Ice-cold water splashed across Tadao's face.
He gasped, coughing violently as the chill seared his skin. His head jerked upright, disoriented, vision blurry. For a moment, he couldn't tell where he was—until the sting of his bound arms and the ache in his legs snapped him back to reality. The ropes cut deep into his skin, tight and unforgiving. He tried to twist out of them, but he was lashed to a chair, legs immobilized, body bruised and stiff.
"What the hell…?" he muttered hoarsely, blinking against the harsh flickering light of a single bulb dangling under the bridge. "Who the hell are you?!"
Laughter rang around him, echoing in the cavernous underpass as shadows surrounded him.
"Oh, you don't remember us?" someone sneered from the shadows. A figure stepped into the dim light—a tall, broad-shouldered teen with a busted lip and knuckles wrapped in tape. "We remember you just fine. You've been terrorizing my gang, you bastard. Showing up like some goddamn badass, beating the crap out of my boys. Humiliating us in front of everyone."
More figures emerged behind him. At least seven, maybe more. Tadao's heart pounded in his chest.
"It's time someone taught you a lesson."
A fist slammed into Tadao's gut before he could speak. The pain knocked the breath out of him, forcing him forward, but the ropes held him firm. Another blow cracked across his jaw, sending his head snapping sideways. Then another. And another. The floodgates opened. Fists. Kicks. Elbows. Even a pipe slammed against his shoulder. Blows rained down in a brutal, merciless storm.
"You cowards!" Tadao barked through bloodied lips. "Untie me and I'll kick all your asses!"
His defiance made them laugh. From the group, two teens stepped forward—faces familiar. One had a swollen eye, the other a split lip.
"You remember us now?" one of them growled.
Tadao squinted at them, then spat blood. "You're the punks from the court… the ones beat the crap out of."
They didn't wait for another word. The beating resumed—crueler this time. But Tadao never begged. He gritted his teeth, every nerve on fire, vision flickering in and out. He was fading, slipping into the black.
Then—suddenly—the leader yanked something from around his neck.
"What's this?"
The thug dangled a small silver pendant in front of his face. The delicate piece swayed back and forth like a cruel pendulum. Despite the grime and blood, it still gleamed faintly, catching the low light and revealing its intricate engraved petals and tiny etched name.
"Looks expensive," the thug murmured.
"No!" Tadao's voice cracked, raw and terrified. "Give it back. My mother gave that to me. If you even touch it—if you break it—I swear I'll kill you!"
"Oh?" the thug raised an eyebrow, grinning. "So it's precious, huh?"
He slowly pulled a pair of rusted pliers from his pocket. He held them open menacingly, fitting the delicate pendant between the jaws.
Tadao's entire body tensed.
"You bastard! Don't you dare!" he screamed, thrashing against the ropes. "It's the only thing I have left of her! The last thing!"
"Then maybe you should've stayed quiet," the leader said, eyes cruel. "Maybe if you beg… I might not crush it."
Tadao's breath caught in his throat. The pain, the rage, the humiliation… all of it collided inside him. But he couldn't let them destroy it. He lowered his head slowly, voice trembling.
"…Please," he whispered, barely audible. "Please… don't destroy it."
The laughter that erupted from the group was loud and sharp, cruel and mocking. One of them leaned in and kicked him square in the face. Blood sprayed from his mouth as his head snapped back violently.
"You think I give a damn that your dead bitch of a mom gave this to you?" the leader hissed. "I want to see your face when I crush this. I want to see you break, Tadao Hoshiguma."
He raised the pliers slowly.
But he didn't notice the shadow that fell over them.
A figure stood at the top of the slope above the underpass—still, quiet, watching.
Tetsuo narrowed his eyes as he took in the scene. The ropes. The bruises. The silver pendant about to be destroyed.
He gripped his school bag tighter.
"Who the hell's that?" one of the thugs snarled.
"Hey! What're you staring at, punk?!"
"Probably some loser from his school. Let's rough him up too!"
Two of the gang members broke off and charged up the slope toward him.
Tetsuo didn't move.
At the last moment, he leapt over the rail and glided smoothly down the slope, his sneakers gripping the incline with practiced ease.
"What's going on here?" he asked coldly, landing before them.
"You shouldn't have shown up," one of the thugs growled. "You're gonna regret—"
Before he could finish, Tetsuo moved.
His hand lashed out, grabbing the first thug by the wrist—the wrist holding the pendant—and squeezed.
"GAAHHH! SON OF A—!" the thug screamed, dropping the pendant in agony.
Tetsuo caught it mid-air, eyes sharp.
"This doesn't belong to you."
He tucked the pendant safely into his coat pocket.
The leader hissed. "You've got guts, I'll give you that… Tell you what? You beat all of us, and we'll let your friend here go."
"He's not my friend."
