Chapter 5 Fraying Bonds
Edited by: Kanaa-senpai
I stand alone in the shadowed corridor of the Suijin-ryu Dojo, my breath shallow, my eyes fixed on the worn wooden floor. Three years have passed since I pushed Cliff away, my rejection sharp and final. Yet he still shows up, his gaze lingering on me, his voice occasionally breaking the silence with a hesitant word. I ignore it all, my heart a locked gate.
The routine is set: he reaches out, I turn away. Each time, the air grows heavier, but I hold firm. A strange voice in my head—always there, always watching—cheered when I started this cold distance. “You’re warming up to me!” it said, bright and smug. “Let’s get strong before the main event kicks off!” I don’t know what it means, but it feels right, like I’m on the correct path.
The Temple Priests notice but say nothing. Their eyes follow me, quiet and heavy, as if waiting for something to break. Aaron-sama, Cliff’s master, isn’t so restrained. His tongue clicks sharply whenever I pass, his irritation plain in the tight set of his jaw.
I pretend not to see, my face blank as I move through my days. I can’t play friends with Cliff now, not after all this time. And leaning on the priests? That risks dragging them into the voice’s game, whatever it is. So I keep my distance, my world shrinking to the dojo’s walls and the voice’s taunts.
My senior disciples, the ones who’d once fussed over me as the youngest, tried to care for me at first. But I pushed them away too, dodging their kindness to avoid the voice’s attention. In sparring matches, I fought hard, winning with sharp moves and sharper words. “You talk too much,” I said to one, my voice cold as I stood over him, his chest heaving from defeat.
”Losing to a younger girl while flapping your mouth? That’s pathetic. Aren’t you embarrassed?” His face twisted, and I felt the shift. Their warmth turned to resentment. Whispers followed me: “What’s her deal?” “Why’d Master let her in?” “She’s so annoying.” “Thinks she’s special with that blessing.”
Soon, I was alone. Isolated. It was what I’d wanted, wasn’t it? Years of effort to be untouchable, to keep everyone at arm’s length, had worked. But the cost was steep. In the dojo’s halls, shoulders bump mine as I pass—not accidents, but deliberate shoves.
”Oops, my bad,” one disciple mutters, his smirk sharp. My things start vanishing—a training belt, a water flask. Then they break my wooden sword, the crack echoing in the empty training yard. I say nothing, my face a mask, but the voice laughs. “Bullying event triggered!” it crows. “Totally random, no way to dodge it. But it’s no big deal—ignore it, and you won’t lose much before the main story.”
The harassment grows worse. My laundry is dropped in mud, my clothes ruined. Once, while I bathe, my spare outfit vanishes, leaving me to clutch a damp towel as I hurry to my room, shivering, my skin prickling with shame. At twelve, my body is changing, soft curves drawing eyes I don’t want.
They know it hurts me most, these attacks on my pride, my privacy. I endure, silent, my heart pounding as I hide my trembling hands. The voice mocks me. “Ignore the haters! Flush the crap!” it sings, and my eyes sting with tears, not from sadness but from rage at being seen like this—so small, so weak.
One day, the tension snaps. A group of senior disciples corner me in a quiet corner of the dojo’s grounds, their faces hard. “What’s your deal, Reina?” one spits, his voice low. “Think you’re better than us?” I meet his glare, my silence loud. Seven of them surround me, their shadows long in the fading light.
I could take any one of them in a fair fight—my skill is sharper, my moves quicker—but seven? Older, bigger, and working together? My stomach tightens. I won’t apologize, won’t back down. That isn’t me anymore.
”What’s this?” I say, my voice steady despite the racing of my heart. “A bunch of grown men ganging up on a girl because you can’t win alone? Did you leave your shame in your mom’s womb—” My words cut off as a fist slams into my stomach. I gasp, air rushing out, and hands grab me, pinning my arms. Their eyes gleam with something ugly, something cruel.
”You talk big,” the leader says, his voice a growl. “That ends today.” His hands tear at my training uniform, ripping the fabric with a sharp sound. My undershirt gives way, and cold air hits my bare chest. I freeze, a small sound escaping my lips as their stares burn into my skin. “Not bad for your age,” the leader sneers, his voice thick. “Thought I’d be disappointed, but…” His hand reaches out, rough fingers brushing me, and my face pales, fear curling tight in my chest.
”Now acting like a scared little girl won’t help,” another says, his grip tightening on my arm. The voice in my head laughs, wild and sickening. “Oh, this is bad—rape alert! Bros, got your tissues ready? Pants off? Grab your logs, let’s go!” it shouts, gleeful. My stomach churns, my tears hot with humiliation. Even now, that voice watches, turning my pain into a sick game.
”Strip her,” the leader orders, his knife slicing the cord of my pants. They fall, heavy with gravity, exposing my thighs and underwear to the cold air. Shame floods me, my vision blurring as I struggle against their hold. “That’s the face I wanted,” the leader says, his hand reaching for my last layer of protection. My heart screams, terror peaking—
And then he collapses, his body hitting the ground with a dull thud.
