Whoooosh~ woooo~
The wind rushed gently, carrying a calm, buzzing hum as it brushed against the walls of a large building. It was only occasionally interrupted by muffled grunts coming from a crowd of boys gathered within the school grounds. Above the tall gates, bold letters rested on an arch that read: World's Edge Academy.
Whispers fluttered in the air, low and cautious, as a few students quickly slipped away from a scene unfolding by the walkway. Ornamental trees and flower bushes lined the path, their leaves rustling softly with the breeze—trying, it seemed, to stay uninvolved.
"Hey, isn't that Ken?" one voice murmured.
"What did he do this time?" another replied, just as hushed.
"How would I know? Let's get out of here—I'm not trying to be his body double," the first voice said as it faded, swallowed by grunting and shuffling from the crowd.
THUD!!
A heavy sound broke through the quiet, and the gathered students began to step back, revealing not a thing—but someone. A boy, just like them, lay crumpled on the ground. His uniform was the same as theirs, but it looked worn, tattered, and stained with the echoes of violence.
Cough! Cough! Cough!
The boy coughed violently, struggling to breathe. One of the attackers—who had been gripping his collar—dropped him without care. The boy curled into himself, embracing his knees. A final kick landed against his back, and then the group walked away, laughing among themselves, satisfied with their cruelty.
"Ahhh… quiet... it's so... quiet... so cool..." the boy murmured.
He shivered slightly as the breeze continued to brush past. Around him, his fellow students walked by, indifferent. No one offered help. No one even stared. But this wasn't numbness—it was something worse. Even if you're desensitized, you look at suffering. They didn't. It was as if he wasn't human.
Even animals get more compassion.
With a soft sigh, he slowly pushed himself up to a kneeling position, gathering what was left of his books and belongings. His bag lay nearby, half-zipped and dirtied.
"Ha..." he exhaled weakly, standing with effort. He limped toward the school gates and beyond, heading for the bus stop a few strides away. A green sign shimmered under the setting sun, marked clearly: New Metro Estate Bus Stop. Behind it stood a basic shelter, empty save for him.
He sat on the bench, staring blankly into the distance. Cars rushed by, lights blurring, and for a moment, he seemed swallowed by the world around him—unseen, unheard, untouched.
Until—
"Thirty minutes till the next bus, huh? That's a long wait, don't you think?"
The boy blinked, drawn out of his trance by the voice. A middle-aged man stood nearby, wearing jogging clothes and a broad smile. His presence felt too casual for the moment. Still smiling, he asked, "May I sit next to you?"
Without waiting for a response, the man sat down beside him.
"Oh, where are my manners? I'm Desmond. And you?"
"…Ken," the boy replied softly, his voice cracking.
"I saw you sitting here looking all alone and figured a little conversation wouldn't hurt," Desmond said. "Don't worry, Ken. Let's be friends."
He stretched out his hand for a shake—still smiling—but Ken didn't take it. Desmond looked down at him and frowned, his eyes widening slightly as he took in Ken's injuries.
"Hmm. So we're friends then," Desmond said, awkwardly retracting his hand. "Tell me—who did this to you? Classmates? Friends? Well... I guess they wouldn't be friends if they beat you like that, huh?"
He leaned in slightly. "Do you want to be able to fight back?"
Ken said nothing.
"I could teach you," Desmond continued, smile twitching at the corners. "Teach you how to defend yourself."
Still no response. Ken stared at the ground, unmoving.
"Hello? Hellooo? Anybody home?" Desmond asked playfully, tapping a finger against his temple. His grin twisted a little more with every second of silence, the wind whistling around them like a hollow tune.
After a beat, he stood up, as if suddenly remembering something.
"Well, look at that—I've got somewhere to be. But hey, here's my card." He slid a small rectangle into Ken's breast pocket, tapping it twice. "Don't be a stranger, hmm?"
Desmond began walking away, waving over his shoulder.
"You've got ten more minutes 'til the bus gets here, Kenny boy. I'll be waiting for your call," he said, his hand running through his curly hair as he disappeared into the evening.
The breeze stirred again, ruffling Ken's hair.
"…He wanted to talk to me?" Ken whispered to himself, his hand slowly reaching for his pocket. "He even left a card…"
As the hum of cars returned to his ears, he pulled the card out with trembling fingers—and stared.