3: Kindness

When Shin finally woke, the sky had deepened to amber. The sun hung low on the horizon, painting the clouds in shades of rust and gold.

He sat up slowly, rolled his neck, and brushed a handful of dead leaves off his shoulders.

That late already.

He scanned the empty clearing. Kiba had actually done it—left him here. He stood and knocked the dirt from his clothes with a few lazy swipes. The cicadas had gone quiet. Only the wind moved through the leaves, and the last light stretched golden across the ground.

That was when he noticed the figure.

Not far away, at the edge of the lake, a small boy sat alone. Unmoving.

Is that…?

He recognized the silhouette. The blond kid from earlier—the one from noon.

Still here?

Shin looked around. Just the two of them now.

Did Kiba ditch him too? Has he been sitting here moping this whole time?

He hesitated, then walked over. Close up, he could see clearly: the boy was staring at the water’s surface, his thin back somehow smaller than it should have been. And his face—three pairs of whisker-like marks on each cheek, like a cat’s.

“Hey,” Shin said.

The boy startled. He turned, confirmed that yes, he was being addressed.

“W-what?”

“Why aren’t you home?”

“Oh… oh.” His voice came out clipped, guarded. He looked away. “I’ll go soon.”

“Where’d the others go?” Shin asked.

“Huh?” The boy blinked, confused.

“The kids from earlier. At noon.”

“Oh… them.” The boy went quiet. He looked down. “They went home. After the game was over.”

After the game. Something almost like a smile crossed Shin’s face—but the boy’s expression stopped him. He let the joke go unsaid.

“You should head back. