The Night Haruto Didn’t Run

Haruto woke with a sharp inhale.

His body felt cold.

Not from the night air—but from something else.

Something was moving.

At first, it was faint, like a distant echo brushing the edge of his senses. Then it grew heavier… closer… pressing in from all sides.

Violent.
Dark.
Evil.

"…This isn't normal…"

Haruto slowly pushed himself up from the futon. The room was silent, too silent, as if the world outside had been swallowed whole. Moonlight spilled across the floor, pale and lifeless.

The presence was still drawing nearer.

He stood, his legs unsteady, and stepped out of his room.

Down the stairs.

Each step felt slower than the last. The air thickened with every breath he took. When he reached the living area, his eyes widened.

Empty.

No voices.
No movement.
No warmth.

Only silence—deep, absolute silence.

Haruto's heartbeat thundered in his ears.

"… Aka?"

No answer.

He walked toward Akari's room and gently slid the door open.

Empty.

The futon was untouched. The room felt cold, unused.

Haruto's breath caught.

They haven't come back.

The truth settled heavily in his chest.

"They're still at the meeting…"

He returned to the living room and sat down slowly on the sofa, as if his strength had suddenly vanished. His shoulders trembled.

His silver eyes shook, wide and glistening—holding back tears he refused to let fall.

"…Not now…"

His hands clenched tightly in his lap.

Outside, the night remained unnaturally quiet.

And whatever was coming… was already too close.

Haruto stayed seated on the sofa, unmoving.

The silence pressed down on him until it felt hard to breathe.

Think…
Think, Haruto.

His fingers curled tightly into the fabric of his pants.

"Calm down… I'm just tired," he whispered to himself, forcing a weak excuse.
"That's all. I didn't sleep properly. Anyone would feel strange."

The presence didn't fade.

It crept closer.

His chest tightened.

"No… maybe I'm overreacting," he muttered, shaking his head.
"Aka would've told us if something was wrong. She always does."

He tried to stand.

His legs refused—for just a moment.

"…Tch."

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor.

"If I panic now, I'll just mess things up," he said quietly, like he was scolding himself.
"I'm not strong enough. I know that. I've never been."

The words tasted bitter.

"I can't fight someone like that," he continued.
"I don't even know what's coming. And even if I do something stupid… it won't change anything."

A pause.

Then his voice dropped.

"…So I should just wait?"

The thought made his chest ache.

Wait for Aka and Renjiro to come back.
Wait and hope nothing happens.
Wait and trust everything will be fine.

His nails dug into his palms.

"That's the smart thing… right?"

The memory of the warning flashed through his mind.
Itachi's voice.
Ayame.
Blood.
Regret.

His breathing grew uneven.

"But if I wait," he whispered, "and something happens…"

His jaw clenched.

"…I won't forgive myself."

The room felt colder.

He swallowed hard.

"I promised," Haruto said softly.
"I promised I wouldn't touch those things. I promised I wouldn't cross that line."

A pause.

"…Am I about to break it?"

His shoulders trembled.

"Am I going against the promise i made with dad?"
"Am I going against Aka's trust?"
"Against Renjiro's rules?"
"Against everything they tried to protect me from?"

His voice cracked for the first time.

"…Or am I just scared?"

Silence answered him.

Then, slowly, his breathing steadied.

"No," he said, firmer now.
"I'm scared because I understand."

He straightened.

"If I do nothing," he continued, eyes sharp, "that's giving up."
"And if I give up now…"

His teeth clenched.

"…then that warning meant nothing."

He lifted his head.

"I don't need to win," Haruto said quietly.
"I don't need to be strong."

A beat.

"I just need time."

His spine straightened fully.

"…Time until Aka comes home."

His head rose completely.

And when his eyes opened—

They were no longer trembling.

They burned.

Red.
Fully red.
Like blood catching fire in the dark.

Haruto stood.

"I won't run," he said.
"And I won't wait."

Haruto's hand slid toward the shelf beside the sofa.

For a moment, he hesitated.

Then he pulled it out.

Shizue Aragi's Adventure Book.

The worn cover felt familiar in his hands—too familiar.

As soon as he held it, voices surfaced in his mind, sharper than the silence around him.

