Chapter 3: Whatever it takes

In the present the school had called for everyone involved that day.

The conference room smelled of coffee and tension. The long table was filled with stern faces—school board members, the principal at the center, teachers on either side. Across from us, the bullies’ parents sat dressed in expensive suits, their voices sharp and dripping with entitlement.

“This school will face legal action,” one of the fathers barked, pointing an accusing finger at Kiro. “Your student unleashed a brutal assault on our children. You call this a safe environment?”

I wanted to scream. To tell them what their children had done to me, to show them the bruises I still hid under my sleeves. But my voice stuck in my throat. The mothers dabbed at their eyes with tissues, while their children—bandaged, sulking—sat there with no remorse at all.

The principal finally stood, his voice like steel.

“Enough. I’ve reviewed the testimonies. I’ve seen the evidence. Your children instigated this. They bullied, humiliated, and physically assaulted another student. That will not be tolerated in my school.”

For the first time, I felt like someone was on our side. I squeezed Kiro’s hand under the table, relief trembling in my grip.

But then the board spoke, their tone careful, almost apologetic.

“Still, the fight itself… was beyond what we can condone. Witnesses testified it was too brutal. As much as Kiro’s actions were in defense of his sister, his methods went too far.”

My heart stopped.

The principal’s jaw tightened, but he couldn’t fight the decision.

“Kiro, you are hereby expelled. Along with the students responsible for the bullying.”

I gasped, eyes wide. Expelled? My gaze darted to my brother, desperate for him to protest—but he only lowered his eyes. Silent. Carrying it all like he always did.

And then—

A rough cough broke the tension.

Old Man Totsu rose from the back of the room, arms crossed, his weathered face harder than stone. He had been silent until now, but his voice cracked through the air like thunder.

“You people make me sick.”

The parents turned, scandalized. “And who are you supposed to be?” one father snapped.

“The Father of these children,” Father replied, without hesitation. “The one who picked them up when your precious society left them to starve. The one who knows their story better than any of you sitting here in your pretty suits.”

My chest burned. Father. He said it like he meant it.

He stepped forward, cane thudding against the polished floor. “You talk about rules, about safety. Where were those rules when Miya was beaten in your halls? Where was this concern for safety when your spoiled brats cornered her, day after day?”

The parents flinched. Even the board members shifted uncomfortably.

The principal’s voice followed, steadier than before. “The boy's guardian is right. Kiro’s actions may have crossed a line, but it was a line forced on him. If the system had done its job, if the bullying had been stopped sooner—this would never have happened.”

Father’s gaze swept the room like a blade. “Do what you want with your decisions. Expel him, blacklist him, threaten lawsuits—it doesn’t matter. You think an education from this place defines his worth? That boy works harder than any of your pampered children ever will. He’ll rise higher than all of you, and it won’t be because of your money. It’ll be because of his own hands.”

The room froze.

I couldn’t stop the tears that slipped down my cheeks. Because in that moment, I realized: it wasn’t just me and Kiro anymore. Father was standing there too. He was with us.

The board dismissed us soon after, too shaken to drag the meeting further. As we left, the principal caught my brother’s eye. His voice softened.

“You did nothing wrong protecting her. Don’t let anyone convince you otherwise.”

And then, behind him, Father smirked faintly. His voice was rough, but steady.

“Come on, kids. Let’s go home. We’ve got better things to do than waste time with animals.”

*Kiro's POV*

The room froze under Father’s voice. Even the board members, who moments ago hid behind polite neutrality, sat straighter.

One of the mothers scoffed. “You? Their father? You’re just an old man. These children need discipline, not coddling.”

Father's cane struck the floor with a crack. “And what have you given them? Bruises? Shame? The kind of pain that rots a child from the inside?” His eyes narrowed, sharp as blades. “You should be on your knees begging forgiveness—not for your children, but for yourselves.”

The parents sputtered, their arrogance shrinking inch by inch. Father had no money, no prestige—but his words cut through their gilded armor better than any blade.

I watched, silent, as the room bent around his presence. My chest swelled with something I hadn’t let myself feel in a long time—pride. Pride that someone stood for us, not out of obligation, not for appearances, but because we were his.

When he finished, the board shuffled, murmurs rising. The decision had already been made—I was out. Expelled. A danger to the school’s “reputation.”

I stood slowly, my chair scraping against the floor. All eyes followed me, waiting for me to fight, to argue, to shout. But I didn’t give them the satisfaction.

I turned to the principal—the only man in this room who’d tried to speak truth, even if his voice was drowned out.

I bowed low, not to the parents, not to the board. Only to him.

“Thank you,” I said quietly, my voice firm. “For protecting my sister.”

Miya’s grip tightened on my sleeve, her tears flowing freely as I straightened. Father’s hand rested briefly on my shoulder, steady and grounding, before he turned to lead us out.

We walked together, the three of us—an old man with a cane, a trembling girl, and me. Not beaten. Not broken. A family.

