Chapter 13 - I gave up
Crimson- yes I am scum, sorry for not posting i was busy in my original novels world and to be fair just goofing around here and there sorry.
Won't happen again.
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WOOOH!
Hot water poured from the tap, cascading into the basin with a steady hiss, thick steam swirled upward, slowly veiling the round mirror above. The small bathroom was bathed in a dim, suffocating warmth.
Through the mist, his hazy reflection stared back—a distorted, ghostly figure. His eyes, bloodshot and tired, glowed faintly beneath the softened orange light.
Drops of water clung to his silky black hair, now plastered to his forehead, framing his face in dark strands. He leaned closer, the subtle creak of the counter unnoticed, as he observed his own features with an eerie intensity.
Jaw tensed gaze travelled over his reflection, searching for something. The redness in his eyes contrasted against the unhealthy pale skin. For a moment, he seemed mesmerized by his own image, locked in a quiet confrontation with the face staring back.
TIP!
Droplets fell from his damp bangs, landing with a soft noise, breaking him from his trance. The air around him was thick with the heat of rising steam, distorting the dim orange light. The light bounced off the cold grey wall, casting shadows across the restroom.
CHK!
A sharp, metallic sound cut through the heavy silence. His body trembled violently—an invisible chill, creeping through his veins as if frozen with ice. The tremors wouldn't stop, as though his body was freezing.
His breath hitched, short and uneven, each inhales sharp, eyes locked on his reflection, he saw the faint shimmer of water trailing down his face.
"Huhu hu, look at me" A small self-loathing laugh leaves his mouth as he watches his shaky hand, holding his once beloved gun, another gift from the otherworldy being. The gun's surface, marred by years of use, it's gloss green colour back to it's former glory shining—like a twisted sort of trophy he never wanted, something he tried to forget
"Things are just . . . Sign~" His eyes, once sharp with determination, glazed over, becoming hazy as he looked at the gun. Not with admiration, but with regret.
His throat clenched, bile burning its way up, but he forced it back down, swallowing it with a grimace, the gun trembled slightly in his hand, His grip tightened around the weapon. There was no pride in the way he held it, no sense of power. Only the realization of what it represented.
The blood of sinners was a trophy—something he took pride in. But the pleas. . . the desperate cries. . . of thousands of innocents buried by his hands.
They were carved deep into his soul. Their faces, their screams, their blood. . . he carried. Thousands of thousands. . . some lost their father, a brother or a mother. Everyone had lost something, but he . . . he had never had anything to lose.
"Just when I thought I was coming along my promise. . ." The words escaped him like a broken whisper, heavy and bitter.
His body slid down the cold wall, every muscle drained of its strength until he collapsed on the floor.
The screams of hell—screams he had managed to bury for over a decade—rose again, a cacophony of torment that echoed within his mind. The smell of blood flooded his senses, thick and suffocating, but not nausea, Not disgust. Instead, a perverse rush surged through him, a twisted drug that coursed through his veins, making his skin shiver with pleasure.
A laugh erupted from him, wild and unhinged, tearing through the early dawn, sickening, choked. . something monstrous
" CRUEL. . . cruel indeed" His body shook as tears mixed with sweat, dripping from his chin onto the cold floor below. He was drenched in madness, and yet his mind had never felt more clear.
"Do your best. . ." His voice cracked with a rawness that seemed to scrape against his soul. "I'll make my amends. . . one way or another"
"But too bad. . . too bad for you guys. . . for fate is cruel to you and. . . me" His pupils dilated, turning a deep, unsettling red.
He looked down at his now steady hands, stained by countless sins, rivers of blood seemed to flood from his hands, while he smiled with his lips that of a man trapped in a nightmare of his own, as the blood climbed higher and higher until it devoured him whole.
CHIK! CHK!
"Welcome back partner."
The morning had unfolded in a series practiced motions, hands moved as he sifted through the stack of newspapers. He scanned the headlines without interest, his focus drawn only to the subtle strips of extra paper with codes hidden in form of lines and dots—arranged in different patterns, each coded message unraveling into instructions or warnings.
Once the task was done, he wasted no time. Each newspaper cryptic note, was fed to the flames, in his backyard watching as the flames licked and curled around the paper, reducing every trace to ash. Nothing remained.