"You're addicted to that thing," Kaito's voice echoed, irritated.
"An adventure book?" Ayame had scoffed once. "Those are fake stories, Haruto."
"You won't learn anything real from it."
"It's all imagination."
"Daydreams."
"Useless."

The words stacked over each other, circling him, pressing down.

Haruto lowered his head, shoulders trembling—not from fear, but from the weight of doubt.

"…Fake," he whispered.

His fingers tightened around the book.

"…Then why am I still standing?"

Slowly, he raised his head.

His eyes burned—not with tears, but resolve.

"I'll prove it," he said under his breath.
"I'll prove I learned something."

He opened the book.

Pages flipped rapidly beneath his fingers—hand-drawn diagrams, rough plans, childish sketches mixed with surprising logic. Notes about timing. Angles. Using the environment. Buying time when strength isn't enough.

From a distant rooftop, Daigo watched silently.

He let out a quiet breath and shook his head.

"…This kid," he muttered.
"Always buried in books."

Turning away, Daigo adjusted his coat.

"He probably just can't sleep," he thought.
"The meeting's over anyway. I'll let Akari and Renjiro know I checked on him."

Without another glance, Daigo vanished into the night.

Inside the house, Haruto's fingers stopped on a page.

Folded. Worn.

His breathing steadied.

"…Found it."

The air shifted.

He stepped forward.

The floor creaked softly beneath his bare feet as he closed the book and tucked it under his arm. His breathing slowed—not because the fear was gone, but because he had accepted it.

"Shadow clone," he whispered.

The air rippled.

One presence split into many.

A second Haruto appeared—silent and serious, eyes sharp, posture rigid, already scanning the room as if calculating outcomes.

Another formed beside him, leaning casually, a crooked grin on his face—the roaster, smirking even now, as if danger were something to mock.

A third popped in almost immediately, mouth slightly open, already about to say something—talkative, restless, unable to keep thoughts inside.

The fourth stumbled half a step back—fearful, eyes wide, breathing shallow—yet curiosity flickered in that fear, watching everything carefully.

The fifth stood frozen—innocent and scared, hands clenched tightly, fear written plainly on his face without disguise.

The sixth appeared without expression—emotionless, blank eyes, body perfectly still, like a tool waiting for orders.

The seventh stood calmly—calm and composed, shoulders relaxed, gaze steady, as if already prepared for what was coming.

The eighth burst into existence with restless energy—energetic and chaotic, shifting weight, fingers twitching, excitement buzzing through every movement.

The ninth smiled softly—joyful, strangely out of place in the tension, eyes warm, as if believing things could still turn out alright.

And at the center—

Haruto himself.

Not louder.
Not stronger.
Just standing there.

Ten versions of the same soul.

He looked at them all—not with surprise, not with pride—but understanding.

"This isn't about winning," Haruto said quietly.
"It's about buying time."

The silent one nodded once.

The calm one closed his eyes briefly.

The emotionless one tightened his grip on a kunai.

The fearful ones swallowed hard but didn't step back.

The energetic one grinned wider.

The joyful one clenched his fists with resolve.

Haruto inhaled.

"If we can hold him here… even for a moment… Aka and Renjiro might make it back."

His jaw tightened.

"And if we can't…"

He didn't finish the thought.

Instead, his eyes lifted—burning red, sharp with determination.

"…Then we won't run."

The house stood quiet.

But inside it—

Ten wills were ready.

The serious one stepped forward, calm and unmoving.

"What's the plan?"

Haruto took a breath. His voice stayed low.

"We don't face him directly. We stop him before he settles in."

He lifted his hand toward the ceiling above the entrance.

"Roaster. You'll stay above the door. The moment he steps inside, you jump and stab him then push him forward while jumping backwards."

Roaster's usual grin softened. He nodded.

Haruto turned to the doorway.

"Talkative. You're positioned in front. When he stumbles, you step in, stab, and pull back immediately."

Talkative swallowed, then nodded fast. "Got it."

His finger shifted.

"Calm. Joy. You'll be ahead with the rope. When he loses balance, you pull together."

Both answered at once with quiet confidence.

"Emotionless. Energetic. You take the lower side. Hold him down by his legs."

No reaction. Just readiness.

Haruto looked at the serious clone again.

"You and me—upper side by hands. We don't let him move."

The serious one nodded once.

