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The summer heat clung to the skin like sweat-soaked glue. Seven-year-old Ken Yamazaki stood stiffly behind his mother, nervously clutching the hem of her dress as the Himura family's gate opened with a creak. He had been told they were visiting family friends—important people. His mother had spent all morning ironing Ken's little collared shirt, combing his soft brown hair into place with painful tugs, and reminding him, "Be polite, Ken. The Himuras are very kind."
But as the gate opened fully, what Ken saw was not kindness.
It was Arashi.
A ten-year-old boy with wild black hair that looked like it had never met a comb. He was barefoot, standing on top of a stone railing like a delinquent hero from some manga, a stick held over his shoulder like a sword. His eyes—sharp, dark, and filled with something like mischief—locked onto Ken like a predator who just found something smaller and easy to pick on.
"…You brought a baby?" Arashi sneered.
Ken frowned. "I'm not a baby."
"Yes, you are. Look at your stupid hair. And what's with that shirt? You look like a walking napkin."
Ken's hands clenched. His mother laughed awkwardly and whispered, "Just ignore him, sweetie. He's a bit… energetic."
Energetic? Ken thought the boy looked like trouble bottled up in skin.
The adults went inside, chatting like they were old friends, while Ken sat stiffly in the Himura family living room, refusing to eat the mochi offered to him. Arashi plopped onto the floor with a loud thud, legs spread out, popping a candy into his mouth like a boss.
Ken glared at him.
Arashi leaned forward, grinning. "Why're you so stiff, Napkin Boy? Are you scared of me?"
"I just don't want to talk to a loud monkey," Ken muttered.
There was a beat of silence.
Then Arashi lunged.
"WHAT DID YOU SAY?!"
The next ten seconds were chaos. Arashi had pinned Ken to the tatami mat, their tiny limbs flailing in the air. Ken's taekwondo classes hadn't kicked in yet, so he could only shriek and push as Arashi straddled him, grabbing his wrists and holding them over his head.
"You said monkey?! Who's a monkey, huh?! Say that again, I dare you!"
"GET OFF ME, YOU BEAST!"
Mrs. Himura came in just in time to separate the two red-faced children. Ken had a scrape on his chin. Arashi had a bite mark on his arm. The women tried to calm them, but Mr. Himura only chuckled and said, "Ah, just like me and Ken's father when we were kids."
From that day on, every meeting was the same.
Arashi would insult. Ken would retaliate. Fists would fly. One time, they knocked over a garden lamp. Another time, Ken poured a whole bucket of water over Arashi's head during a family picnic. Arashi once replaced Ken's toothpaste with wasabi. Ken retaliated by putting salt in Arashi's soda.
They were disasters waiting to happen.
But no matter how much they hated each other, their families only saw "childhood rivalry" and smiled.
Ken hated that.
He hated Arashi.
Hated the way he always acted like he owned the world.
Hated the way his laugh echoed even after he was gone.
Hated the way he always won their fights—sitting on his stomach, pinning his arms down, grinning with victory.
Hated how his heart beat too fast when that happened.
Ken didn't understand it then.
He just knew that Arashi Himura was the worst.
And unfortunately…
He wasn't going anywhere.
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