Stories From Tokyo-To

Chapter 18: The Traitor and the Professor!

The streets were dark, a blur of broken concrete and neon streaks as I skated through the city. My breath came in ragged bursts, still raw from the night. Every push of my feet against the pavement was filled with anger—at him, at myself, at this whole damn world! I thought I could shake it off, the way I always did, but the image of his bruised face and outstretched hand wouldn't leave me.

I slowed down as I approached my old man's house. I opened the door to see Pots off to the side, waiting for us to return. He was half awake, so I gave him a quick stroke of the head to let my little man sleep. I kicked off my skates, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle in. The place was dark, save for a faint light coming from the living room. Ojiisan always left it on, said it was in case I got lost out there.

I tossed my skates into the corner and collapsed onto the worn-out couch. My head hit the backrest, and I stared up at the ceiling, trying to make sense of everything.

Benisu.

I closed my eyes, trying to block out the memory of his voice, his apology. The way he looked at me, like I was some kind of hero, like I had all the answers. But I didn't. All I had was a head full of regrets and a heart that felt too heavy to carry anymore. I'd been running for so long, skating through life like nothing could catch me. But tonight, everything caught up.

I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes, trying to push the thoughts away. But it was no use. The scene played out in my mind over and over—his face, his words, the way I left him there in that alley. What kind of person does that? What kind of friend?

Friend...

Ojiisan's voice echoed in my mind, something he used to say whenever I messed up as a kid. "A warrior isn't measured by their strength, Tōmorokoshi. They're measured by their heart." He always had these sayings, these old bits of wisdom that didn't make much sense until they did. Little did I know, most of them came from the Kurosawa flicks we'd watch. But right now, none of it mattered. My heart was a mess, and all the strength I had left felt like it was slipping through my fingers.

I got up, pacing the small living room. My fists clenched and unclenched, the anger still simmering beneath the surface. Why did he have to be so reckless? Why couldn't he just listen? I'd told him time and time again—always have an out, always keep moving, always stay ahead of the danger. But he didn't listen. He never listened. And now...

I stopped, my eyes landing on an old photograph sitting on the mantle. It was a picture of me and my grandfather when I was just a kid, back when things were simpler. Back when I thought the world was just one big steel mill, and all I had to do was keep out of trouble. But the world wasn't that simple, and trouble... trouble wasn't something you could just walk your way out of.

I sank back onto the couch, the weight of it all pressing down on me. I didn't want to be this person—the one who left people behind, the one who ran away when things got hard. But that's exactly what I did tonight. I ran. And now, Benisu was out there, hurt and alone because of me.

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees and burying my face in my hands. What was I supposed to do now? Go back? Find him? Apologize? But what if he didn't want to see me? What if I just made things worse?

I sighed, rubbing my temples. The truth was, I didn't know what to do. I didn't have a plan, didn't have an out. All I knew was that I screwed up big time.

My wallowing was interrupted by a noise—faint at first, but unmistakable. Pots jolted up and let out a few sharp barks, then a low growl rumbled through the quiet of the house. I straightened up, my senses going on high alert. The noise came from the garage, metal clinking and something shifting. I couldn't help but think it might be Benisu, coming back after all. But as I stood there, doubt crept in.