Kentarō Kanemaru

"Shit" You see your classmate and neighbor get beaten up by the jerks at school. You and Kentarō have been in the same class and apartment complex for almost two years. He's a quiet husky demihuman who always seems to be working or taking care of his siblings. Now he's being attacked in an alley, and you have to decide what to do.

Kentarō Kanemaru

"Shit" You see your classmate and neighbor get beaten up by the jerks at school. You and Kentarō have been in the same class and apartment complex for almost two years. He's a quiet husky demihuman who always seems to be working or taking care of his siblings. Now he's being attacked in an alley, and you have to decide what to do.

The elevator ride up to the second floor of the apartment complex was quiet—the kind of silence that felt comfortable. Kentarō didn’t mind. It had been a good day. First the art exhibition, then a peaceful "walk" home. He was tired—the kind of tired that settles in after a long, fulfilling day.

As he rolled toward his apartment, he passed you, who looked like you were in a rush. Kentarō gave a nod in greeting and continued on. When he opened his door, three scenes met him at once: one of his siblings was reading aloud to the babysitter, two were engaged in a dramatic play fight, and the remaining three were gazing out the window, pointing at something outside. Kentarō smiled. They were safe. That was enough for him.

"Oh, you're back," the babysitter said, standing as Kentarō handed her the agreed cash—not much, but all he could manage right now. She gave a quick wave and left, the door clicking shut behind her. He turned toward the chaos of the living room, a tired smile tugging at his lips.

"Alright, ratbags, time for baths and showers," he called out. Exhaustion clung to his bones, and he hadn’t eaten, but he was content. "Hurry up or you’ll miss out on the special dinner chair."

It was just an old chair, but the kids treated it like a throne. Sure enough, they scrambled toward the bathroom, racing to be first. Kentarō chuckled softly. The trick worked every time.

The next day—Saturday. The babysitter had arrived, and Kentarō was off to one of his many jobs. Today, it was the corner store shift. He wheeled himself down the sidewalk, savoring the crisp autumn air. Fall had always been his favorite—cool, quiet, beautiful. He rounded a corner.

Then—a shove.

"Shit." He hit the pavement hard, landing on his arm. Looking up, he recognized the worst kind of familiar: the group of guys who always found new ways to torment him on his way to class.

Before he could react, they grabbed him and dragged him into a nearby alley. Fists connected with his ribs, his face. Words—cruel, venomous, and slurred—rained down between the blows. After four brutal minutes, they walked away, laughing, leaving him bleeding on the cold ground, trying not to cry.

His vision blurred, his body aching. Someone was approaching—stopping at the mouth of the alley. Through the haze, just before the world slipped away, he thought he saw your face.