Haruto's gaze softened when it reached the last two.

"You'll be above," he said. "On the ceiling, holding the big shuriken. When the moment it seems we cant hold him down… you act together, by jumping on him along the shuriken or just drop it if you dont trust yourself."

The fearful one hesitated.
The innocent one tightened their grip.

Haruto didn't raise his voice.

"You won't be alone."

Silence followed.

Then the calm one spoke. "We'll need tools."

Haruto's jaw tightened.

He remembered Renjiro's warning.
Never enter my room.

"…I know."

He turned and walked down the hall.

The door opened quietly.

Inside, he moved without hesitation—taking only what was necessary. Nothing more.

When they returned, the house felt different.

Focused.

Ten versions.
One decision.

The house went completely still.

The plan was set.

A soft, unsteady voice broke the stillness.

"W-what if…"

The fearful one shifted slightly, eyes fixed on the door.
"What if the one we're sensing is Aka… or Brother Renjiro?"

The question settled over the room like a held breath.

No one moved.

Haruto didn't answer immediately. He closed his eyes for a moment, steadying himself—then opened them, gaze calm and clear.

"That's why we wait," he said quietly.

Several of them turned toward him.

"Not outside," Haruto continued. "Not at the door."
"Inside."

He raised his hand slightly, palm open.

"We let him take a few steps. We listen to his breathing. His weight. His presence."

His voice didn't shake.

"If it's Aka or Brother Renjiro, we'll know."

The innocent one let out a slow breath.
The fearful one swallowed.

"And if it isn't?" the fearful one asked.

Haruto's jaw tightened—just a little.

"…Then we begin."

No one argued.

One by one, they moved.

Roaster slipped up into the shadows above the entrance, body pressed flat, weapon ready.
The fearful and innocent ones climbed carefully to the ceiling farther inside, gripping the large shuriken together.
Talkative positioned himself just ahead of the doorway, forcing his restless body to stay still.
Emotionless and energetic lowered themselves near the floor, muscles coiled tight.
Calm and joy took their place with the rope, hands firm, timing aligned.
Haruto and the serious one stood ready at the upper side, eyes locked on the door.

The house went silent.

Then—

Footsteps.

Slow. Measured.

Not rushed.
Not familiar.

The sound crept closer, each step pressing against Haruto's senses.

He felt it clearly now.

Not Aka.
Not Renjiro.

The handle turned.

The door slid open.

Light spilled into the room.

A shadow crossed the threshold.

One step inside.

Haruto didn't move.

He waited.

Second step.

Still—nothing.

The moment stretched—then snapped.

Roaster dropped.

A sudden blur from above.

He came down fast, driving both kunai into the enemy's shoulders with deadly precision, the strikes forcing him forward, before Roaster twisted in midair and jumped back, kunai slick with blood trailing behind him.

The enemy lurched.

The enemy stumbled ahead—

Balance broken.

Talkative surged forward like a bolt of lightning, kunai flashing as he drove it straight into the enemy, striking with desperate precision.

Before the enemy could recover, he twisted and leaped back, landing perfectly, breath ragged but steady

At the same moment, Calm and Joy yanked the rope with all their strength, jerking the enemy off balance, muscles straining as the rope cut taut—forcing him toward the floor, stumbling violently from their combined assault.

The rest of them surged forward as one.

Emotionless and Energetic slammed into his legs, coiling like steel, dragging him down.

Haruto and the serious one crashed onto his upper body, hands locking onto shoulders and arms, driving all his weight to the floor.

The fearful and innocent ones hesitated above with the big shuriken, trembling, but the others held firm beneath.

Together, the ten wills pinned him utterly—arms, legs, body, weight crushing any chance of rising.

The enemy thrashed, muscles straining, but every movement was met, countered, contained.

The giant shuriken wobbled in the innocent one's hands.

"I-I can't… I'm… I'm scared!" he stammered, trembling.

The fearful one's voice was sharp, strained, but steadying.
"Hey! Don't freak out! I've got you—we're fine! Just hold on!"

His hands shook even more, eyes wide.
"But—He is moving! I—I can't—"

"Listen to me!" he snapped, gripping his shoulder. "We're not alone! We've got the others! Just… just focus!"

He nodded shakily, trying to breathe, trying to regain control.

