24: Memory

The playground gravel crunched under Tanuki’s sneakers as he tried to keep his head down. He was small for his age, wiry, with a mop of hair that always seemed to stick up no matter how much he tried to flatten it. It was recess, and he was drawing monsters in the dirt with a stick, imagining them as guardians that would one day protect him.

But today, the monsters weren’t enough.

Three older boys circled him, their shadows long in the afternoon sun. One kicked the stick out of his hand, sending it skittering across the gravel.

“Still playing make‑believe?” the tallest sneered. “What are you, a baby?”

“He’s too poor to buy toys so he has to imagine them.”

Tanuki’s stomach knotted. He wanted to answer, but his voice caught in his throat. He stared at the ground, hoping they’d get bored.

Another boy shoved him, hard enough that he stumbled. “Say something. Or are you too scared?”

Laughter. The kind that stung worse than the shove.

Tanuki clenched his fists. He wanted to fight back, but he was too small, too outnumbered. His chest burned with shame.

Then a voice cut through the noise.

“Hey!”

His sister’s voice.

She stormed across the playground, her ponytail bouncing, her eyes blazing. She was only a year older, but in that moment she seemed ten feet tall.

The boys froze.

She planted herself between Tanuki and the bullies, fists on her hips. “Don’t you have anything better to do,” she snapped. “Or are you looking for a fight? You know, you’ll have to say you either lost to a girl or you beat up a defenseless girl. Sounds like a lose-lose.”

The tallest boy scoffed, trying to recover his bravado. “We’re just messing around.”

“Messing around?” She stepped closer, her glare sharp enough to cut. “If I see you ‘messing around’ with him again, you’ll regret it.”

The boys muttered, shuffled, then slunk away, their laughter gone.

Tanuki stood frozen, his heart pounding. His sister turned to him, her expression softening.

“You okay?” she asked.

He nodded quickly, though his throat was tight. “Yeah.”

She crouched so they were eye‑level. “Don’t let them get to you. You’re better than they’ll ever be. They’re a bunch of no life idiots.”

Tanuki swallowed hard. “Thanks.”

She grinned, ruffling his hair, and gave him a warm embrace.

The bell rang, calling them back inside. But for Tanuki, the moment lingered. The sting of humiliation, the warmth of rescue, the promise that he wasn’t alone.

Years later, standing in the Lunar Coliseum with daggers in his hands and the world watching, he would remember that day. The blur of fear, the sharpness of her voice, the way she had stood between him and the ones who wanted to break him.

He missed her. The one who used to give him strength. The one who should have been in that audience too, cheering for him. He’d never felt so alone in front of so many eyes.