The little house was quiet, lit only by the dim glow of an oil lamp. Miya’s soft sobs carried from her futon, muffled but impossible to miss.

Father shuffled in with his cane, settling down beside us with a grunt. “Oi, girl,” he said, his voice rough but warm. “Cry any harder and you’ll flood the place. I’m too old to swim.”

Miya hiccupped, peeking out from her blanket with red, puffy eyes. “F-Father…!”

I couldn’t help it—I chuckled. “He’s right, you’ll ruin the tatami at this rate.

She sniffled, glaring half-heartedly. “Y-you’re both mean!”

Father leaned on his cane, smirking. “Mean? You think this is mean? Hah. Back in my day, if a boy defended his sister, the whole village would’ve thrown a feast. And here you are, crying like someone died.”

Miya puffed her cheeks, torn between anger and embarrassment. “I’m not crying that much…”

I raised a brow. “Really? Should I bring a bucket?”

Her glare turned on me, but the corner of her lips twitched. Father chuckled, a deep rumble from his chest. “There it is,” he said, reaching out to pat her head. “That’s the smile I wanted to see. Tears don’t suit you, girl. Laughter does.”

Finally, Miya broke. A small laugh slipped out, then another, until she was giggling through the last of her tears.

I ruffled her hair, grinning. “See? That’s better. Besides, crybaby or not—you’re still my little sister.”

“Mm-hmm!” Father added with a teasing grin. “And as long as you’ve got us, no board of stuffed shirts or pompous parents can touch you.”

The three of us sat together in that tiny room, the day’s weight finally lifting. For the first time since the fight, it felt like home again—not just a house, but a place where we could breathe, laugh, and be family.

The Next Day

The garden smelled of wet earth and faint blossoms, a small patch of calm against the storm of yesterday. I sat on the worn bench, the wood rough beneath my palms, staring at the sky that had no answers for me.

Aoi’s footsteps crunched softly on the gravel path before she appeared, her presence always carrying warmth. She sat beside me without a word at first, folding her hands neatly in her lap. For a while, we just listened to the wind rustle the leaves.

Then she spoke, her voice gentle but steady.

“Kiro… what’s your plan now?”

I let out a slow breath. The truth wasn’t hard to say—it was heavy, but simple.

“I’ll give up on becoming a doctor. From now on, I’ll just work. Until Miya can stand on her own… until she gets married, I’ll support her. And I’ll take care of Father, since he can’t run the shop anymore.”

Aoi turned, searching my face, her brows knitting. “And me?”

I blinked at her. “What do you mean?”

Her hand reached for mine, small and soft but gripping tight, refusing to let go. “What about me, Kiro? Where am I in that picture you're painting?”

My chest tightened. I wanted to hold her hand back, but instead I stared at the ground, forcing the words out.

“Aoi… forget about me. I’m not worth it. You have a bright life ahead of you—a career, a future. If you tie yourself to me, you’ll only ruin that. I won’t let you throw away your dreams for me.”

Her grip only grew firmer. Her stubbornness had always been both her charm and her curse. She leaned in until her head rested on my shoulder, her voice soft but unyielding.

“Then I’ll follow you. I’ll follow you now, just like I always have.”

The words lodged in my chest, heavier than any burden I’d carried before. I couldn’t respond—not without breaking something inside me. So I just sat there, letting the silence hold us, her warmth pressing against the cold wall I’d built around myself.

Later That Night

The glow of my phone screen lit the dark room. My thumbs hovered over the keyboard for a long time before the words finally took shape:

“Aoi… I don’t see a future with anyone. Forget about me. People like me… we’re meant to be alone.”

I hit send before I could take it back.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Eventually she stopped visiting.

A Few Months Later

No matter how many hours I put in, it was never enough. The bills piled higher, the shop bled money, and Miya’s school expenses loomed over me like a mountain I could never climb. I worked every shift I could find—fights, sparring sessions, delivery jobs—but even with my body refusing to feel fatigue, I couldn’t bend the world’s math in our favor.

One night at the gym, after another round of sparring, a coworker tossed me a towel and gave me a long look.

“You’re killing yourself, man. I know a way you can make real money. Quick.”

I shot him a wary glance. “What kind of job?”

He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Private clients. Fancy hotels. They pay a fortune for one night of… company.”

I froze, towel half-raised. I didn’t need him to spell it out.

He clapped my shoulder. “Think about it. With your build? With that face? You’d be set. No shame in it—plenty of people do it.”

I should’ve said no. Should’ve walked away right there. But the image of Miya’s smile when she got her new laptop flashed in my mind. The thought of Father quietly counting coins to keep the shop alive gnawed at me.

“…Set it up,” I said.

Fast forward, I was standing outside a very fancy hotel. I felt out of place.

The room was warm,  bright, carrying a very sweet scent of roses and expensive perfume. I sat stiffly on the edge of the bed, shirt clutched in my hands.

The woman who entered carried herself like she had stepped out of another era—poised, elegant, with a beauty that still lingered despite age. She looked like a retired actress, the kind people whispered about but never forgot.

