21
21/11/XX
Today, Isagi Yoichi was going on a school trip to Aikogihara Forest.
To be completely honest, he didn't want to participate. The thought of spending two days surrounded by people who looked through him like he was made of glass—people who whispered when they thought he couldn't hear, who laughed when he stumbled, who made sure he knew, every single day, that he didn't belong—made his stomach churn.
He hated it the most.
But his mother had been so excited when she handed him the permission slip.
"You'll make so many friends, Yoo-chan!"
He couldn't say no to her. He never could.
Afterall, it was his fault for hiding it in the first place.
The bus was loud with chatter, students packed into seats, laughing, shoving, sharing earbuds and snacks. Isagi stood in the aisle, his bag clutched to his chest, looking for an empty seat.
There were none.
Not because the bus was full. Because every seat had a bag on it, or a jacket, or a pair of legs stretched out in a clear message: Not here. Not with you.
"Move."
A shoulder slammed into his, shoving him aside. Isagi stumbled, barely catching himself on the back of a seat.
It was the trio.
Tsuki Yama. Ikari Hansen. Fuji Aomari.
Tsuki was the tallest, with sharp features and colder eyes. He was the captain of the school's soccer team—the one who had taken over after Isagi had been pushed out. His smile was always wrong in Isagi's eyes as he seemed to loathe him so muc.
Ikari was his shadow, broad-shouldered and thick-necked, he would always waer a smug face with hands that had left bruises on Isagi's arms more times than he could count.
Fuji was the quiet one, the one who smiled while he watched, the one who never got his hands dirty but always seemed to be there when things went wrong. He still remembered when Fuji would purposely put a dead corpse of a birs or a cat on his table and smiled when Isagi was scolded by his classmates for it.
It wasn't his fault...
But in the end he still had to bear the burden.
"You're in the way, Isagi," Tsuki said, his voice pleasant, almost friendly. "Why don't you sit in the back? No one's there."
No one was there because no one wanted to be there. But Isagi nodded, because arguing was useless, and walked to the last row of the bus.
He sat alone.
The window was cold against his cheek. He pulled out his phone, scrolling through photos—not for anything recent, but for the ones he had saved from years ago. A small group photo. Hugo, Charles, Loki, and him, squeezed together in frame, laughing at something he couldn't remember anymore.
How he missed them.
It had been a year and five months since he had moved back to Japan. The scent of baguettes and morning bakeries still lingered in his mind, phantom smells that hit him at odd moments—when he walked past a convenience store, when he caught a whiff of butter, when the wind blew a certain way.
I wish I hadn't left you, he thought, his thumb tracing the outline of Hugo's face on the screen. But I can't be selfish now, can I?
After all, I'm afraid I would only be a burden.
He smiled as tears rolled down his cheeks, just how his tears are falling his sense of hatred towards himself increases.
If only I had not showed my talent.
Maybe the others would've accepted me.
If I had played my role as they wanted.
Maybe I could become closer to them.
But it was only the if.
The journey from Saitama to Aikogihara Forest took four hours.
They stopped twice—once at a rest area where Isagi bought a bottle of water and ate a rice ball alone on a bench, watching the other students cluster in groups, laughing, sharing food. The second stop was at a small convenience store in a town Isagi didn't know the name of. He stayed on the bus, pretending to sleep, listening to the muffled sounds of the world outside.
The landscape changed as they drove. The city fell away, replaced by hills, then mountains, then forests thick with snow-covered pines. The sky was grey, heavy with clouds that promised more snow.
By the time they arrived, the sun was already low, casting long shadows across the white ground.
It was around 7:45 p.m when they arrived.
"Finally.." Isagi whispered as packs his earphones back into its case before moving out.
The resort was a cluster of small wooden huts, arranged in a semicircle around a central clearing. Smoke curled from chimneys, and the air smelled of pine and woodsmoke and something cold that made Isagi's nose sting.
The students were told to bag up their belongings and move into their assigned huts. Groups were pre-arranged—names listed on a large board near the entrance.
Isagi found his name.
Hut 7: Isagi Yoichi
That was it. Just his name.
He blinked, reading the list again. There were supposed to be four beds in Hut 7, but his was the only name written.
No one wanted to stay with me.
He should have been hurt. Maybe he was. But mostly, he felt relief.
Atleast, he didn't have to deal with those annoying glance. Besides he would have the whole room to vent his frustrationte to and Noonewould notice! (not that he needed it but still (￢_￢)).
Hut 7 was at the edge of the clearing, slightly apart from the others. It was small but warm, with a low ceiling and a wood-burning stove in the corner. Three beds—not four, which meant the school had given him the smaller hut because no one else would share with him.
Isagi didn't mind. He had three beds to himself. He could spread out, sleep diagonally, leave his things wherever he wanted.