The leader blinked. "…What? Then why the hell di you come down here to get your ass kicked?"
Tetsuo didn't explain. He simply stepped forward as the thugs came at him.
They surrounded him. The first one lunged—Tetsuo ducked low, spun, and slammed his shoulder into the thug's gut. The guy doubled over, wheezing.
Another came from the left. Tetsuo twisted, narrowly avoiding a punch, then pivoted and delivered a precise jab to the throat. The thug dropped to his knees.
A third charged with a wild swing. Tetsuo stepped back, letting the fist whistle past his face, then planted his foot and roundhouse kicked the guy into the wall.
"You little shit!" another yelled, grabbing at him.
Tetsuo turned his body sideways, the grab sliding harmlessly off his jacket. He delivered a punishing elbow into the attacker's ribs, then dropped to one knee, sweeping his leg out in a fluid arc. Two more stumbled and fell.
Despite the numbers, Tetsuo was untouchable. His movements were efficient, disciplined. He wasn't just fighting—he was calculating, reading every step before it landed.
Another came from behind—he heard the footfall. He pivoted, caught the punch mid-swing, twisted the arm and slammed the guy into a beam.
They kept coming, but now slower. Hesitant. As the sun started setting. Fear crept into their eyes.
"Tch… who is this guy?" one muttered, backing up.
"Is he even a student?" another breathed.
The leader watched, trembling slightly. "No way… He's not a rookie. He's fought before. He's—he's got a killer's gaze."
Finally, he barked, "Forget it! Let's get the hell out of here!"
One by one, the gang scattered, fading into the shadows of the evening.
When the last of them disappeared, Tetsuo exhaled quietly. He turned toward Tadao, who was slumped forward, barely conscious.
Tetsuo walked over, crouched, and began untying the ropes silently.
Tadao looked up with a swollen cheek. "…Why?" he rasped. "Why the hell did you help me?"
Tetsuo met his gaze. "I was just passing by."
"Quit the bullshit," Tadao muttered. "You left school early today… I saw you. You knew I was gonna attack you. You knew I was gonna pick a fight with the basketball team. So you left, to protect them."
Tetsuo didn't respond.
"My arrogance brought this on me," Tadao whispered. If I had paid more attention rather than following behind you with blind rage none of this would have happened. "Even though I plotted and tried to tear your team apart to get it suspended for the year… you still helped me."
Tetsuo stood and pulled the pendant from his pocket. He placed it gently into Tadao's bruised hand.
"…Here," he said. "It must be important."
Tadao clutched it tightly. His body shook.
"This… This is the only thing I have that reminds me of her. My mother… she was everything to me. She used to tell me, 'Be strong, Tadao. Be kind. Even when the world isn't.' But I—I forgot all that."
Tetsuo looked away, his voice low.
"I get it. I lost my mother and father in a fire. I was about nine or ten. It's just me and my sister now."
Tadao stared at him, stunned. "You… lost them too?"
"I don't talk about it much. But yeah. It sucks. It never really gets better… You just learn to carry it."
Tadao looked down at the pendant, eyes glistening. "I'm sorry," he murmured.
"For what?" Tetsuo asked.
"For everything. The way I treated you. The team. That girl at the court. I let anger and jealousy twist me."
"You don't have to tell me why you quit the sport. That reason is yours. But hurting others for loving the game you miss won't give you peace."
Tadao's eyes widened.
"You think you're angry at them, but really, you're grieving. You loved basketball didn't you?Maybe you still do. And that's nothing to be ashamed of. The court doesn't judge you. The ball still bounces the same."
Tadao nodded slowly, something breaking open inside him.
"If you're envious, it means part of you still cares. Use that. Turn it into something real. You don't need to strike fear into those playing basketball —fight for the version of yourself that wants to play basketball again."
Tears streamed down Tadao's face. "You're right," he whispered. "I hated how much I missed it. I hated seeing people love what I threw away… but I never stopped caring."
"You're not weak for walking away. But you'll be stronger if you come back for the right reasons—not pride or envy. Come back for love—for the game."
Tadao choked out a laugh between tears, covering his eyes. "Dammit… something really got into my eyes."
"I quit for about two years," Tetsuo said calmly. "Different reasons. But I came back to the sport."
Tadao blinked, wiping his face. "…You did?"
Tetsuo gave a small nod. "My sister was the one who pushed me to get back to the game, so I'm back now."
Tadao smiled faintly. "I've seen you play. You're insane. That girl too. If you're ever near the court again… maybe stop by. We could shoot around."
"I don't need your permission," Tetsuo said coolly.
Tadao laughed, then winced. "Damn… everything hurts."
"You'll live," Tetsuo said, helping him up.
As they limped away from the underpass, the silver pendant swung from Tadao's hand, unbroken, gleaming in the fading light—its memory, and meaning, intact.