She smiled faintly. “You must be nervous. Don’t be. I’m not here to hurt you.”

When she slipped out of her dress, I swallowed hard. Her figure was graceful, dignified even in its vulnerability. She approached, trailing a finger along my arm.

“I just want comfort,” she whispered. “I was married once, but that’s over. I’m alone now. And you—” her eyes flicked down, widening, a laugh of disbelief escaping her lips. “You’re… quite impressive.”

A thick stack of bills landed on the table with a decisive slap. “All of this is yours. Just stay with me tonight.”

The sight of that money made my pulse quicken. Tuition. Food. Medicine. Everything. The solution to my problems laid onto the table, and all I had to do was spend one night with a person of such caliber. It was a win-win situation. A no brainer.

She leaned in closer, her perfume heavy, intoxicating. Her hands slid along my chest, her lips nearing mine. “No one has to know. Just give me this.”

My mind screamed: Do it. Take the money. End this. My body tensed, ready to give in.

And then—

A flash.

Aoi’s laughter, stubborn and bright. Her hand gripping mine in the garden. Her voice, steady even through tears: “I followed you then, and I’ll follow you now.”

I froze, heart lurching.

Why now? I cursed inwardly. Why her, now of all times?

The woman’s touch lingered, waiting. But my strength cracked. I pulled away, sudden and sharp.

“I… can’t.” My voice was raw, almost broken. “I’m sorry.”

I grabbed my shirt and bolted. The money, untouched, stayed on the table.

The night air hit like ice, but it didn’t clear the shame burning in my chest. I staggered onto the quiet street, breath heavy.

And then I saw him.

Under the flicker of a lamppost, leaning on his cane, was Father.

His eyes were steady. Not angry. Not surprised. Just heavy—disappointment carved into every line of his weathered face.

I froze, guilt crushing me harder than any fist ever had.

For the first time since I was a child, I couldn’t meet my father’s eyes.

I slammed the door shut harder than I meant to, the sound echoing through the house. My hands were still trembling as I kicked off my boots. The smell of old wood and Father’s tea drifted through the hallway like nothing had changed—but everything had.

Father sat at the table, back straight, cane resting against his chair. His eyes flicked to me the moment I stepped in. He could always read me before I spoke.

“You’re late,” he said quietly.

“I had to… talk to someone,” I muttered. My throat felt dry. I sat down across from him, staring at my hands. “They offered me a job. Good money. More than I’ve ever seen.”

Father’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of job?”

I hesitated, my fists curling on the table. “The kind that makes you hate yourself after.”

His face darkened. “You even thought about it?” His voice rose, deep and heavy. “My boy, don’t you dare dirty your hands with that kind of filth. No amount of money will wash the shame from your heart.”

Something in me snapped. “And what then, Father?” I shot up from my chair, palms slamming the wood. “You think candy pays the bills? You think patchwork jobs will cover Miya’s tuition, her computer, her dreams? Sometimes it’s not about what’s right, it’s about what’s needed.”

His gaze sharpened, but his voice stayed cold. “No. That’s what desperate men tell themselves right before they throw their souls away.”

I pounded my chest, my voice breaking. “Then whose soul do you want me to throw away, huh? Miya’s? Yours? I already gave up school, gave up my future. I’m fine with that. But I won’t let them give up theirs!”

For a moment, Father said nothing. The weight of my own words rang through the kitchen. I could hear Miya’s faint breathing from her room.

Father’s face shifted, the hardness cracking just enough to show pain. “You’re not fine, Kiro,” he said, quieter now. “You think because your body doesn’t break, your heart won’t either? Those animals who would separate children from their family already tried to break you once.” His voice wavered. “Don’t do their job for them.”

I froze. My throat tightened, but no words came out.

He gripped his cane like it was the only thing holding him steady. “You’re my son. And you will not sacrifice yourself like you’re worthless. Not while I still draw breath.”

The words cut deeper than any wound. All my anger bled out, leaving just the shame and the ache I’d been trying to bury.

I lowered my head. “…Father…”

But I couldn’t say anything else.

I couldn’t look him in the eye anymore. My chest felt too tight, my fists shaking with words I couldn’t spit out. The kitchen suddenly felt too small, too suffocating.

“I can’t just sit here and wait for miracles,” I muttered, my voice low but sharp. “If you won’t let me do what it takes, then I’ll find my own way.”

“Kiro—”

“Enough, please Father.” My chair screeched against the floor as I shoved it back. I grabbed my jacket, not even caring where I was going. I just needed to get out before I said something I couldn’t take back.

The door slammed behind me, the night air biting at my skin. I could still hear Father’s voice in my head—You’re my son. You will not sacrifice yourself like you’re worthless.

But the truth was, that’s exactly how I felt. Worthless.

So I ran outside. Fast. Trying to leave it all behind, even though it followed me with every step. 

I met Miya, by the door and she called out to me, I didn't budge and kept going, no destination, just somewhere, I could think.