Half-Sight

00 | red wing

a/n

welcome to the first chapter of half-sight! 

some of you may recognize this chapter. this is because it appeared as the prologue of night thief. so, yes--half-sight is the revamped version of night thief, with a (mostly) different plot and a lot of new (and improved) things!

please let me know your thoughts ♡

with love,

krissy

♙

r e d   w i n g

THE ILL-FATED BRAWLERY of Osaka smells of horrid whiskey and metallic rust. With a rum-stained towel draped over a muscled forearm, Eiji Tanaka tips his head to glimpse the newest addition to the brawlery ring.

Brawleries are common across the Osaka Prefecture. They're windowless indoor arenas cramped enough to look like dens of concrete and metal hollowed out beneath rich high rises flashing with neon signs. A brawlery consists of two things: a boxing ring with a white sand floor and a bar soaked in purplish light. Sweaty spectators fill every inch of the floor, bouncing to music or shouting their drunken gambles, and a line of runaway orphanage boys eager to try their luck line the perimeter of the ring. A spotlight sweeps across the rowdy sea.

Now, a skinny boy steps up to the ring, his hands wrapped in bandages. The spotlight turns his skin white as he faces a broad-shouldered boy two years his senior. Onryo, they call him, after the vengeful spirit that resembles his ruthlessness.

Eiji sighs. Poor twig.

"Shochu, please," interrupts a tired voice. A man with greying hair, aging skin, and a grease-stained button-up slides wearily onto the stool. Eiji shoots Kaito Ogawa a pitiful look, then plunks a bottle and glass in front of the frequent patron.

"This is a terrible place for a father to be," mutters Eiji.

Kaito fills his glass and gives it a lamenting stare. "Good thing I'm not a father."

"Did she run away again?"

He shoots his glass without answering.

The crowd roars with crazed frenzy. Eiji hisses sympathetically. From the sounds of it, the skinny boy must be getting quite the beating from Osaka's Onryo. Abandoned children hardly make a fortune unless they dominate at brawleries. With each passing night, the rings turn into bloodbaths for the simplest privilege--a decent life.

Eiji shudders. How has he survived this life for so many years?

The crowd roars again. Eiji wipes a glass. Nozomi floats to the table with platter of cash rolls where gamblers place their bets. She pauses knowingly before Kaito. Sure enough, the man reaches into his pocket and dumps on a wrinkled wad.

"I keep telling you to roll it up," says Nozomi, scowling at him. "A platter of loose notes is bound to lose money."

Eiji is alarmed to see tears in Kaito's reddened eyes as he sticks his nose in another glass. "That's a hundred thousand won. It was going to be Seoyeon's allowance, but she ran off before I could give it to her."

"I'm sure she'll be home soon," offers Eiji.

Kaito opens his mouth to answer. Before he can, a gunshot sounds.

Screams erupt across the crowds. Nozomi drops the platter and swipes the gun from her belt, murderous. "I swear if one of these thugs got away with a gun again, I'll..."

Every man or woman who steps into a brawlery is scanned for a firearm, but security has been getting lazy after sustaining long years of lousy pay. Eiji fights to suppress the fear in his chest as the crowds scatter in a shrieking panic. An accidental gunshot from a brawl fight happens all the time, and employees have to stay behind to contact security and protect the brawlery's wealth. Eiji's throat goes dry as the spotlight snaps off.

Amidst the shrill chaos, Kaito continues to drink.

"Why aren't you running?" Eiji shouts over the noise.

Kaito snorts. "I don't want to get run over for a false alarm."

As if on queue, Nozomi's voice blasts through a megaphone. Eiji spots her beside a security guard hauling a fighter away.

"False alarm!" she shouts. "We're good. Let the brawls begin."

A pause follows. Then the flow of spectators changes instantly. The music starts up again, and Eiji sucks in a breath. Brawlery referees rush back to the sandy ring, where the sand is now stained bloody red. Eiji wonders where the Onryo boy has gone. Talented men fear the most, his father had told him. Good thing Eiji is a nobody.

Just as the spotlight snaps on, however, Eiji feels something cold slip over his feet.

It's a white mist.

"What on earth--" he murmurs.

A murmur works through the crowds. When he looks up, mist from floor vents is pooling around stunned spectators, like white smoke, rising and thickening the way water rises in a flood. Eiji looks up in alarm as the plumes slide over his hands. Even Kaito, who lives in his depressing haze, is awake with fear.

The smoke fills his senses, sickly sweet. It smells strangely of home--sweet rice cakes before the war, woven blankets, rivulets of rain running down his streets--

Someone screams. "Run!"

But the shout is lost to the dark. Something cold slips its fingers around Eiji's consciousness, tugging him into a sweet, sweet dream.

One by one, the brawlery of Osaka turns into a graveyard.