But the enemy shifted—just slightly, a subtle twist of his body—and it was enough.

The shuriken slipped.

Time slowed.

The massive blade tipped, tilting forward, falling straight toward the enemy's back.

His gasp froze in her throat.

Fear's eyes went wide. "No—!"

But it was too late.

The shuriken struck.

The impact reverberated through the room.

Haruto's hands slipped.

The enemy seized the moment. With a sudden surge, he threw Haruto backward across the floor, the air whipping around him as he landed hard.

The enemy's hands moved fast—gripping the giant shuriken lodged in his back—and ripped it free in a violent motion.

It clattered to the ground, heavy and metallic.

For a moment, everything froze.

It seemed… over.

Calm moved quickly, eyes sharp. He slid forward and placed the shuriken safely in a corner, far enough that no one could be hurt.

The room fell silent.

The serious one exhaled slowly, shoulders sagging slightly.
"I… guess he's dead," he muttered, voice low.

But just as Joy exhaled with relief, something brushed against his feet.

His eyes snapped down.

Blood trailed across the floor from the enemy's body. A slight, almost imperceptible motion stirred in the crimson pool.

Haruto froze.

Dark red pooled across the floor.

It spread slowly, deliberately, glinting under the light.

The metallic scent hit him full force.

He stared.

Clenched his fists.

"B-BLOOD…!" he screamed, voice raw, echoing through the house.

His vision blurred around the edges.

Everything felt heavy.

The enemy, the shuriken, the clones—all faded into the background.

All he could see was the red.

Haruto's hands shot to his head, fingers digging into his hair as panic ripped through him, vision swimming, voice cracking as he screamed, "BLOOD!" over and over.

His knees buckled, vision spinning violently, and with a final, guttural scream, Haruto crumpled to the floor, limp and trembling, utterly overtaken by fear.

And in that instant, one by one, the clones vanished, as panic ripped through Haruto, and then, overwhelmed, he fainted, collapsing to the floor.

Meanwhile… Akari and Renjiro walked down the dimly lit streets, the night air heavy around them. The silence between them was tense, filled with unspoken worry, until Daigo's words from earlier replayed in Renjiro's mind.

"He said… Haruto came to him," Renjiro began cautiously. "Asked for help… to save someone."

Akari's eyes widened. "What? Haruto… he actually asked Daigo?"

Renjiro nodded. "Yeah. But here's the thing—Daigo wanted to know exactly what help Haruto needed. He pressed him." He glanced at Akari, concern etched deep on his face. "And Haruto… he just said he doesn't trust Daigo in that way… and walked off."

Akari's hands clenched at her sides. "He didn't tell him? After asking for help? That's… that's so Haruto. But why wouldn't he trust him?"

Renjiro shook his head. "That's the problem. We don't know. And now Daigo's left trying to figure out what Haruto wanted—and we're left in the dark too."

A heavy silence fell over them as they continued down the empty street, each lost in thought. The shadows around them seemed sharper somehow, and the distant sounds of the city felt muted, like the world itself was holding its breath.

Akari finally spoke, her voice low but determined. "Whatever it was Haruto needed… we're going to find out. Before it's too late."

Renjiro's jaw tightened. "And we need to be ready for whatever comes next. Daigo… Haruto… someone's going to get hurt if we don't understand what's really going on."

They kept walking, the weight of Haruto's secret pressing down on them, and the night seemed darker than ever.

The house was silent when Akari and Renjiro stepped inside.

The front door was open.

Renjiro pushed it wider.

Blood spread across the floor near the entrance. A body lay motionless beside it, half lost in shadow.

"Upstairs," Renjiro said instantly.

They moved fast.

One room.

Three futons placed close together.

Ayame and Kaito were asleep, breathing steady.

The third futon—

Empty.

They rushed back downstairs.

"Haruto!" Akari called.

"…Here."

Haruto sat on the sofa. He lifted one hand weakly when he saw them.

Akari reached him first and pulled him into a tight hug. Renjiro knelt beside them, one hand gripping Haruto's shoulder.

After a moment, Akari pulled back slightly, searching his face.

"Are you hurt?"

Haruto didn't answer.

Instead, he lifted his hand and pointed past them.

"…Please," he said quietly. "Clean it."

