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✦𝓘𝓯 𝓲𝓽𝓼 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓹𝓲𝓽𝔂 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓷 
𝔀𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓲𝓼 𝓲𝓽?✦

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•°•°•《○●✦●○》•°•°•

The air in SSE's halls was cold, chilling Huan to the bone as he walked through the endless corridor. It was dark, the lights above flickering weakly. Shadows clung to the walls, whispering his name, hissing accusations that made his skin crawl.

Disgrace.

The word slithered through the wind, echoing through the corridor, coming from everywhere and nowhere at once.

He defected from his clan.

Huan's heart pounded in his chest, and he tried to move faster, but his legs felt heavy, like he was walking through thick mud. His breath quickened as the shadows grew thicker, darker. Every step felt like an eternity, dragging him deeper into the whispers.

His father disowned him.

He stumbled, his hand catching the cold surface of the wall as he tried to steady himself. The walls were wet-sticky. Blood. He looked down, horrified to see his hands stained in it. His breath hitched. The whispers grew louder, mare vicious.

He worked as a prostitute.

Huan's stomach twisted as bile rose in his throat. He couldn't escape it. Every shame, every fear, every mistake was chasing him, weighing him down, drowning him in a past he couldn't outrun.

He killed his own mother.

That whisper came louder, more intense. His mother's face flashed before him, her lifeless eyes, her body falling from the rooftop. His hands trembled, remembering the feel of the qi-infused hairpin, the sensation of power, and the horror that had followed.

He killed his step-father.

A sob escaped his lips, but no sound came out. He couldn't cry, couldn't scream. It felt like the very air was suffocating him, trapping him in his own mind. His breaths came quicker, sharper, but there was no escape, no relief.

And then he found himself standing near the rooftop, the cold wind biting at his face. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he looked around, disoriented, terrified. The rooftop was eerily familiar—the same one where his mother had fallen. He backed away, but his legs wouldn't move.

Then, in the distance, he saw it.

His breath stopped.

Marcus?

Huan's eyes widened in horrог. Marcus stood before him, struggling against a monstrous Yin creature, its twisted claws digging into him, ripping him apart. Huan tried to scream, to run to him, but his legs wouldn't move. His throat was dry, constricted. Marcus fell, lifeless, and as Huan looked beyond him, his heart stopped.

Nian was there, too. His little brother, barely able to fight, was cornered by the Yin creature, his face contorted in terror. Blood smeared his body.

And then... the others. Ella, Tayla, Eddie, Jake...Adi they were all being torn apart. Everyone Huan cared about was being slaughtered, and he was powerless.

His breath came in sharp, frantic gasps, his chest burning as he tried to cry out. Move! Help them!

But his body wouldn't listen.

Then he heard it. That voice.

Zixin.

"Go on, jump," Zixin's voice was slick and smug, dripping with cruelty. Huan felt a sickening chill crawl down his spine as the words rang in his ears. He couldn't see Zixin, but he could feel it.

"You are nothing..."

The world felt like it was crumbling around him. Huan stood frozen at the edge of the rooftop, his feet precariously close to the drop, the vast abyss below calling him.

And then another voice, colder, more venomous.

"It's not that he's nothing," Xian's voice purred in the darkness. Huan felt his breath quicken as a hand gripped his shoulder. He wanted to scream, to push back, but he couldn't. He was paralyzed.

"He's just worthless when he... resists what's coming to him."

Huan's entire body trembled, fear gripping him so tightly he thought he might shatter. Xian's breath was hot against his ear as he pushed him closer to the edge.

"Jump."

Huan's world collapsed into darkness, cold and suffocating, only to be replaced by the sound of distant whispers and the sensation of something far more tangible—pain.

He blinked, disoriented, and found himself back in a memory he'd long tried to bury. His seven-year-old self, beaten and bruised, sat trembling inside a small hole dug into the earth, deep within the woods on the Chen estate. His tiny body shook with fear, the sting of freshly delivered blows radiated from his aching limbs. He was just a child, left alone in this forsaken place, terrified and helpless.

It had been a clan gathering, this event was meant for the younger disciples to build courage and learn to combat Yin creatures. The children, all under ten, had been given spirit pouches-small but powerful tools to catch spirits. It was a test of bravery. But for Huan, it was nothing more than a cruel opportunity for others to torment him.

Chen Zixin and his friends, always eager to make him feel weak, had ambushed him. They beat him, hard and fast, laughing as they took his only defense—the spirit pouch—and tossed him into the hole. His cries for help went unanswered, as expectecd.

Why did it have to be me? he had thought as he sat there, knees pulled to his chest, tears staining his cheeks. Why am I so weak?

His heart raced in his chest as the eerie presence of spirits began to surround him. They circled, whispering, their voices full of malice and hunger. The spirits teased the edges of his vision, flickering in and out like candle flames about to go out.

He had never felt so small, so vulnerable. The spirits grew bolder, creeping closer, their hands brushing his skin, sending shivers down his spine. Huan whimpered, curling into a ball. This was it. He couldn't fight back. He had nothing.

But then, just as the spirits reached out to him, they suddenly vanished. Huan's wide, tear-filled eyes snapped open as he watched them get sucked into a spirit pouch right in front of him.

Confused, he looked up, and there stood a boy around his age. He wore a red nagagi and black hakama, with sandals barely making a sound on the forest fioor. His face was hidden behind a red fox mask. The boy held the spirit pouch in one hand, looking down at Huan.

Huan blinked, still too scared to speak, his small body trembling from both the pain and fear.

The boy tilted his head slightly, as if inspecting him, then crouched down, his eyes—though hidden behind the mask—seemed to soften. He said something, "Daijōbu desu ka?" Japanese. Huan didn't understand, only staring up at the masked boy in a daze, unsure whether to run or cry

The boy seemed to realize that Huan didn't understand him. Without another word, he extended a hand, palm down, waiting patiently.