He slumped onto the soft mattress, exhaling. The cold from outside had seeped into his bones, and he fumbled with his winter jacket and scarf, pulling them off with numb fingers.
Through the small window, he could see the forest. The pines were heavy with snow, their branches drooping under the weight. The sky was darker now, the clouds thick and low, and the first flakes of snow were beginning to fall.
The scenery is at least pretty, he thought.
He then moved to take his small camera in his front pockets turning it on before taking a simple picture of the scenery outside the hut.
Click
It was perfect. Isagi can add it to the other collection of pictures he took, he had been taking pictures of scenery and random things and putting them in an album book.
the purpose?
So that he can show Hugo,Loki and Charles of the beautiful things he's seen in japan.
"I can't wait to meet them" He grinned
A whistle blew outside.
"All students, gather in the central clearing! Now!"
The voice belonged to Coach Tanaka, the physical education teacher and head of the soccer team. Isagi recognized it immediately—the sharp, commanding tone that had made him flinch for years.
He pulled his jacket back on, wrapped his scarf around his neck, and stepped outside.
The cold hit him like a slap. The snow was falling harder now, flakes catching in his hair, melting on his cheeks. He walked toward the clearing, his boots crunching against the frozen ground.
The other students were already there, clustered in groups, their breath misting in the cold air. Isagi stood at the edge, apart, as always.
Coach Tanaka stood at the front of the clearing, his arms crossed, his face set in its usual scowl. Beside him was Ms. Hayashi, the literature teacher, her hands clasped in front of her, her expression soft and nervous.
"Listen up," Tanaka barked. "We'll be doing a group hike tomorrow morning. Until then, you're free to explore the immediate area—but stay within the marked paths. Dinner is at seven in the main lodge. Anyone caught wandering after dark will be sent home immediately."
His eyes swept the crowd, lingering for a moment on Isagi.
"Any questions?"
No one spoke.
"Then disperse."
The students scattered, breaking into smaller groups, heading toward the huts or the lodge or the treeline. Isagi turned to walk back to Hut 7, but a foot shot out in front of him, and he stumbled, barely catching himself.
Tsuki laughed. "Watch where you're going, Isagi."
Ikari snickered. Fuji smiled.
Isagi said nothing. He walked away.
"Quelle bande d'idiots !" He cursed in french, clenching his fist in anger.
What a bunch of stupid idiots
The main lodge was warm, crowded with students, loud with laughter and chatter. Isagi stood in the corner of the serving line, his tray empty, watching the food disappear plate by plate.
When he finally reached the front, there was almost nothing left.
A scoop of cold rice. A ladle of curry that had gone thick and clumpy. A single piece of bread, slightly stale.
He took it anyway.
He found a table in the corner—far from the others, far from the noise—and sat down. He had just lifted his spoon when a hand appeared from nowhere, slapping the bottom of the tray.
The curry and miso soup splashed onto his face, dripping down his cheeks, soaking into his hair.
Tsuki's laughter echoed across the lodge.
"Oops," he said, not sounding sorry at all. "My hand slipped."
Ikari and Fuji were laughing too, and around them, other students were watching, some with discomfort, some with amusement, most with carefully blank faces that said not my problem.
Isagi sat there for a moment, curry dripping from his bangs, soup pooling on his tray. Then he stood, picked up his tray, and walked to the dish return.
Patient Isagi..
Patient...
"Il est inutile de blâmer les personnes qui n'ont pas pu développer correctement leurs cellules cérébrales."
It is pointless to blame people who have not been able to develop their brain cells properly.
He didn't look at Tsuki. He didn't look at anyone.
He just walked.
Rather than giving in to his anger and rage it was better to leave before things get more worse.
Creak
The door opened slowly as Isagi's movements to undress himself. His tongue clicked.
"The clothes are dirty now.." he muttered.
sigh...
Let's just go to the bathroom...
The bathroom was cold as cold as his emotions currently.
Isagi stood at the sink, running water over his hair, watching the curry and soup swirl down the drain. His hands were shaking—from cold, from anger, from something he didn't want to name.
He thought about why he was here.
Flashback.
"Yoo-chan!" His mother's voice had been bright, excited, as she waved the permission slip in front of his face. "Your school is going on a trip! To the forest! Doesn't that sound fun?"
Isagi had stared at the paper, his stomach sinking. "Mom, I don't think—"
"You'll make so many friends!" She had cupped his face in her hands, her eyes shining. "You've been so lonely since we came back. I just want you to be happy."
He couldn't tell her the truth. He couldn't tell her about the whispers, the shoves, the way his teammates looked at him like he was something they had scraped off their shoes. He couldn't tell her that his coach hated him, that his classmates avoided him, that he spent every lunch hour in the library because it was the only place no one could find him.
