The theater entrance glowed behind him, bright and lively, laughter and faint music spilling out each time the doors opened. Hyakki sat alone on a bench just off to the side of the entrance, leaned back with his hands tucked into his pockets, staring into the narrow alley beside the building as if it could offer answers.

  He had slipped out halfway through the movie without anyone noticing. Or at least, he hoped no one had noticed. Now he sat here, tilting his head back and looking up at the moon.

  So her brother is the Dawn Hound.

  He let the thought sit there—calm, neutral, objective.

  Then, after a beat, he abruptly bent forward and buried his face in his hands.

  WHY IS HER BROTHER THE DAWN HOUND??

  He stayed like that for several seconds, shoulders hunched, fingers digging into his hair as he very quietly experienced a catastrophic internal collapse.

  Before meeting him, Hyakki had already been mildly intimidated. The way the others described Akio had painted a very specific picture—competent, observant, disciplined, never raised his voice. Extremely intelligent, quietly protective, high standards. That was already terrifying. Now add surgical combat precision capable of dismantling him in under three minutes.

  Hyakki slowly lowered his hands and stared at his palms. The thin cuts along his index and middle fingers were faint now, already beginning to heal, but still sharp against his skin. They stung faintly, a polite reminder of humiliation.

  That fight should have been his. He had the advantage—enclosed space, one on one, the oppressive presence of the M.A.W. All he had needed was one clean scratch. The infection would have spread and the Dawn Hound would have been finished.

  Instead, he had been disarmed—on his knees, blade at his eyes.

  The Dawn Hound had read him like a manual. Had anticipated the micro adjustments in his stance, the way he redistributed M.A.W. along his chains to maintain articulation. Had baited him into committing to his own instincts and then dismantled those instincts with surgical accuracy. That was the worst part. If he had lost to something grand and explosive, he could have blamed circumstance.

  But no. He had lost because someone had understood him better than he understood himself.

  And then, as if the universe wanted to deepen the insult, he had shaken hands with the man less than thirty minutes later.

  Hyakki exhaled slowly, dramatically, as though releasing the weight of the cosmos.

  I need to lie down. Preferably in a different country.

  He lowered himself onto the bench and leaned back until the cold wood pressed through his jacket. He folded his hands behind his head and stared up at the night sky like a man reconsidering every decision that had led him to this moment.

  This was the second time in his life he had been beaten and spared.

  The first had happened long ago—an incident he kept sealed in a quiet, heavily guarded part of his memory. That defeat had left him shattered, bleeding, barely alive. Tonight, he had walked away with only two shallow cuts across his fingers. Somehow, that was worse.

  He lifted one hand into the moonlight and studied the thin slice along his palm. He replayed the handshake in his mind—the polite smile, the moment Akio’s pale blue eyes had gone glacial, cutting through him with quiet certainty.

  Then the glance over Akio’s shoulder.

  Gabriel leaning against the wall, half draped in shadow. The playcard no longer twirling. Crimson eyes locked on him with suffocating clarity. It made sense now why Gabriel had always felt familiar. Why that presence had fascinated him in ways he hadn’t been able to articulate.

  So they’re the Twin Hounds… and now they know who I am.

  He stared at the sky for a long, solemn second, then abruptly smacked himself in the face.

  WHY DID I SHAKE HIS HAND??

  He dropped his hand back down with a soft groan.

  I was trying to be polite. Polite. Of all the instincts to kick in at that moment. I should not have been polite. I should’ve just left. I should’ve tripped. Fainted. Died of a heart attack.

  He dragged a hand through his hair and let it settle over his chest, breathing out slowly, as though processing a national tragedy.

  He missed the times before he became the Hollow.

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Hyakki had grown up in a warm, ordinary home. He had been born blind in his left eye, and for years the world had been slightly uneven. Then came the surgery. The careful recovery. The first moment he opened both eyes and the world snapped into balance. He still remembered the brightness of it, the quiet awe of seeing clearly for the first time.

  His connection to the M.A.W. had awakened not long after, like a door unlocking in the back of his mind. It responded to him gently, like an extension of his will. When he was frightened, it curled around him protectively. When he was angry, it lashed outward in solidarity. When he was sad, it softened, and sometimes even Anomalies drifted close like oversized, affectionate strays seeking approval.

  His parents’ fear had come first, immediate and absolute. Friends followed, then neighbors and teachers. The authorities classified him as something dangerous. Normal life evaporated instantly, and soon he had found himself running, fighting, hiding. All because he had formed a connection with a force he had never asked for and barely understood.

  In the present, Hyakki brushed his fingers lightly over his left eye, gaze distant as the memory settled into something heavier.

  The M.A.W. connection had to be tied to the surgery. Whenever he drew on the M.A.W., his left eye responded first. The red of his pupil would bloom outward, darkening, swallowing the color until it turned pitch black. Then the change would spread into the whites of his eye, staining everything in that socket into a depthless void. His vigilante mask revealed both eyes, but from a distance only the red one ever caught attention.

  He saw the world differently through his left eye.

  Normal light vanished entirely, and everything collapsed into darkness. What remained was data-light. Living things became silhouettes of luminous color, each person outlined in a distinct signature that pulsed faintly, uniquely theirs.

  He recognized people more by those signatures than their physical faces. The Twin Hounds especially. Dawn burned clean and structured, sharp lines of pale blue. Dusk flickered a deep red, layered and volatile beneath elegance. Even without sight, he would have known them instantly.