Huan hesitated, still terrified, but the boy didn't seem menacing. Slowly, he reached out, placing his hand into the boy's. The masked boy pulled him up, steadying him as Huan wobbled on his injured feet.

For a moment, the boy simply looked him over, his head tilting slightly, and then he gently took Huan's hand and guided him to a nearby tree. Huan watched silently as the boy knelt and pulled out a small jar of ointment from within his sleeve.

The boy spoke again, his tone softer this time, but Huan still couldn't understand. Yet, the gesture was clear. The boy dipped his fingers into the ointment and carefully applied it to the cuts and bruises on Huan's arms, the cool balm easing the stinging pain.

Huan winced but didn't pull away. He watched as the boy worked quietly, and when he finished, he looked up at Huan, as if examining his handiwork. Then, for the first time, his voice seemed sharper, questioning.

"Who did this to you?"

•°•°•《○●✦●○》•°•°•

Huan jolted awake, gasping for breath as the remnants of the nightmare clung to his mind. His body was drenched in cold sweat, heart racing like it was still in the nightmare, trapped on that rooftop, listening to the mocking voices of Zixin and Xian. He swallowed hard, pushing the fear down as best he could.

Glancing over at his phone, he sighed in frustration. It was still too early, way before he needed to wake up. The darkness in the room seemed to echo the shadows from his dream, making it harder to breathe. Huan turned his head and saw Akira, sound asleep. Peaceful, his breathing soft. Must be nice, he thought.

Huan couldn't fall back asleep—not after that nightmare. He lay still for a few minutes, staring at the ceiling, but the unease wouldn't fade. Eventually, he got up quietly, trying not to make a sound as he slipped out of bed and gathered his things. His robotics project still needed adjustments, and the quiet from the robotics lab would be a welcome distraction.

As quietly as possible, he slipped out of the dorm room, holding his project close, and made his way through the quite halls. The early morning air felt cold against his skin, but at least it kept him alert, kept him focused on anything but the memories that kept creeping in.

Once in the robotics lab, Huan focused himself in the mind numbing process of recalibrating circuits and adjusting wires. The soft glow of the screen reflecting in his eyes as he worked. Despite his usual focus on his work, his mind drifted back to the unsettling dream, lingering like a dark cloud over his thoughts.

His hand moved over the circuitry with a solder iron, but his heart raced as flashes of the dream replayed in his mind.  The truth he couldn't shake: disgrace, defector, killer. Each word felt like a knife to his chest, the shame gnawing at him. He wiped the sweat from his brow, frustrated. Why now? Why did his past have to haunt him now?

The image of Marcus's lifeless body flashed before his eyes, followed by Nian's terrified face. Huan's chest tightened. He had always feared losing the people he cared about, but the dream twisted that fear into something far worse—a vision of utter helplessness. What if I can't protect them? 

He leaned back from his work, staring blankly at the android in front of him. It was nearly complete, a sleek and cute design, the model was designed to be a portable catgirl. He had built it to be efficient, useful, and resilient. But as he looked at it now, the android's lifeless form reminded him of his own vulnerabilities. What good is resilience if you can't save the ones who matter most?

He shook his head, pushing the thoughts aside, and focused on the android again. Maybe giving it a name would help distract him, something that felt like progress. He tryed to land on something meaningful. He thought of the masked boy from his dream—the one who had pulled him from the whole when he was seven years old, offering a hand when Huan thought all hope was lost.

The boy in red nagagi and black hakama, his face hidden behind a fox mask. The memory, though faint, was clear enough now. He had never known who the boy was or why he helped him. 

"Maybe... I should call you Katsu," Huan murmured, as his fingers ran along the android's sleek frame. It seemed fitting, considering how that fox masked boy had saved him once.

A sigh escaped his lips. Naming the android wouldn't change the fact that Huan still didn't understand what the dream meant. It felt like a warning, or perhaps just a manifestation of his own shame and fears. But what scared him most was how real it all felt—Zixin's voice, Xian's cruel words, the sensation of being pushed to the edge.

Jump.

He stood up abruptly, not wanting to remember any of it. He needed a break. Huan decided to head to the cafeteria. The halls of SSE were eerily silent as he made his way through them, the cold air biting at his skin. Why didn't I wear a jacket?

He couldn't stop thinking about that dream—how easily it could become reality. Yin creatures were everywhere, lurking in the shadows of forest or even slum allyways as some news put it. But the thought of dying at their hands, or worse, watching someone he loved get torn apart, gnawed at him. 

The cafeteria was nearly empty when he arrived. He quickly grabbed a cupcake and juice, eating and drinking without much thought. The sweetness of the cupcake was a brief comfort, but it did little to ease the tension in his chest. As he finished his meal, Huan's thoughts turned darker, thinking of all the possible ways he could die.

In the hands of the Yin creatures. It was a terrifying possibility, one that he had considered many times before. But now, after the dream, it felt like a looming threat. His breath hitched as he imagined being torn apart, his life—blood soaking the ground, his body broken and useless.

Or worse, he thought of his friends meeting the same fate, unable to save them. He closed his eyes, trying to push the thoughts away, but they lingered, heavy and unshakable. I can't let that happen. Not again. They had already talked about it, but Huan just couldn't let it go

After finishing his snack, Huan made his way back to the lab, the halls still unnerving. He was used to moving in the shadows, staying invisible when he needed to. It had been a survival skill back home, and even now, in the quiet halls of SSE, it came back to him instinctively. But this time, the silence wasn't comforting. It felt oppressive, like a reminder of the isolation he carried with him, of the secrets and the shame.

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