The boy had been following me for a while,
I was only ten then, in elementary school. The streets were quiet and golden with afternoon sun. My school randoseru hung lopsided on my shoulder, and I walked slowly, dragging one foot behind the other.
I heard the sound first, a soft rustle behind a tree, but didn't turn. I could feel him, peeking from behind the trunk, his full body visible, not even hiding well.
He had bright green hair — messy and short, standing out against the brown bark like leaves refusing to blend in.
After a few steps, I heard him shuffle out, then the rhythm of light, nervous footsteps, trying to match mine.
I stopped and he stopped.
I walked again and he walked too.
Then, with a little extra courage, he called out,
"Hey!" But I didn't answer.
"You're always alone," he said, jogging a bit to catch up. "Do you… wanna come to my house today? My mom made onigiri. We've got a trampoline too."
I stopped walking and he stopped, wide-eyed. I turned slightly, my voice quiet. "Why are you asking me?"
He hesitated, "Well, you're cool. And… you helped that girl in PE today. And… um… you have that so cool mark." As he smiled.
Mark? Does he mean the Generation ability or specifically the one on my back?
I looked at him a moment longer. "So that's what this was."
"I didn't do it to make friends." Then I turned and walked away.
He didn't follow.
The green-haired boy faded behind me, but not completely. His footsteps might had stopped, but something about the way he looked at me, wide-eyed, a little hopeful — lingered longer than I wanted to admit.
***
Present Day
"Nageya-kun…" my mom called from the hallway, voice sweet like syrup.
"Yeah, Mom?"
"Come here and give me a hand for a second, honey."
"Sure."
My mom, Nay Raman. A Nie and a Kylyk. The person I got some clumsy genes from. Now she was asking another clumsy one for help. Fortunately, she'd just dropped a pile of laundry. Easy save.
"Nageya… do you know what your name means?" she asked, watching me fold a shirt.
"Huh… are you asking me or telling me? 'Cause I don't care either way."
Suddenly—fuuush!
She tossed one of Dad's shirts over my head and started pounding my back with her tiny fists.
Thump! Thump! Thump!
"I'm trying to have an emotional moment here, you idiot!"
"Sorry, Mom but that hurts! Then again... I can lend you my ears if you want them that badly. Haha."
A new voice cut through the room.
"Now, that is no way to talk to a lady, young man."
It was smooth, calm, yet powerful like thunder disguised as velvet. I froze, only one voice could do that to me. The figure walked in, just four centimetres taller than me, same shiny white-bluish hair but a bit more polished, his body, more defined and his presence—undeniable.
But what really made me freeze… was the voice. That voice always made my skin crawl like a wet cat in a thunderstorm.
He and I look almost alike, the same sharp jawline, the same hair but his got a teenager's haircut.
His eyes carried the weight of something ancient, and his skin, slightly darker, told the part of the story I never could. People often confused Father and Son.
Before he could take another step, I bolted out of the room.
He was my dad. Yanamu Raman. One of the few with their African bloodline still intact. A 9th Generation and one of the wealthiest, strongest men in Japan. The only person I fear. But it's not a fear that weakens. It's one that demands respect.
It was time to prepare for the academy.
I guess I should take a shower then.
As walked into my room, I stepped on something soft—CRUNCH—It was someone's hand and before I could even mutter an apology—SMACK!
My left cheek lit up in heat.
He thew a kick traight from where he sat.
Without a breath, I snapped back—my foot sliced through the air with a roundhouse kick—WHOOSH! He ducked.
I dropped low and drove a punch into his gut—WHUMP!—and he choked, coughing out a mouthful of water.
He sprang up, fist flying, an uppercut soared toward my chin. I leaned back just in time, grabbed the back of his neck, and SLAM!—drove his head into the floorboards with a crack that echoed off the walls.
Silence fell.
Dust settled.
A whole minute passed before he lifted his head again, blood trickled down from his nose and forehead, but he smiled, that annoying, weird smile.
Nasuke-chan, my little brother, nine years old, seven years younger than me, and we look nothing alike.
His hair's snowy white while mine's white-bluish, his eyes? Even bluer. His skin's pale, smooth... like porcelain. Lighter than Mom's. Looks more like Grandpa. Pure Japanese colouring.
Honestly, I consider him a stranger, he probably came to my room to spar again. Typical.
I turned my back, walked to my closet, and pulled off my shirt with a sharp motion.
"What are you doing in my room, you weirdo with the dumb hairstyle?"
Man, I wish I could shave that ridiculous half-up ponytail bald in his sleep. But he'd probably do the same to me, so… yeah, I'll pass.
"I came to spar."
"With whom?"
"With my brother."
I scoffed, changed into a new shirt, and walked past him, muttering as I brushed his shoulder at the doorway, "I don't care, cause your brother's not in this room. Then I walked out.
"Hey, brother…"
"What? And quit following me around."
"You know you're the real weirdo, considering you call me your otōto… a stranger."
"So you do know that, huh?"
"You do know we're going to the same school now, right?"
I paused in my steps and glanced at him over my shoulder.
"And why should I care? You're just nine, starting at the academy, and I'm supposed to act like I know you? Just fail a few classes and stay outta my sight."
Honestly, I can't help it but think, this weirdo tampered with time or something. And somehow, he skipped grades.