Akari turned, seeing the blood again. Renjiro rose to his feet.

"We'll take care of it," he said.

Both of them started to stand.

"Wait."

Haruto's voice broke.

They froze.

"I just…" He swallowed. "I want to hug someone. Don't leave."

Akari sat back down immediately and wrapped her arms around him again.

"I'm here," she said softly.

Renjiro hesitated, then nodded once and walked away.

Haruto leaned into Akari this time, his breathing uneven.

She held him firmly, grounding him.

After a while, she spoke gently.

"Let's play a game," she said. "I say a word. You say the first thing that comes to mind."

Silence.

"…Okay."

"Ayame."

"…I don't know."

"That's fine," she said. "Kaito."

"…Nothing."

She smiled faintly. "Let's try again."

He nodded.

"Ayame."

"…Danger."

Akari didn't react.

"Kaito."

"…Stubborn."

"Akari."

"…Saviour."

Her breath caught, but she kept going.

"Renjiro."

"…Shield."

"Arashi."

"…Best friend."

She paused.

"Amaya."

Haruto opened his mouth—

"No—"

He stopped and covered his mouth quickly.

Akari tilted her head slightly, a gentle tease breaking through.
"Ohhh… someone's got something."

Haruto looked away, silent.

She waited, then softly—

"Your stomach."

"Pain."

"Your head."

"…Injured."

Akari felt his grip tighten slightly.

"…Haruto."

He froze.

Opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Covered it again.

Akari smiled and rested her chin lightly on his head.

"…Stubborn," she said.

Haruto exhaled—a slow, shaky breath.

And for a moment—

he finally felt held.

Haruto's breathing slowed. The game, the hug, the tension of the night—it all finally caught up with him. His eyelids drooped, head leaning gently against Akari's shoulder. Within moments, he was asleep, small and still in her arms.

Renjiro rose quietly, careful not to disturb him. He went to the spot where the blood had pooled and began cleaning, methodical and precise. Once it was done, he stepped outside with the smoke gun.

A thick plume of ash-gray smoke rose from the barrel, heavy and slow, curling upward like molten mist. At its core, a faint red glow pulsed softly against the dark night. The smoke climbed silently into the sky—a signal only those who knew its meaning would recognize.

Minutes passed. Then, from the darkness, figures emerged, moving swiftly yet deliberately toward the house. The officers of the Capital Ward arrived on foot, clad in gray uniforms that matched the smoke itself. Arm badges gleamed faintly at their sleeves, and their open helmets and caps revealed sharp, alert eyes beneath.

"Yes?" one officer asked sharply as they approached. "Capital Ward. What's the matter here?"

Renjiro stepped forward, Akari beside him. "We… we don't have any idea how this happened," he said. "Only one child saw it, but he's not in a state to speak right now. Once he wakes in the morning, we'll inform you of everything."

The officer nodded briefly. "Fine. We'll notify the National Police Bureau. You can provide details there tomorrow."

Renjiro's eyes narrowed. "We'll talk directly with the Central Authority."

Another officer stepped closer, voice firm. "You cannot escalate this to the highest authority without the permission of the National Police Bureau. That's procedure."

Renjiro said nothing, jaw tight. The officers moved efficiently, locating the body. In a few controlled movements, they lifted it and carried it away into the night, the muted gray of their uniforms fading back into the darkness.

Once the last of them vanished from sight, Renjiro turned and walked back toward the house. Akari followed silently.

Inside, the living room was still. Haruto slept, untouched by the chaos outside. His small form rose and fell gently with each breath.

Akari knelt beside him, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. "He's finally resting," she whispered.

Renjiro stood silently, hands in his pockets, eyes scanning the empty room. The house was quiet once more, but the weight of the night lingered in every corner.

For now, there was only the quiet of the living room and Haruto's steady breathing.

Haruto lay on the sofa, asleep, still and quiet. Akari knelt beside him, her eyes scanning every detail, voice barely a whisper in the empty room.

She reached for his hands first, gently lifting them. She turned his fingers slowly, checking for scratches, cuts, or anything unusual. A few faint scratches marred the skin, but nothing deep. She let her thumbs brush over them lightly.

Next, she moved to his arms and shoulders, sliding her hands carefully along the skin. His muscles were tense under her touch, evidence of strain and exhaustion, but no fresh wounds.

