Armed men stood in the square, their boots grinding against cracked pavement. Most of them were soldiers in tactical gear, rifles raised and ready. A handful of others wore lab coats stained with dust and sweat, clutching instruments that beeped with increasing urgency. They all shared the same expression: a tightly wound impatience, the kind born from knowing that time was running out.
Only three among them were different.
Two boys and a girl, none of them older than sixteen or seventeen, caught in the middle of something far beyond their years. Both boys were badly hurt. One of them, a tall figure with matted blond hair and blood soaking through what remained of his shirt, lay crumpled on the ground. His breathing was shallow, his eyes half-shut, every muscle in his body fighting just to keep him conscious.
The other knelt a few paces away. His wounds were no less severe, yet something still burned in his gaze. A stubbornness. A fire that refused to go out, even as his legs trembled beneath him.
The girl stood apart from both of them. Her white hair, pale and almost luminous under the harsh floodlights, hung loosely around her face. She didn't do or say anything. She just stared at the kneeling boy with a look that held every shade of despair a human face could carry.
Behind them, the building loomed. According to the scientists' instruments, the level of radioactive radiation inside was climbing steadily. One of them tapped his screen and muttered something to a colleague. The other shook his head.
"Hurry up! Just kill him already and let's get out of here!" barked one of the soldiers, his voice tight with nerves.
"Wait."
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The word cut through the noise. An old man in a lab coat stepped forward, his posture unhurried, his thin lips curled into a mocking grimace. Deep lines carved his face, eyes gleaming with something unsettling behind his glasses. Not fear. Not urgency. Only amusement.
"The young man just said something rather interesting," he continued, adjusting his collar as if they were standing in a lecture hall rather than on the edge of catastrophe. His gaze settled on the boy, who had since pushed himself to his feet. "Would you mind repeating it?"
"I said, I want to join you," the boy replied, his voice steady. He began walking toward the man, each step slow and deliberate, leaving a faint trail of red on the pavement behind him.
"Kagayaki! You bastard... What the hell are you doing?!" The blond boy on the ground forced the words out between ragged breaths, his bloodshot eyes wide with fury and disbelief.
"Ryūta, what are you saying?!" the girl finally spoke, her voice cracking with terror.
He didn't turn around. He didn't slow down. He kept walking until he stood before the old man, who regarded him with idle curiosity. Then, without ceremony, the man extended a pistol. Grip first, one bullet in the chamber. Exactly enough.
Ryūta took it.
"You would really betray your friends?" the man asked, a trace of doubt in his otherwise entertained expression.
"I no longer have any use for them," the boy answered, cold and absolute, without a shred of hesitation.
He turned, cocked the weapon, and aimed it at the girl.
She didn't run, nor scream. Tears spilled down her cheeks, yet her lips curved into a gentle, trembling smile.
"It's all right. Maybe it's meant to be this way. I don't regret anything and I'm still glad I met you. I love you very much!"
The gun fired, and the girl collapsed.
Minutes later, the ground shook.
A massive explosion tore through the area, yet when the dust and smoke began to settle, there were no signs of widespread destruction. The square was untouched, and the streets beyond it stood exactly as they had before.
All except one building, which had been reduced to rubble.
There, amidst the shattered concrete and twisted steel, sat the blond-haired boy, his broken and bleeding arms wrapped around the white-haired girl, holding her close against his chest.