He's a 9th generation but having three in one household? Is super rare. Nasuke's tall for his age—too tall, he looks fifteen, sometimes I myself forget he's just nine. It even freaks out adults. Still, he never hides his age. That's the creepiest part.
"You call me a weirdo 'cause I don't look like our parents or you, but we've got the same hair," he said, opening the bathroom door for me like a smug little butler.
"Yeah, right. As if our hair's the same. Your hairstyle's the first thing I don't understand about you," I said, yanking his ponytail.
"Aghhh! Don't pull my hair, that hurts!"
"Get outta my sight already."
‐‐‐
Outside, the wind whistled through the morning air as we stood at the massive gates of Zaikoku High as they creaked open—Eeeeeek—like something ancient was being disturbed.
As we stepped forward, students automatically parted, all eyes locked on us, the Raman Brothers.
Tall, calm and effortlessly cool, whispers started like a ripple across still water.
"…It's the Raman brothers…"
"…they're so handsome…"
"…are they models or something…?"
"The older one—his skin colour is so cute!"
"Look at his white-bluish long ponytail … and his eyes…"
"His little brother looks just like him… blue eyes… white hair…"
Teachers stopped in their tracks, even the birds seemed to hush as the murmurs grew soft, breathless and disbelieving.
"The younger one's joining the academy today!"
"Wow… he's cool…"
"…oh my gosh…" "…they're both so handsome…"
And honestly? My brother soaked in every glance like it was sunlight, I felt stripped. Like their eyes were peeling away my skin, trying to see something I refused to show. I shoved a girl who was frozen in place.
"Move. You're a walking obstacle."
She fell—THUD!—but still smiled up at me like I was the centre of her universe.
Ayumi-san, Japanese, same class as me, 2-B. Glasses like foggy windows. Trips every time she sees me. Maybe cause I always pushed her. She doesn't stand out much. But she's… stunning.
"Hey, Miss, are you okay?" Nasuke-chan stepped forward, reaching out a hand "Here, take my hand. And… please forgive my brother."
"Actually," she said, blushing, "his behaviour is the reason I like him."
"HUH?!"
Nasuke blinked in disbelief.
"So… what's your name?" he asked, still holding her hand.
"Oh… I'm Ayumi Matsuda. Class 2-B."
"Wow, he's handsome too…" she whispered under her breath.
---
In class...
While the chatter was hard to ignore, I was lost in my own cinematic dream sequence. The sound of the classroom faded. The light hit the side of my desk, warm and soft. I leaned slightly, eyes distant.
And there she was.
"Oh, Natsuki… you're more beautiful than the moon…"
"I think about you day and night… I can't even eat…"
Hahaha… Hahaha… Hahaha! Natsuki's laugh echoed like music.
"Oh, listening to you laugh like that is enough… my love…"
Then suddenly someone was calling my name.
"HEY! Nageya! Nageya-kun! Wake up! The teacher's here!"
"You IDIOT—WAKE UP!"
"Um… Natsuki-san, please don't hit him," Ayumi tried to intervene.
"Why not, Ayumi? He's off daydreaming again.
Nageya. A name most people mispronounce, maybe because it's neither fully Japanese nor fully African. Like most Nie names, it sounds like a strange fusion of both. A reflection of the Africans' attempt to blend in without erasing their roots.
Not that I care, as long as my first girlfriend gets it right, that's all that matters.
"…Huh? Did someone just slap me?" I slowly raised my head from the desk, dazed.
"Yes, I did."
And there she was again, Natsuki Saito, the girl I like, it's completely one-sided since I've never said a word to her. Although… she treats me oddly, differently from other girls. She talks to me so casually, but she avoids me time to time and acts like she doesn't care. So I return the favour.
"And who are you?" I asked, deadpan.
"Whaaat?! We've been in the same class for a year, and you still ask that?!"
"I don't know you. Maybe it's 'cause you're not as popular as Ayumi."
That was a lie. Natsuki's super popular, she's dating a Class A guy. Worse, I just compared her to Ayumi, who isn't even close in popularity but is more beautiful.
"So… who are you?" I asked again.
"It's Natsuki Saito-san for you. Don't forget."
"Nope. I've never heard of her."
She narrowed her eyes. "Ha... Funny. Because I don't know you either."
"Hmm… don't care. Since you don't know me, buzz off. Shoo, shoo."
As I tried to get up to fix my chair, BAM! I tripped flat on my belly onto the floor. Gasps, a few giggles, shuffling feet, someone stifled a laugh. Before I could react, a dozen hands reached out toward me.
I pulled myself up, brushing them off quietly, then tried to sit again—THUMP—I fell again, both my hands and knees on the ground.
"How unreal, at this time." I muttered under my breath, as Natsuki just walked off.
I sighed, fixed my chair and sat down, eyes forward. All the girls around me kept smiling, some leaned toward each other, whispering through giggles...
"…so cute…"
"…he's like a clumsy prince…"
Zaikoku High.
An academy for every kly, lyk, kylyk, and mayanas who's finished elementary or junior high and this was my second year here. The place runs on a unique structure, elegant and strange.
It trained the Generations in how to use their abilities and helped prepare kylyk when they'd awaken. Classes ended at 3:00 p.m. After that, you could go home… or stay behind and learn how to bend the world in your own way.