The Weight of Inferiority

[S.S.U. Headquarters – Three Days Later]

Three days had passed since the Union ended Saku's rampage. They brought him into their headquarters for treatment, along with Kanae and Takeru.

Since Kanae had only been knocked out, she woke up the next morning. Takeru had woken long before her, and he asked for permission to use the S.S.U.’s Combat Facility. Fortunately, they agreed.

Takeru trained continuously for two days without rest, until Shintaro finally told him to take a break. He listened, rested for a while, and then made his way to the fifth floor — the Rehabilitation Center.

He stepped out of the elevator and sauntered down a hallway lined with rehabilitation rooms. He stopped at Room 5, standing in front of its massive glass window.

The room had a futuristic atmosphere, filled with state-of-the-art technology designed to restore a supernatural’s health. Saku lay unconscious on the bed. He had been asleep for three days straight.

Takeru stood there with a deep frown, his hollow eyes narrowing as he stared at Saku’s still form. Suddenly, the soft ding of the elevator echoed through the hall. 

Kanae stepped out, holding a bouquet of flowers. A small white bandage sat on her cheek. As she walked across the hall, she spotted Takeru standing motionless.

“Takeru?” Kanae said, surprised.

He turned and saw her walking toward him. His frown deepened, but sadness flickered in his eyes as he noticed her bandage. Without a word, Takeru trudged past her. Step, step, step. His footsteps echoed against the walls, the glass floor reflecting his figure.

“Takeru, wait,” Kanae murmured, concern filling her voice as she turned to him. “Why do you hate Saku so much? You two used to be best friends… didn’t you?”

He stopped. His jaw tightened for a moment before he forced himself to calm down.

“I’m sorry for hurting you a few days ago. It wasn’t my intention. And… I want you to know you’re the person I respect the most. I admire how passionate you are, how strong you are — both in mind and spirit. But that doesn’t give you the right to ask me anything you want. Even if I told you, you wouldn’t understand. So there’s no point.”

Takeru growled softly, his fist clenching. Kanae’s voice dropped to a whisper.

“You and I used to be close too… but for some reason, we grew distant. You shouldn’t carry all your emotions alone. Let us help you through your fru—”

“You can’t help me… no one can!” Takeru snapped, his fists shaking.

“How can we help if you won’t let us?! Takeru, I want to support you. I want to see the strong young boy who used to smile and laugh — the one who showed us the world in a new light—”

“He’s dead and gone.”

A figure turned the corner across the hallway and approached them, his bright smile contrasting the tense air. It was Kaneki Nakanishi.

Kaneki tilted his head. “What’s this? A lover’s spat?”

“Like hell it is, asshole. Who even are you?”

“Careful, kid. That mouth of yours is gonna get you in trouble one day. Name’s Kaneki. Nakanishi Kaneki.”

“Whatever. I’m leaving.”

Takeru muttered this as he stepped into the elevator. After he vanished behind the doors, Kaneki glanced at Kanae with a small smile.

“So… are you two actually lovers or…?”

“No, we’re not. He’s just my childhood friend.”

“Oh, I see… Well, I guess it’s true — the childhood friend always loses, no matter what.” His smile remained, but his voice softened. He gently placed a hand on her shoulder. “Listen. You shouldn’t let him be alone. From the look on his face, that kid’s hiding a lot of pain behind that frown. If you’re his friend, then you should be the one to cheer him up. Alright?”

Kanae nodded. Kaneki headed for the elevator, waving a hand lightly as he left. Kanae pushed open the door to Room 5, and it hissed shut behind her.

Meanwhile, Takeru was already on the third floor, his mind drifting into old memories. As he walked through the dimly lit white halls, the world around him blurred and dissolved into white.

*****

[Seven Years Ago]

He was ten years old again, sitting beside ten-year-old Saku on the polished wooden floors of the Mizuno dojo. Saku was stuffing his face with cake while Takeru stared at him in exaggerated disgust.

“You do know we’re not supposed to bring food in here, right?”

“I don’t care. If it’s cake, I’ll bring it anywhere. And it’s not like they’ll know — unless you snitch. Are you gonna snitch on me?” Saku shot him a sharp look.

“What? No, of course not. I’m just saying your older brother will get angry if he finds out. Although at this point, he'll figure out it was you.” Takeru stood up, smiling. “You have a weird obsession with cake, dude. It’s kinda freaky.”

“Did you just call me a freak? I’ll get you for that!”

Saku stood up and stretched his cream-covered hands toward Takeru. He staggered forward dramatically, closing in.

“W-What are you doing?”

“I’m gonna punish you for calling me a freak. Prepare to face the wrath of the Sugar Monster…”

“Saku, don’t you dare!” Takeru backed away. But Saku didn’t care. He charged toward him, ready to smear cream all over him.

Takeru dodged and sprinted for the door, but Saku caught him before he could escape the dojo. He wiped his sugary hands across Takeru’s face, covering him completely.

Saku looked at him — and burst into uncontrollable laughter. His teeth showed as he laughed with pure amusement.

“You jerk,” Takeru grumbled before tackling Saku to the floor. He wiped cream off his own face and smeared it all over Saku’s. “Now we’re even.”

They froze for a moment — then burst into laughter, their voices overlapping like two engines racing each other.

They were the best of friends. They would’ve been inseparable if not for the feud between their fathers. Saku could only see Takeru once a week, and only because he came to train at the Mizuno dojo.

Even with the distance, they remained an unbeatable duo. During team sparring matches, they won effortlessly. They were prodigies.

Takeru was a kickboxing master at age ten, while Saku, trained in multiple martial arts, was a mixed-martial-arts genius. 

They were exceptional kids — but still kids. Winning mattered less to them than having fun. But their fathers disagreed.

A few days before Takeru’s next visit to the dojo, his father summoned him. Takeru slid open the traditional door and entered, kneeling in place.

His father sat facing the wall, his back turned. His voice was low and heavy.

“Takeru… your sister is dead. She was killed in battle.”

Takeru froze. His tired eyes widened as his lips parted. W-h-a-t? He thought, tears pricking at his eyes.

“She was simply too weak. She has brought shame upon the Akakawa family. Do not follow in her footsteps. You will restore honor by defeating the youngest son of the Mizuno family. Do I make myself clear?”

“B-But Father—”

His father’s voice deepened as it turned much, much darker.

“Do I make myself clear?!”

“Yes, Father. I will do as you wish.”

Takeru stood and left. He walked into his room down the hall — and collapsed. His knees buckled, his bottom lip trembling, his body slumping.

He fell forward onto his hands, tears dripping onto the floor. His vision blurred, his breath shaking.

“There’s… there’s no way… she can’t be gone… I won’t accept it… I won’t accept it…”

His tears overflowed, his quiet sobs turning loud. His fists curled as he pressed his forehead to the floor, as if begging the gods to give her back.

“Why… why, Onee-chan… Why did you leave me… I don’t want to be alone… You know I hate being alone… Why did you leave me too…? Please… come back… I need you… I need… you…”

From that day on, Takeru was corralled by his father, taught that there was no greater feeling than being superior to others. Being number one was everything; anything less was meaningless.

He was forced to sever his bond with Saku — and with Kanae, his first love. His childhood, his identity, everything was stripped away. The person he once was died, replaced by a hollow version obsessed with being the best.

His father had told him he could either become number one, or be nothing but an insignificant speck of dust.

And from then on, he carried an overwhelming burden — the crushing weight... of inferiority.