So he smiled, and he nodded, and he signed the permission slip.
"Okay, Mom. I'll go."
End flashback.
Isagi turned off the water. He dried his hair with a paper towel, his movements mechanical, his mind blank.
He changed into fresh clothes—a thin shirt and pants, layered with a thick jacket and a new blue scarf the only ones he had left—and decided to go for a walk.
He didn't ask for permission. He knew what Coach Tanaka would say. Demanding. Selfish. Always causing problems. And Ms. Hayashi would nod along, because she was too afraid of Tanaka to disagree.
So Isagi slipped out of the hut, into the snow, and walked toward the forest.
He didn't notice the three shadows following behind him.
If he did then he wouldn't have gone outside or even a meter away from his hut.
The forest was silent.
The snow muffled everything—footsteps, breathing, even the sound of his own heartbeat. Isagi walked without purpose, letting his feet carry him where they would, his breath misting in the cold air.
The trees were tall, their branches heavy with snow. The sky was dark now, the clouds thick and low, and the only light came from the moon, pale and distant.
Isagi stopped, closed his eyes, and breathed.
The cold was sharp in his lungs, but it was clean. Pure. It didn't whisper. It didn't judge.
If only I could stay here forever, he thought. Just me and the snow and the silence.
He opened his eyes and started walking again.
And then he was falling.
His foot had caught on something—a root, a rock, he didn't know—and the ground rushed up to meet him. His hands shot out, but the snow was slippery, and he couldn't catch himself.
He landed hard, his cheek scraping against frozen dirt, his knee twisting beneath him.
Tsuki's laughter echoed through the trees.
"Oh no," Tsuki said, his voice dripping with false concern. "Isagi fell. Are you okay?"
Ikari and Fuji emerged from the shadows behind him, their faces lit by the dim glow of a phone flashlight.
Isagi tried to push himself up, but a boot pressed down on his back, shoving him back into the snow.
"Stay down," Tsuki said. "This will be easier if you stay down."
"Fucker!" Isagi cursed
"What do you want?" Isagi's voice was muffled against the ground.
Tsuki crouched beside him, grabbing a fistful of his hair and yanking his head back. "What do I want? I want you to disappear, Isagi. I want you to stop existing."
He pulled harder, and Isagi's scalp burned.
"You think you're better than us, don't you? With your fancy French training and your selfish playstyle? You think you deserve to be the star?"
Isagi's eyes watered. "I never said—"
"You didn't have to." Tsuki's voice was cold. "Everyone could see it. The way you hogged the ball. The way you took every shot yourself. The way you acted like the team was just there to serve you."
Isagi's heart pounded. "That's not—I was trying to—"
"To what? Win? At our expense?" Tsuki laughed. "You know why everyone hates you, Isagi? Because I made sure they would."
Isagi froze.
"I started the rumor," Tsuki said, his smile wide and sharp. "I told everyone that you were only using the team for your own benefit. That you wanted fame, and you'd discard us the moment you got it. That you didn't care about anyone but yourself."
He released Isagi's hair, letting his head drop back into the snow.
"And you know what? They believed me. Because it was easy to believe. Because you are selfish. Because you do only care about yourself."
Isagi lay in the snow, his face pressed against the cold ground, his mind reeling.
He started the rumor. All this time—the whispers, the hate, the way everyone looked at him like he was poison—Tsuki started it.
No wonder they all hate me.
No wonder no one believed me when I tried to explain.
I swear to god if it weren't for my rationally, I would've killed this stupid fucker
"Tie him up," Tsuki said.
Those three words snapped Isagi from his thoughts.
Ikari produced a length of rope from his bag—thick, coarse, the kind used for climbing. He grabbed Isagi's arms, yanking them behind his back, and bound his wrists together. Then his ankles.
Isagi struggled, twisting, trying to kick, but Ikari was stronger. Much stronger.
Fuji stepped forward, his smile soft and almost sad. He knelt beside Isagi and began to undress him.
"No—stop—"
Fuji ignored him. He pulled off Isagi's jacket, then his scarf, then the thick sweater underneath. The cold hit Isagi like a wall, stealing his breath, making his teeth chatter.
"You don't need these," Fuji said gently. "You won't feel cold soon."
When Isagi was down to a thin shirt and pants, Fuji pulled a juice box from his pocket—half-empty, still cold from the fridge—and poured it over Isagi's chest.
The liquid soaked through the thin fabric, and Isagi gasped. The cold was unbearable now, biting into his skin, seeping into his bones.
"Please," Isagi whispered. "Please stop."
Tsuki grabbed his hair again, yanking his head back. "You know what your problem is, Isagi? You shine too bright. You make the rest of us look like we're standing in your shadow."
