Blood debt
1065 Words
Kaizen hadn't slept.
Not for an hour.
Not even for a minute.
The same message had been glowing on his phone screen since dawn, yet his thumb still hovered over it as if staring long enough might somehow change the words.
It never did.
His untouched coffee had long gone cold on the center table.
Outside, the afternoon sun poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse. Inside, silence settled like a heavy fog.
The front door clicked open.
Nyra stepped in, dropping her backpack onto the couch with a relieved sigh.
"Finally," she muttered. "Three straight lectures should be illegal."
Receiving no sarcastic reply, she frowned.
That was strange.
Usually Kaizen would have greeted her with something irritating.
"Welcome back, scholarship girl."
Or?
"Did the lecturers finally realize you're secretly a robot?"
Today...
Nothing.
He sat exactly where she'd left him that morning, elbows resting on his knees, phone dangling loosely between his fingers.
His eyes weren't even focused.
"Hey."
No response.
She waved a hand in front of his face.
"You skipped another lecture?"
His lips finally curved into a faint smile.
"Busted."
She folded her arms.
"I only missed one morning class because I woke up late"
"So?" he murmured lazily. "Looks like you're slowly becoming like me."
Her eyes narrowed.
"Keep dreaming."
Without warning, she snatched a throw pillow and hurled it straight at him.
It smacked against his shoulder before falling onto his lap.
For the first time that day, he chuckled.
"Violent."
"You deserve worse."
The smile disappeared almost as quickly as it had appeared.
Nyra noticed.
It wasn't fake.
It was... forced.
Her gaze drifted toward the phone still clutched in his hand.
"Kaizen?"
He hesitated.
Then silently held it out to her.
She took it.
Her smile faded.
WE NEED A REPLACEMENT FIGHTER TONIGHT.
YOUR NAME WAS VOLUNTEERED.
DON'T BE LATE.
Her heartbeat stumbled.
"I thought..." She looked up slowly. "I thought you picked your own fights."
Kaizen leaned back, staring at the ceiling.
"I used to."
Silence stretched between them.
"In the arena," he continued quietly, "fighters choose when they're available. We even request opponents sometimes."
He laughed once.
A dry, bitter sound.
"Tonight..."
His fingers curled into a fist.
"I wasn't asked."
Nyra swallowed.
"So someone chose for you?"
His gray eyes met hers.
"Yeah."
A long pause.
Then he said the words that sent a chill racing down her spine.
"I think someone is angry."
The room suddenly felt colder.
Tonight isn't voluntary, someone else chose him.
That's never happened before, he quietly admits…
" Guess Someone is angry."
****
Suddenly Nyra insists on coming, Kaizen refuses almost tensed.
Not because he doesn't trust her, because he knows what almost happened last night.
Plus there are no females there, he can't risk Nyra getting seen but she seems not to care about herself.
"I'm not watching you almost die twice."
Nyra argues.
"I'll stay put."
"No, The Chairman must not see you there by chance, there is more to that."
"So tell me."
"I will."
"When?"
"When you're safe."
"I'm never safe!"
Silence….
That line hits both of them….it's actually the bitter truth.
Kaizen sat on the edge of the couch, slowly wrapping fresh bandages around his bruised knuckles.
Every pull made him wince.
Nyra watched quietly.
Yesterday...those same hands had protected her dearly, Tonight...they were preparing to protect him.
Funny how quickly life changed, Without saying anything…….she disappeared into her room.
Kaizen frowned.
"What now?"
She returned a minute later, Pretending to look innocent.
"Nothing."
He raised an eyebrow.
She smiled too brightly.
Definitely suspicious.
He didn't notice...Her hand slipping something into the side pocket of his duffel bag.
A folded note along with a clean bandage.
On it…she had drawn a tiny smiley face.
In the note, she had written;
“ come back alive with less bruises, that's an order jerk.”
*****
At exactly 9pm Kaizen arrives at the arena.
Something feels wrong, No music, no jokes.?
What's going on?
The fighters avoided him, he heard someone whisper…
"Poor guy."
Another replies:
"He's finished."
Kaizen then realizes that this isn't an ordinary match. It's a set up.
“Why him?”
His heartbeat slowed, the announcer stepped forward…
"Ladies and gentlemen..."
"The replacement fighter has arrived."
Spotlights hit him, Every eye turned towards his direction.
Then….
"The opponent..."
"...The undefeated champion."
The arena fell completely silent, even veteran fighters lowered their heads.
One old fighter whispered, "Nobody survives him."
Kaizen's stomach sank, this wasn't a coincidence.
Someone really wants to punish him….and that's the Chairman.
****
While changing...he reached into his duffel bag.
His fingers touched folded paper…Confused...
He opened it.
“Come back alive with less bruises Thats an order, Jerk”.
A small bandage fell into his palm with a badly drawn smiley face.
He laughed…Actually laughed, almost forgetting his sorrows In the middle of hell.
For the first time since he started fighting, he didn't want the money, didn't care about winning, didn't even think about the Chairman.
He only wanted...To go home.
But…….
****””
Back at the penthouse, Nyra opened her textbook Reading the same sentence….Five times.
Nothing entered her brain, she slammed it shut.
"I'm ridiculous."
Why couldn't she stop thinking about him?
He annoyed her.
Teased her.
Bossed her around.
Yet...The apartment felt strangely empty without him.
Still lost in her thought, there came a soft scraping sound.
Something slid beneath the front door.
She froze.
Slowly...She walked toward it.
A plain brown envelope, no stamp, no address, No sender.
Just...Her apartment number.
Her heartbeat quickened.
She picked it up and opened it carefully.
An old photograph slipped out.
Yellow with age, She frowned.
Her fingers trembled…
"Mum..."
Her mother looked Younger, Laughing and healthier.
Standing beside a tall man…
Except, Someone had deliberately torn away his face…Only one thing remained.
Two amber eyes, exactly like hers.
A folded note fluttered onto the floor.
She unfolded it and read one line.
Ask your mother why she ran.
Her breathing stopped, she almost lost her balance.
Another line waited beneath it.
Some daughters inheri
t beauty. You inherited your father's enemies.
The photograph slipped from her hands.
"But..."
"My mother..."
"...is dead."
She quickly rushed to the door…
A shadow stood silently at the end of the hallway.
Watching her door, watching her…
Then...The figure disappeared before she could look through the peephole.
- Writer
