Location: Fenwick District — The Vice — Courtyard — Late Afternoon
Ramon's body was a map of tremors.
His shoulders shook. His hands trembled. His knees knocked together beneath the loose fabric of his jeans. He couldn't look at anyone—not at Kevin, not at the women, not at the silver-haired influencer who was still holding his phone at arm's length, still recording, still broadcasting his humiliation to an audience of hundreds.
Why did I end up like this?
The thought circled his skull like a vulture.
I was always nice to everyone. I thought the Muchachos would be my way out. A friend told me it was a place where I could find decent living. Build something. Be someone.
Who knew I would send myself to misery instead?
His throat tightened.
His eyes burned.
He blinked.
The tears didn't fall.
---
Kevin stepped closer.
His smile was wide, perfect, the kind of smile that belonged on a billboard advertising teeth whitening or cologne or something else Ramon would never be able to afford.
"Hey, buddy."
His hand waved in front of Ramon's face.
"Hey. Hey. Hey."
Ramon's eyes stayed fixed on the ground.
"What's with you? You a man-baby or something? You need your diaper changed?"
The group laughed.
One of the men beside Kevin—stocky, his face flushed with beer—elbowed his friend.
"Maybe he's one of those down cyborgs. You know, the ones with the chips in their heads?"
A woman beside him—dark hair, pale skin, wearing a choker studded with fake spikes—rolled her eyes.
"It's Down syndrome," she said. "And it's not cool. Seriously. Making fun of someone's illness?"
"Then why don't you go help him?"
The woman looked at Ramon.
Their eyes met.
Her expression shifted—not sympathy, disgust. Her lip curled. Her nose wrinkled. She turned away.
"Whatever," she said. "He's not my problem."
Something inside Ramon cracked.
Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just... broke.
The way a bone breaks when it bends too far.
---
Kevin's hand came down.
The slap was not hard. It was performative. The kind of slap that was meant to humiliate, not hurt.
"Hey, wetback."
Ramon's head snapped to the side.
"Are you deaf? Can't you see me standing here?"
Another slap.
"I asked you a question."
The group laughed.
Ramon's face burned.
His eyes—still wet, still wide—found Kevin's.
Then they moved.
Past Kevin. Past the women. Past the silver-haired influencer and his phone and the comments that were scrolling too fast to read.
They found Elijah.
Diego.
The dishwasher.
He was standing near the grill, a plastic cup in his hand, his body still swaying to the music. A woman—the one in red—had her lips pressed against his cheek. Her eyes were half-closed. Her hand was on his chest.
He was smiling.
Not a nice smile.
The smile of someone who was watching a rat in a maze and wondering which way it would run.
He's enjoying this, Ramon thought. He's enjoying watching me fall apart.
The crack in his chest widened.
Something dark began to seep through.
---
Wonko's voice pressed against Elijah's skull.
"Are you just going to stand there? Your friend is being humiliated."
"He's not my friend."
"He's your colleague. Your partner. The person who was assigned to accompany you."
"And?"
"And you should help him."
Elijah took a sip from his cup.
The liquid was sweet, too sweet, the kind of sweetness that coated the tongue and lingered long after swallowing.
"Why? It would ruin my momentum."
The woman in red pulled back.
Her eyes—dark, heavy-lidded—studied his face.
"You're different," she said.
"So I've been told."
She kissed his cheek again.
Her lips were soft. Warm.
And as she pulled away, something else lingered.
Kokoro.
Not the infatuation from before. Something deeper. Something that flowed from her core, through her chest, through her throat, through the place where her lips had touched his skin.
It looked like water.
Not clear—iridescent. The kind of water that pooled in oil slicks, that caught the light and scattered it into colors that didn't belong together. It drifted toward him, entered him through the skin of his cheek, and spread through his chest like warmth from a hearth.
Hormonal discharge, Elijah thought. The body's way of saying "I want."
Shinsei pulled it toward him.
The sacred breath.
He didn't need to inhale.
He just was.
And the wanting came.
It tasted like honey. It smelled like flowers. It felt like the moment before a kiss, when the world narrows to two faces and the space between them.
This is what they feel, he thought. This is what they carry.
The longing. The desire. The need to be close to someone, even if only for a night.
And it's all energy.
Kokoro doesn't care about good or bad. It only cares that it exists.
Wonko's voice was sharp.
"You are going to get us killed. You and your... your... whatever this is."
"It's training."
"Training? You're dancing. You're flirting. You're absorbing emotions like a sponge."
"That's the training."
"That's not—"
"Wonko. Relax. I know what I'm doing."
"You are an idiot. A complete and utter—"
"You've mentioned."
Elijah took another sip.
"And for the record, I'm having fun."
"That's what worries me."
---
Ramon's face had changed.
The softness was still there. The wide eyes. The trembling lips. But something else had joined them—something that looked like the beginning of a storm.
Kevin noticed.
"What's this? Are you upset?"
He tapped Ramon's chest with his finger.
"Yeah? What are you going to do about it?"
Tap.
"What are you going to do?"
Tap.
"What?"
Tap.
Ramon's jaw tightened.
His hands—still trembling—curled into fists.
And behind his eyes, something ignited.
---
Elijah saw it.
Not with his eyes—with something deeper.
Kokoro shifted.
The fear that had been pouring from Ramon—the desperation, the helplessness, the quiet certainty that he was about to die—it twisted. Turned inward. Collapsed into itself like a dying star.
And from that collapse, something new emerged.
Rage.
Not hot. Not cold. Dense. A pressure that built behind Ramon's eyes, in his chest, in the spaces between his knuckles. It radiated from him in waves that made the air around him shimmer.
Kokoro, Elijah thought. But different.
Not the infatuation of the women. Not the fear of the crowd.
This is something else.
This is the belief that he has nothing left to lose.
The waves of rage rose from Ramon like heat from a fire. They curled around his shoulders, his arms, his fists. They were not smooth like water—they were jagged, sharp, the color of angry plasma.
Shinsei pulled them toward Elijah.
They entered him through his chest.
His muscles tightened.
His spine straightened.
Tenryu pulsed.
This is what I needed, he thought. This is what I came for.
He smiled.
Not a nice smile.
The smile of a man watching a rat in a maze finally decide to fight back.
---
Ramon's head lifted.
His eyes—still wet, still wide—met Kevin's.
"You want to know what I'm going to do?"
His voice was quiet.
Not soft. Quiet.
The kind of quiet that came before a scream.
Kevin's smirk faltered.
"Yeah. I want to know."
Ramon's fist uncurled.
His fingers spread.
His palm pressed against Kevin's chest.
"I'm going to—"
He stopped.
His hand trembled.
The rage was still there. But something else had joined it—a memory. A voice. The image of Diego standing by the grill, watching, smiling.
He wants this, Ramon thought. He wants me to lose control.
He wants to see what I become.
His hand dropped.
His shoulders slumped.
"Nothing," he said. "I'm going to do nothing."
Kevin laughed.
The group laughed.
But the laughter was different now.
It was uncertain.
Because they had seen what Ramon had almost become.
---
Elijah watched.
His smile faded.
Interesting, he thought.
He stopped himself.
He felt the rage—the full, unfiltered power of it—and he chose not to use it.
That takes strength.
More than throwing a punch.
More than breaking a nose.
He raised his cup.
The woman in red leaned against his shoulder.
"Who are you?" she asked.
"Nobody," Elijah said.
He took a sip.
"Just a dishwasher."
The music played.
The smoke drifted.
And somewhere in the courtyard, a rat in a maze turned back into a man.
---