  If only I had used it earlier, he thought bitterly. I would have known.

  He exhaled slowly.

  The worst part was that the M.A.W. never felt invasive. It did not claw at him or wrest control. It responded instinctively, just like breathing. When he reached, it answered. When he willed, it obeyed. It had never once forced him.

  And he hated it.

  Sure, it made him stronger, sharper, more aware—but it also erased the possibility of normalcy. He did not understand why it had accepted him so readily. He resented that it had. If there were a way to sever it cleanly, he would have done so without hesitation.

  That resentment was what had led him to Aira.

  The decision had not been impulsive. He had thought about it for months, weighed probabilities, convinced himself that removing her would eliminate variables that threatened his survival. It had been selfish and calculated, and he had acted with a steady mind. The only reason she was still alive now was because, midway through the act, he had decided to stop. But the damage had already been done. The trauma remained etched into her life whether he finished the job or not.

  He glanced up at the moon again, its pale glow indifferent to his spiraling thoughts.

  I literally tried to kill her, and she still trusts me. Now her brother knows, and the only reason I’m still alive is because he didn’t want to miss the meeting…

  Suddenly, Hyakki sat upright on the bench, the motion abrupt enough to send a faint echo through the quiet alley.

  Wait— he thought, breath catching. Does she know?

  He stared ahead, eyes wide, pulse ticking up in sharp increments.

  Is she in on it? Is this a setup???

  Hyakki stared down at his knees, the horror continuing to spiral as he tried to reassemble the situation into something survivable. Her brother was the Dawn Hound. And from everything he had observed, Aira was close with him. There was no way she didn’t know. But then why was she running a wildly popular blog dedicated to unmasking him? Hyakki had skimmed enough of her posts to know she was thorough, yet none of her articles had even brushed the truth. That didn’t make sense. Unless…

  He slowly lifted his head, eyes narrowing as the theory assembled itself with terrifying clarity.

  It had to be a high level misinformation campaign. A coordinated sibling operation designed to seize narrative control and flood the public sphere with false stories to prevent anyone from ever getting close to the truth.

  His stomach dropped.

  It was brilliant, clean, and absolutely on brand. Control the story, weaponize speculation. Aira was in the perfect position to do it—who would ever suspect her?

  The sound of chatter and footsteps spilling out of the theater snapped him out of the spiral. He glanced over subtly and saw the familiar group emerging, laughing and animatedly discussing the movie. Hyakki immediately looked away and attempted to merge with the bench. If he remained still enough, perhaps he would become decorative.

  Unfortunately, that was not the case.

  “Hyakki! There you are!”

  He stiffened and turned just enough to see Aira breaking away from the group, moving toward him with the same bright, open expression that consistently made him feel like the worst person alive. She slid onto the bench beside him without hesitation and leaned closer, poking his arm lightly.

  “What are you doing out here?”

  He leaned away a fraction, folding his arms across his chest to maintain composure. “I was just feeling a bit sick and needed some air.”

  She tilted her head, concern softening her features. “Is it a headache? Are you all right—”

  “I’m sorry,” he said flatly, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

  She blinked at him. “Huh? For what?”

  He kept his gaze fixed forward. “Everything.”

  She stared at him like he had just announced he was from another planet. “What are you apologizing for?”

  Outwardly, he looked relaxed—mildly bored, even. Internally, he was in full catastrophic collapse.

  I’M SORRY. PLEASE TELL YOUR BROTHER NOT TO KILL ME. I PROMISE I WILL NEVER BE SEEN WITHIN A FIVE MILE RADIUS OF YOU EVER AGAIN. I WILL RELOCATE. I WILL CHANGE MY NAME. I WILL LIVE QUIETLY IN A DIFFERENT TIME ZONE—

  She cut through his silent spiral before it could escalate further. “You seem a bit anxious, and you’ve been kind of avoiding me. Is… something wrong?”

  Hyakki blinked slowly. He turned his head just enough to look at her, expression neutral. “I avoid everyone.”

  Aira frowned slightly, studying him as though trying to read past the calm surface he was presenting. Hyakki held still, offering nothing more, silently hoping she would accept the excuse and let it rest.

  After a moment, she sighed, her expression softening. “If you’re feeling sick, you don’t have to come with us for drinks. Take care, okay? I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  He gave her a small nod in acknowledgment. That was all he trusted himself with.

  She rose from the bench, waved at him with that same unguarded brightness, and jogged back toward the others. The group welcomed her immediately, folding her back into their orbit with easy laughter. A moment later, they drifted off together down the street, their voices fading into the night.

  Hyakki watched them go.

  Relief came first. The immediate threat of further interaction had passed, but it didn’t settle because nothing had actually changed. Her brother was still the Dawn Hound. The Twin Hounds still knew who he was. And Aira still trusted him.

  Hyakki leaned back against the bench and tilted his head up towards the moon. The pale light washed over him, cool and indifferent. Despair pressed in first, followed by exhaustion, then guilt, then a thin thread of fear that refused to be ignored. He felt faintly delirious at the sheer absurdity of it all. He was not emotionally equipped for this. He was barely equipped for normal human interaction, let alone this.

  He exhaled slowly and let his head fall back against the wood.

  “I’m so dead.”

  ─ ? NEXT CHAPTER POV ? ─

  Akio