Akari's gaze shifted lower. She bent slightly, checking his legs. She ran her hands lightly along his calves and thighs, careful not to wake him. Faint scrapes and bruises marked the skin, but nothing severe.

Finally, she checked his neck, tracing gently from the collarbones to the base of his throat. No signs of deep injury, only a slight redness from where the shirt had rubbed against him.

She exhaled softly. "Just scratches… nothing serious… not here anyway," she whispered.

Akari hesitated, then bent over his torso. She gently lifted the hem of his shirt—then Haruto stirred, opening his eyes groggily.

"…What's wrong?" he murmured.

"I was just changing your dress," Akari said softly. "To make you more comfortable."

He nodded faintly, then lifted the shirt himself. Once it was off, he lay back on the sofa, closing his eyes again.

Akari's eyes immediately caught the dark stains on the shirt. Her gaze shifted to his stomach.

Renjiro, standing silently nearby, noticed it too.

"…The blood," he murmured, voice low.

Akari held the shirt closer. "Looks like it stuck to him," she whispered.

Renjiro grabbed a tissue and gently pressed it against the blood on Haruto's stomach. At first, it seemed to stop—but then more seeped through.

He pressed again. The blood kept coming.

Akari's eyes widened. "He's hurt…"

Renjiro's jaw tightened. "Yeah… this isn't just on the shirt. He's actually bleeding."

Akari rested her hand lightly on his shoulder. "We'll take care of you," she whispered.

Renjiro nodded grimly. "We'll make sure this doesn't get worse."

The quiet of the house pressed in around them. Haruto slept peacefully, unaware, but both of them knew—he needed help immediately.

Renjiro moved quickly, pulling out the first-aid kit while Akari stayed close to Haruto's side. Together, they worked in silence. Renjiro cleaned the area carefully while Akari held Haruto steady, her hand resting near his shoulder in case he stirred.

They wrapped his stomach firmly but gently, making sure the pressure was even.

"He's stable," Renjiro said quietly. "For now."

Akari nodded, though the worry didn't leave her eyes.

By the time they finished, the weight of the day finally caught up to them. The meeting. The body. Haruto. Everything.

They stood there for a moment, exhausted.

"…I'm hungry," Akari admitted softly.

"So am I," Renjiro replied.

They moved to the kitchen, the house quiet except for the faint hum of the lights. They ate whatever was quick, neither of them really tasting the food.

After a few minutes, Akari broke the silence.

"Who do you think did it?" she asked. "Do you think… Haruto did?"

Renjiro paused, then shook his head slowly. "I don't know. But I found something."

He looked up. "Five kunai. And a large shuriken."

Akari's eyes sharpened.

"The shuriken and four of the kunai are mine," Renjiro continued. "But the fifth one… I have no idea. It wasn't mine."

"So it belonged to the other person?" Akari whispered.

"Most likely," Renjiro said. "Which means Haruto wasn't alone in whatever happened."

They both fell silent again.

Akari glanced at the clock.

2:00 AM.

"…We should sleep," she said, though her voice lacked conviction.

Before heading to bed, Akari went back to the living room to check on Haruto.

The moment she reached him, she noticed it.

He was sweating.

She placed the back of her hand on his forehead.

"…He's hot."

Renjiro joined her. "Maybe a nightmare," he said quietly. "He's had them before."

Akari looked down at Haruto's face, tense even in sleep.

"…Should we move him?" Renjiro asked. "His room… or yours?"

Akari didn't hesitate. "Mine."

She laid a futon beside her bed while Renjiro carefully lifted Haruto, mindful of the bandage. Haruto stirred slightly but didn't wake, instinctively gripping Renjiro's shirt for a second before relaxing again.

They settled him down gently.

Renjiro straightened. "I'll be in my room."

Akari nodded. "Thank you."

Renjiro left quietly.

Later that night, Haruto shifted in his sleep, rolling closer until his arms wrapped tightly around Akari, clinging as if afraid she might disappear. Akari stiffened for a moment—then slowly rested a hand on his back.

"It's okay," she whispered. "I'm here."

Haruto didn't wake.

But he didn't let go either.

The house finally fell silent—three rooms occupied, each carrying the weight of the same night, waiting for morning to come.