For the cryptic note Just like always, he ate them, the bitter, remnants of ink and paper dissolving on his tongue. The taste was familiar, a strange blend of acrid and metallic, but it was the cost of ensuring no trail could ever lead back to anyone else.
Stretching, he picked up the two flip phones from the table, He scrolled through the messages, eyes flicking over mundane chatter from the friend groups, meaningless on the surface. His fingers hovered for a moment before typing "Let's hang out at 4:30."
With a quiet sigh, he flipped the phones shut, and walked to the kitchen, slipping the phones into a garbage bag with the rest of the day's refuse. Tying the bag tightly, he carried it outside, blending it with the everyday trash.
He takes a silver mask from under his bed thunder crackling around his hand as the mask disappears, while he silently smirks at his achievement, looks at his real phone checks his bank account, nearly depleted of its previous glory, a sum of 500 thousand in cash still remained.
Alfred's eyes looked traced the mask a defeated smile hung on his face "Ah, I see how you found me"
Jin allowed himself a brief pause after his endeavour sinking into bed and closing his eyes, recharging for what was lost the other night.
'I certainly won't find comfy beds anytime soon'
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Tak! Tak!
Thud-thud!
The faint shuffle of footsteps echoed down the nearly empty corridor, each sound bouncing off the cold, lifeless white walls.
The day's bustle had long since faded, leaving behind a handful of students who drifted aimlessly, their eyes glued to their phones or lost in their own talks. None of them spared him a glance, as if he were invisible in the thinning crowd.
He walked slowly, his shoes scuffing against the worn floor as he approached the teacher's office. The overhead lights flickered, casting long shadows that trailed behind him.
They had asked for him to be here, and he was—just not how they might've expected,
The thought flickered in his mind, laced with a hint of mockery, as his hand hovers above his waist gripping the gun silently.
The silence pressed in on him, His lips twisted into a smirk. They hadn't said anything about attending classes, just that he needed to come. And here he was.
In glory.
He waits in front of the office before checking for any other sign, checking the time in his watch.
4:25 Pm
Jin lightly slid the door open, its creak barely audible, seated at the desk, with his back turned, was a man with slightly yellowed hair, his brow furrowed in concentration. His brown suit looked a bit too tight, stretched over his shoulders as he leafed through a stack of notebooks.
"Didn't I tell you guys to knock before entering?" The man's voice laced with frustration, but he didn't bother to turn around.
"I heard you called me. . . Mr. Yamakawa."
The man's hand froze mid-turn of a page. Slowly, he turned to face Jin, his expression sour. His lips twisted into a mocking frown, eyes dark with disdain.
"Oh!"
"Look who has finally decided to appear. Shall I bring you some coffee, sir?" His smile was sharp, dripping with sarcasm, yet it couldn't hide the irritation simmering beneath his words.
In a single motion, he stood up, knocking a notebook off the desk. "WHERE THE HECK HAVE YOU BEEN? WHY ARE YOU ALWAYS CREATING TROUBLE FOR ME, BRAT?" His voice echoed through the small room, as his fist slammed onto the desk.
Jin stepped forward, ignoring the outburst as if it were nothing more than a gust of wind. He dropped into the empty chair, unfazed. "Nothing. Just planning… what to do with my life."
Yamakawa's eyes flickered with disbelief, his arms rising in exaggerated exasperation. "OH, yeah YAA! That. For god's sake," he growled, throwing his hands into the air as if surrendering to the absurdity. "You think YOU—a quirkless boy—are going to be a he—"
"No… I gave up."
Yamakawa's face froze, mouth half-open. For a moment, confusion clouded his anger, and he squinted at Jin as if trying to gauge the truth in his words. "Hah? Finally, phew." He slumped back into his chair, his posture sagging with the sudden shift. "Good grief, the gods have finally blessed your thick skull."
His relief was short-lived as he scoffed, shaking his head dismissively. "Not like you can achieve much anyway." He waved a hand lazily in Jin's direction, picking up the fallen notebook, his attention already wandering back to his work. "Do what you want, just get the hell out of my sight."
