Rated M for swearing.
The sun was setting in the town of Namimori, its inhabitants residing in their respective houses stricken with agitated uncertainty of the future that was to come. A lone stranger walked its empty streets in long, amble strides. His tall, lithe frame casted a long shadow where the sunlight kissed the ground, his fedora adding an inhumane shape to the top of his shadow.
"Where is everyone?" He wondered aloud, and as if on cue, a police car's siren chirped once behind him. He stopped and faced the street, watching intently as the car pulled up to him.
"Good evening, officer." The stranger greeted, and the cop inside the car forced a smile.
"Good evening, sir." The officer responded.
"Is something the matter?"
The cop shook his head, "Nope, I just haven't seen you around here. Did you just move in?"
"No, sorry. I'm just passing through town. I've always passed by this quaint town so I've decided to pay it a little visit."
The stranger watched as the officer's expression changed a little: his smile growing more forced, but the eyes- oh how the eyes reveal all. Full of fear.
"Is that so? Sorry, we rarely get visitors at this time of the year."
The stranger's amber eyes narrowed at his words, watching as the officer squirmed under his gaze.
"Oh? Why is that?"
"Haven't the faintest reason, sir. Have a good night." Giving one last "smile", the officer sped away.
"Humans are the funniest creatures."
"Hey, haven't you heard?"
"Yeah, Nezu-sensei said his brother saw a stranger walking around the town last week."
"Past curfew?"
"Not quite, the sun was still out, but barely."
"It's our year's turn now, huh?"
"Yeah…"
"I really hope it's not me."
Such were the conversations that filled the halls of Namimori High's first year building. Whispers of fear-filled conversations about which unlucky 3 was about to be claimed from their class.
"But don't worry, we have one less chance of getting chosen."
"Oh yeah."
"Dame-Tsuna's definitely gonna get chosen."
Pain.
Loud crashes were heard as a young 16-year-old was sent flying into garbage cans, its filth flying and landing everywhere in the nearby vicinity. Loud, raucous filled the air as the boy stood up slowly, gripping his sides that were bound to have bruises. He brushed away the rotten food and papers that had landed everywhere in his hair, wincing as it caused more lightning-quick flashes of pain all over his body.
His attackers continued to laugh at the sight of it all, "Ne, Dame-Tsuna. Isn't this fitting for you? Trash that belongs in the trash."
Tsuna said nothing, gritting his teeth and holding his tongue. Responses only bring more pain. They're all the same.
"I'd hate to say this, but I'm gonna be sad when you're gone." One of his bullies said, "We won't have anyone to relieve our stress when you die."
"Yeah, but I bet your kaa-san will be happy." Another chimed in, "She won't have to waste so much of her energy washing all that muck out of your clothes."
They're all the same.
Keeping his eyes downcast, Tsuna knew better than to listen to their words. But he knew, deep down he knew, that their words held some truth in it. All of their words.
"Ne, Tsu-kun, can you try to be less clumsy? Laundry detergent is expensive nowadays, and you keep coming back home dirtier and dirtier each time."
"Dame-Tsuna, with these grades, I'd be surprised if you'll even get an entry level job."
"Dame-Tsuna!"
"Baka-Tsuna!"
"Tsu-kun."
Squeezing his eyes shut, he pushed off of the wall and attempted to flee past his fellow classmates only to be stopped by arms that held him captive before sending him flying again. Tsuna felt the air leave his body as he made contact with the wall behind him again. Pain bloomed all over his body as he desperately tried to block it all out: the voices, the blows, and most importantly, the reality of it all, the reality of his life.
They're all the same.
The front door slammed against the wall with such force that it rattled the window as a silver-haired teen entered the room.
"Tadaima." Gokudera announced to no one in particular, his apartment void of any inhabitants. He sighed, dropping his bag next to his shoes as he closed the door and ventured further into the empty apartment. A red blinking light broke the darkness in the room, he didn't bother to turn on the lights anymore. Pressing play on the receiver, a mechanical voice filled the silence.
"You have two (2) new messages."
"Hayato, you bastard of a son. Just die! I just needed you to keep him around, but now he won't even talk to me." A drunk voice slurred from the machine, "You're useless to me, your existence can't even help me! The woman who gave you life! Give me back what was mi-" The landline exploded into tiny pieces as the teen threw a dynamite at it, leaving scorch marks in its area that is sure going to be hard to take off.
HIs ears perked up to his front door withstanding loud thumping from the other side. BANG! BANG! BANG!
"Hey dumbass! Stop blowing shit up again, that apartment isn't yours, you hear?" A voice from the other side of the door yelled, "Fucking rich kids, I swear. You're lucky your daddy's paying tenfold of the rent every month, else you'd be on the street."
