gonna cry ‘cause we messed up your pretty little house?”

“Or is it about that maid of yours?” Another let out a low whistle. “Shame we didn’t get a better look at her before she broke.”

“We should’ve stolen that metal crap. Sentinels cost around 20 million yen each at the black market.”

Laughter again rippled through the group, thin and cruel.

Haru didn’t react.

Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t speak.

He just moved.

His bat collided with the smirking guy’s face so hard that something cracked.

A sharp yell, followed by a sickening thud as the guy’s body hit the floor.

“Tch, that’s a nasty hit.” He remarked, wiping his own lips. “It’s goddamn real that this measly kiddie can beat shit.”

The room exploded into chaos.

Someone lunged—Haru ducked. His bat drove into a gut, forcing out a strangled gasp before he pushed the guy into a splintered table.

Another one rushed him.

He sidestepped, grabbing the guy’s arm and twisting—a scream, a pop, a snap.

The others hesitated now, their drunken confidence faltering.

But Haru wasn’t done.

His body moved on pure instinct—fueled by rage, by guilt, by the burning need to make them pay.

A fist flew toward his face. He moved against it.

Another tried to grab him from behind. Haru spun and swung his weapon straight into the bastard’s ribs.

He just left them incapacitated, but never took them down. He wanted the fight to be longer, to be more painful, to be more enjoyable.

So his revenge leads to better satisfaction.

He is fighting against the best young delinquents, after all. And they are still his so-called ‘allies’.

But the fight was too easy.

Too predictable.

Too—

Shwick.

Haru’s eyes widened, registering a centered pain he had never felt before.

Beneath the glinting metal was red.

It buried itself into Haru's sides, just beneath his ribs.

He gasped, stomach coiling in pain.

The room tilted.

His body locked up, his limbs suddenly heavy. His fingers trembled, reaching toward the blade now lodged in him.

The laughter returned.

“Should’ve watched your back, rich boy.”

An agonizing twinge shot through his body as he pulled the knife off his flesh. But Haru didn't blink and didn't groan.

He just gazed at the knife in his hands painted red, too hungry to bring justice.

The pain turned into fire, spreading through his body. His knees wobbled, but he never let weakness take control.

He staggered.

And turned.

Raised his weapon, and it planted itself towards the snickering man that stabbed him. Blood erupted from his shoulder.

And with a final blow to his nose, he was gone in one strike.

This time, Haru put weight and power into it. If he’s going to die today, he’ll make sure he brings them with him.

Behind him, the delinquent bastards watched in spectacle.

“No way…this kid is already mortally wounded…”

He turned around, and the remaining gangsters flinched in hesitation

Haru tightened his grip on the baseball bat, and they were burning to bring justice.

The coppery taste of blood coated his tongue, but he swallowed it down, forcing his body to move, to fight.

A whirlwind of movements ensued, along with the sound of bones breaking and men screaming.

Around him, the shadows started to fall down.

And he was the only one left standing.

No one cheered. No one stood. Only the wind through the broken windows spoke now.

Because that is his only end-game.

A resolution worn from scars.