He turned his gaze to the notebook, scribbling mindlessly, but the nagging feeling of Jin's presence remained. The tension in the room hadn't lifted. his pen paused mid-word. Slowly, almost reluctantly, he glanced over his shoulder. Jin was still there, watching his phone.
"Hey? Why haven't you left?" Yamakawa's voice wavered, a thread of uncertainty and confusion.
No answer.
His jaw tightened. "HEY! The heck is wrong with you?" His brow furrowed deeper. Jin remained still, as if Yamakawa's words were nothing more than background noise.
"Asado!" Yamakawa's voice cracked, laced with fury. "I'M TALKING TO YOU, DAMN IT—"
He stopped mid-shout, his breath hitching in his throat. Jin's gaze met his—piercing, cold, and , unnatural crimson pupil. Yamakawa stumbled backwards, the chair screeching against the floor, his stomach lurching with an unfamiliar dread.
"You really like yapping a lot don't you yamakawa hmm?"
"Quirkless this quirkless that? so much shit you got there. . . even when your own daughter isn't that strong herself. . .that place you know yamakawa!"
"Tsk . . .it isn't that great, drug addicts, trafficker. . .rapists, psyco or sociopaths you know what I am saying. . .all these crazy bastards in that same place tsk! tsk! tsk! not so safe is it" He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice to a whisper. "Not so safe..."
Yamakawa's heart pounded against his ribs, his face pale as sweat beaded on his forehead. His lips trembled, but no words came out. He tried to speak, to muster some semblance of control, but all he could do was stutter. "W-w-w-what?"
The alarms in his head blared louder and louder as the room seemed to close in on him.
"And that little delinquent of your's? OH~ he should have learned from his father, stay in the back! pretend NOT TO NOTICE. . . wait a second." He wore an amused expression as he pointed his finger at his teacher his eyes glinted, a wicked smile tugging at his lips.
"DON'T TELL ME HAA HAHAA HAHAH!" he clutched his stomach as he wipes the imaginary tears from the corner of his eyes.
Yamakawa shook his head, his whole body trembling. "B-BULLSHIT! A-ALL OF IT!" His voice was hoarse as sand, rising in panic as he stumbled backward, making a run for the door, stumbling in the process.
PEW!
CRUNCH!
The sudden noise echoed in the room, sharp and silent. Yamakawa's body froze, his eyes wide with terror. His gaze dropped to the table, where a small hole had appeared, smoke curling from the metal lodged inside.
Slowly, shakily, he looked up. Jin stood there, smirking. That infuriating smirk, the one that had once been a source of annoyance, now sent chills racing down Yamakawa's spine. In Jin's hand was a sleek, green handgun, the silencer still smoking.
"Poor child. Shouldn't have happened to him..." Jin murmured, his voice disturbingly calm.
Yamakawa's legs gave way, and he collapsed onto the floor, scrambling backward. "Y-YOU T-THE FUCKING NONSENSE I-I-I WILL GET YOU E-EXPLELLED NO-NO Y-YOU DON'T WANT TO DO THIS c-calm down calm down son."
"Th-this is not good for you or me wh-why ruin your life for someone li-like me y-you will lose everything y-your future y-your friends I know you are angry, I-I will forget w-what you said be-because i-i know you don't mean it the gun YA THE GUN pu-put it down please"
Jin tilted his head thoughtfully, his eyes never leaving the man cowering in front of him. "Yeah... you're right."
Yamakawa blinked, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "Y-yeah! Exactly! L-let's calm down... it's normal to get angry, right?" He let out a nervous laugh.
"Exactly!" Jin smiled, stepping closer, kneeling down to his teachers level. His expression was serene, too calm, as he levelled his near his teachers staring right into his eyes, the gun dangling on the side"
"Room 45. Fifth building."
"BASTARDDD!" Yamakawa lunged, hands desperately moving toward for the gun.
A smile bore on his face as he felt the cold metal grip of the gun.
UGHHH! He pulled with all his strength, but the weapon didn't budge, as if glued to Jin's hand, immovable.
"But you you forgot one thing" Yamakawa watches jin in horror as he stands up looking at him with his red eyes.
"N-no n-no please I-I-I M-MY FAMILY, HELP, SOMEONE HELPPP!"
"I have nothing to lose"
PEW!