Blood dripped from Gokudera's palms as he squeezed his fists so tight, he felt the tendons and muscles in his hands start to strain. No one ever needed him, just his existence being there. Hell, they don't even need that anymore.
They're all the same.
Sweat trickled down the side of the athlete's face; his eyes watching every move of the pitcher on his mound, his stance crouched and poise, ready to leave the base at the flick of a wrist.
Yamamoto Takeshi was currently at his baseball practice, their team holding a mock game two weeks before the start of their summer tournament, the one that would lead to Koshien. But his team wasn't worried, not even the third years. As long as they have their first year ace, the team knew they were unbeatable.
"I think we have a shot at the championship this year."
"Yeah, you don't say! As long as we have Yamamoto, this tournament will be a breeze."
The pitcher went into his stance, leg lifted and ready to deliver a ball that would either be sent flying or sent into the awaiting catcher's glove. Yamamoto crouches lower as the pitcher lifts his arms higher, and like a flash, the ball was slicing through the air. Yamamoto's feet left the base as soon as the ball left the pitcher's fingers, his heart pounding and feet thudding against the dirt as he raced against time to the next base. But his intuition was wrong, the pitcher knew what Yamamoto was planning to do, and instead of pitching towards the batter, the ball flew into the second baseman's glove who was now running at him.
"Shit!"
In a last ditch effort to stay in the game, the athlete spun mid-stride, but Yamamoto knew something went wrong.
His cleat didn't grip the ground properly and slid across the dirt, twisting his ankle and sending his body to the ground. He threw out his arms to catch himself, but something went wrong and he felt his wrist get caught in between the dirt and his body. Pain surged through his wrist, a cry escaping his lips. He heard the footsteps behind him try to stop, but luck wasn't on the man's side either, and that earned an even louder cry from Yamamoto as the second baseman fell on top of him, the pain in his wrist increasing so much that he felt himself start to slip from reality.
"Gomen, Yamamoto!"
"Yamamoto!"
"Shit, there goes our chance at Koshien." Was the last thing he heard before he fully blacked out.
A week passed from then and after recuperating in his room and laminating about the tournament that was yet to come, the first place Yamamoto went to was the baseball team's locker room.
They probably miss me. Yamamoto thought, My cellphone's been with tou-san the past couple days, they're probably worried about me.
He cradled his wrist, which was now in a cast and sling, close to his chest as he ran to the locker room. Upon nearing it, he heard the team's usual laughter and banter from inside. The corners of his lips turned up into a tiny smile.
"Yo, minna!" He greeted as he stepped in. The conversations fell silent as Yamamoto felt all eyes on him.
"I'm really sorry about the wrist, the doctor said it'll take about four weeks to heal, but I think it'll be right as rain in time for Koshien!" Yamamoto started, absentmindedly scratching the back of his head with his free hand. Eyes looked to other eyes, the air thick with questions.
"Hey, you gotta tell him."
"No, you."
Yamamoto's eyebrows rose higher closer to his hairline, "Guys?"
The captain of the team, a third year, stepped forward, "Ne, Yamamoto…"
"Hai, senpai!"
"Listen, we'll be fine without you. Thankfully, another first year transferred in while you were gone, and honestly, he's a much better ace than you." He said bluntly, keeping his eyes glued to the floor, "I think it's best if you don't come to the club for a while, you know how important this tournament is for us third years, and we can't afford any more distractions right now."
Yamamoto felt his heart sinking, "C'mon now senpai, you don't gotta joke like that." He mustered a grin with all his might, "I can always gather the balls for you or prep for the team or-"
"Look Yamamoto, it's okay." The third year said, "Focus on your studies for now. You can't make baseball your everything. We'll be fine without you."
It felt like it took every fiber of his being to keep that grin on his face.
"I'm here if you guys need me." He turned to leave so his "team" would see the tears that threaten to fall from his face.
"Not anymore we don't."
Yamamoto walked through the halls of his school, looking for the group of friends he usually hangs out with off-season. He found them sitting under a tree, his best friend of five years in the middle of them all. HIs heart surged with hope as he approached them, a genuine smile plastered on his face,
"Hey guys, wanna hang today? I don't got club anymore and I was thinking we could-"
His friends looked at each other, slightly miffed that their jovial atmosphere was ruined, "Actually, we were headed somewhere today after school, maybe next time?"
"I can always come hang! I'm free now!" He almost let the desperation sound so apparent in those words.
"Sorry, Yamamoto." His best friend said firmly, "Maybe next time." Was the last thing he heard before he saw the back of his friend fade away into the streets of Namimori.
He felt the blood roar through his ears, the anxiety in his heart growing silently but surely, like a tumor.