”What the—” My breath catches. A shout tears through the air, familiar and fierce. “What the hell are you doing?!” Cliff stands there, his red hair wild, his crimson eyes blazing with fury as he charges forward.
”Stay out of this, Flame God Style brat!” one of the disciples yells, but Cliff doesn’t stop. “Shut up!” he roars, his fist crashing into the man’s jaw with a sickening crack. The others turn on him, releasing me to face the new threat. I sink to the ground, my torn uniform clutched to my chest, my legs shaking as I watch, helpless. Cliff fights like a storm, his punches fast, his movements sharp despite the odds. The voice giggles, out of place. “Tough luck, bros. Guess guy-on-guy is the real deal, huh?”
When the dust settles, Cliff stands, bruised and bloodied, his face a mess of cuts and swelling. The seven disciples lie scattered, some groaning, others still, a few having fled. I sit frozen, my breath uneven, my body curled tight.
Cliff won. Against seven. I thought it impossible, but he did it—his strength real, raw, not like mine, guided by the voice’s whims.
”Here,” he says, his voice rough as he shrugs off his own training jacket and drapes it over me. It’s warm, smelling faintly of sweat and cedar.
”Why… why’d you help me?” I ask, my voice small, barely steady.
Cliff blinks, his bruised face twisting. “What, I gotta spell it out? And after all this time, that’s the first thing you say to me?” He pauses, his eyes widening. “Wait—why are you crying?”
”Shut up,” I snap, my voice breaking as tears spill over. Relief hits me like a wave, and with it comes everything I’ve held back. The fear of being surrounded, of hands tearing at my clothes, of my body exposed—it had been too much. Now, safe, my strength crumbles. My shoulders shake, my face crumples, and my legs give out, leaving me slumped against the wall.
”I didn’t ask for your help!” I shout, my voice raw. “I told you to stay away!” The words feel cruel, even to me. Am I lashing out to protect him from the voice? Or is it shame, hating that he saw me like this? I don’t know anymore. My body trembles, small and childlike, my anger spilling over like a tantrum.
Cliff doesn’t snap back. Instead, he kneels beside me, his hand resting gently on my head, his touch steady despite the blood on his knuckles. I flinch but don’t pull away, my tears soaking into the jacket he gave me, its warmth wrapping around me like a shield.
My lips part, ready to snap back, to push Cliff away with sharp words as I always do. But his hand, rough yet gentle, rests on my head, and the words die in my throat. His touch is soft, not like the brash, foul-mouthed Cliff I know. It steals my breath, leaves me frozen.
I stare at the ground, my fingers clutching his jacket tighter. Cliff doesn’t look at me, doesn’t speak. He just keeps his hand there, steady, unmoving, as if anchoring me to the earth. The silence stretches, heavy with the weight of my unsaid words.
The voice in my head breaks through, sour and mocking. “Why’s this Cliff kid’s affection not dropping? Is he even straight?” it sneers, its tone dripping with suspicion. My chest tightens. If I push him too far, crossed some line the voice set, it might turn on him. It might hurt him. I need to shove his hand away, to keep him safe from whatever the voice planned. My fingers twitch, ready to act—
”Reina,” Cliff says, his voice low. “If you hate me, push me away. Like before.”
”I hate you,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “I really hate you, Cliff…”
”Yeah?” he says, his tone flat, unbothered.
My hand lifts, hovering near his, but it won’t move further. Why can’t I do it? Why can’t I push him away? My heart pounds, caught between fear and something softer, something I don’t want to name.
The voice laughs, sharp and cold. “Oh, look at that. Your timid, lonely side’s messing things up, huh? Guess we’ll keep this in mind for next time.”
Days later, the dojo is quieter. The seven disciples who attacked me are gone, expelled in disgrace. Whispers follow, but no one dares meet my eyes now. My ties with the other seniors are broken beyond repair, frayed threads too tangled to mend. I stop my taunts, my sharp words no longer needed. There’s no point—they already hate me.
Cliff, though, stays the same. He talks to me, his voice casual, his eyes searching. I ignore him, my gaze fixed elsewhere, my silence a wall between us. It’s easier that way, safer. For both of us.
Time passes, heavy and slow, until the voice speaks again, its tone bright with anticipation. “Here we go, Reina-chan. The main game’s starting.” My stomach twists as I stand in the dojo’s empty courtyard, the wind cold against my skin, carrying the weight of something new, something unstoppable.
Notes:
• Suijin-ryu Dojo – Martial arts school led by Silver Blood, becomes Reina Alcott’s refuge and training ground after her parents’ murder, a place of harsh discipline and fragile hope.
• Cliff – Son of First-Class Knight Lilia. Practices Flame God Style. Obsessed with defeating strong opponents, especially Reina Alcott after a humiliating loss.
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Edited by Kanaa-senpai.
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