His hand connected with Isagi's cheek—a slap that sent his head snapping to the side.
"You should have stayed in France. You should have never come back."
Another slap. Blood filled Isagi's mouth.
"But you did. And now I have to clean up the mess."
---
Isagi didn't stop fighting.
Even bound, even bleeding, even freezing—he didn't stop. He twisted, kicked, tried to roll away. He bit at the rope around his wrists, tried to work his hands free.
Tsuki watched him struggle, his expression darkening.
"Annoying," he muttered.
He grabbed Isagi by the shoulders and threw him.
Isagi's head connected with a rock.
The world exploded into white, then red, then nothing.
He fainted.
"Is he dead?"
Fuji's voice was high, trembling. He stood over Isagi's motionless body, his hands pressed against his mouth.
Ikari was pale, his broad shoulders hunched. "I don't—I can't tell—"
"He's not dead." Tsuki's voice was calm. He crouched beside Isagi, pressing two fingers to his neck. "His pulse is weak, but he's alive."
"What do we do?" Fuji asked. "If he wakes up, he'll tell—"
"He won't wake up." Tsuki stood. "Not if we make sure of it."
He looked at Ikari and Fuji, his eyes cold and hard.
"We're already in this. There's no going back. So we finish it."
They carried him deep into the forest, past the marked paths, past the signs warning of restricted areas. The snow was thicker here, the trees darker, the silence absolute.
They found a hole—a deep crevice hidden between the snow, almost invisible. Tsuki nodded.
"Tie him to that tree."
Ikari dragged Isagi to a dead pine, its branches skeletal against the grey sky. He wrapped the rope around Isagi's chest, around the trunk, binding him in place.
Tsuki produced a small bottle from his jacket. Gasoline.
He poured it over Isagi's body—over his chest, his legs, the thin shirt that was already soaked with juice and blood.
Then he took out a match.
Struck it.
The flame was small, fragile, flickering in the cold air.
"Any last words, Isagi?" Tsuki asked, though Isagi couldn't hear him.
"How dumb of me, it's not like you could hear this anyway" He grinned smiling at his own stupidity.
He dropped the match.
Woosh
The fire caught immediately.
Isagi's eyes snapped open. The pain was unlike anything he had ever felt—burning, searing, consuming. He tried to move, to roll, to escape, but the ropes held him tight.
He opened his mouth to scream.
No sound came out.
His throat was raw, frozen, destroyed by the cold and the blood. He could only watch as the flames climbed higher, as his shirt melted into his skin, as the world turned orange and black and red.
Tsuki watched too. His smile was wide, satisfied.
"Savour this," he said to Ikari and Fuji. "This is what victory looks like."
They watched for a while bfore Tsuki said:
"Let's go now it's now worth leaving more evidence in a crime scene"
The other two hearing this moved their feet to follow Tsuki who was leaving Isagi in his wretched situation.
They all left.
Leaving Isagi to bear it all alone.
The snow fell.
It was heavy now, thick flakes that blotted out the sky, that covered the tracks, that buried the hole and the tree and the boy tied to it.
A large pile of snow shifted, loosened by the wind, and fell into the crevice.
The fire went out.
Isagi's breath was ragged. His chest was a ruin of burned flesh and exposed muscle. His legs were worse. His face—he couldn't feel his face.
What did I do to deserve this?
Tears leaked from his eyes, but they froze on his cheeks before they could fall.
I just wanted to play soccer.
I just wanted to make them proud.
I just wanted to go home.
His vision was fading, the edges going dark. The cold was everywhere now, inside him, outside him, indistinguishable from the pain.
He closed his eyes.
Tu de du di de du de du di
Look at the stars in the big black ink.
Tell me what you feel and tell me what you think.
Is it cold outside?
"It's cold," Isagi whispered.
Is it cold outside?
"So cold."
La la la la~
La la la laa~
He expected tye grueling coldness of death to claim him but he felt something wrapped around him.
Then warmth.
Not the burning of the fire—that had been agony. This was different. Soft. Gentle. Like being wrapped in a blanket on a winter morning.
Isagi opened his eyes.
The darkness in the corner of the crevice was moving, shifting, taking shape. It was vast and formless, with sharp sets of teeth that gleamed in the dim light. Huge. Scary.
But to Isagi, it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
"Poor thing," the shadow whispered, its voice a chorus of echoes. "Come here."
Isagi reached out.
His hands were burned, his arms were broken, his body was dying. But he reached out anyway.
The shadow wrapped around him, warm and safe, and Isagi closed his eyes.
He didn't open them again.
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First of all, This is my most dedicated fic of all my time as an author (Which mind you I've never drawn or put much effort in the fics as much as this one)
And please vote for shadows name on Ao3 in the previous chapter ( before this one)
This is part one mind you. ( ｀ー')
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