I'm always needed, why don't they need me now…
Oh, I know!
Yamamoto made his way home, hoping that out of everyone, surely his father and friend needed him. He slid the door of the shop open, happy to find his father behind the counter. But there was someone with his dad.
"Ne, tou-san. I don't have club anymore, can I help around the shop more?"
His dad scratched the back of his head, "Actually, kiddo, I just hired a part-timer. He's a first year at your school that just transferred in! This is-" But his dad's words turned out into white noise, the only thing filling his vision was the person who became what everyone needed from Yamamoto, the one that easily replaced what he had for so long.
Breath ragged and uneven, his lungs burned like a forest on fire as he ran away from his house, wondering when did he even turn around and leave.
No one needs me anymore. He thought. All because of this fucking wrist.
His pace began to slow and he hunched over on his knees as he stopped to catch his breath.
They didn't even need me in the first place. They just needed what I could do.
They're all the same.
The bell resounded throughout the school and anxious chatter filled the classroom of 1-A, where all but three were talking in groups about the demise that was to befall their first year class.
"It's been two weeks since the stranger was seen."
"How do you think they'll choose the sacrifices this time?" One asked, his hands desperately wringing her skirt in an effort to conceal the anxiety of the situation.
"Hey, sorry to interrupt." A voice perked up behind one of the groups, it was the transfer student, Fuu-kun.
"But what's with everyone. You guys are acting like we're having Battle Royale or something here." He joked in an effort to ease the tension. The group casted glances at each other, who was gonna tell him?
"When you're 16 years of age, you're gonna get sacrificed." Fuu-kun heard from behind him. He turned to look at Yamamoto, the one who had spoken up.
Over the course of the days passing, Yamamoto began to look like a former shell of himself. Dark eye bags sat heavy and low beneath his eyes and his hair mused and unruly like he didn't have the energy anymore to take care of himself. The cast was still on, but rather than the sterile, peach color that everyone was used to seeing and writing on well wishes for him, it was instead blackened out to cover it all. No one talked to him anymore,scared and turned away by his new cold demeanor. He sat hunched over his desk, void of any school work, just his arms crossed with his chin resting on the cast. Alone.
Fuu-kun approached Yamamoto and took a seat in front of his desk. He never did realize the gravity of the situation that he unknowingly put Yamamoto-kun in.
"Somehow, some way, our ancestors angered the god of this town. There used to be a shrine up there past the residential area." Yamamoto pointed out to the small clearing on top of the hill that was visible from the classroom, "No one knows the true details of it all, but as it happens every year, three 16-year-olds must be offered up as sacrifices to appease the god of our past wrongdoings. No one knows what happens to them. We never hear from them again. And the way they get chosen every year changes so it's always a surprise. And if no sacrifices are given, natural catastrophes would happen around town. Thunderstorms that short out the entire grid, a typhoon strong enough to rip the shingles off of every roof, you name it." He shrugged at the last part,
"Such is the way of life now."
"How were they chosen last year?" Fuu-kun asked.
"All three of them were hit by a car, but their bodies disappeared en route to the hopsital." Yamamoto said nonchalantly.
A girl two rows down choked out a sob, "Onee-chan."
Yamamoto stared at her with eyes void of emotion, "Gotta wonder how it'd be this year."
Just then they heard their teacher, Nezu-sensei, about to enter the room, and everyone scurried to their seats.
"Good morning, class!" He greeted with a smile, and as he was about to step foot into the room, the door slid shut.
Everyone paused in their seats, the gears in their minds whirring to make sense of what they've just seen. The door rattled from the outside as Nezu-sensei tried to get in.
"C'mon, you guys, stop messing around! Open this door!"
The one closest to the door stood on shaky legs and tried to pull it open, but the door just wouldn't budge.
"I mean it!"
"Ne-Nezu-sensei, it won't open!" The girl cried, pulling with all her might. Some began to cry, many began to panic trying to open the door except for three who were looking at the figure that was standing behind their teacher's desk. Even under duress, Tsuna, Yamamoto, and Gokudera sat unfazed at the demonic figure looking on at them. His amber eyes blazing with such intent under the fedora.
"Who're you?" Gokudera asked, his usual fiery demeanor now sizzled out to a small flame barely clinging on for life.
At Gokudera's words, those who were looking at the door now looked at where the three were looking and screamed at varying degrees.
The stranger smiled, "Hello there."
A/N: Hey guys! Thanks for reading. I know it's not the best piece of writing, but if you've managed to reach this far, thank you :) I've put this up so I can ease my guilt of not writing, but best believe this chapter will be rewritten some time in the future before adding new chapters. Thank you for reading and I hope you stick around uwu ...
please ;-;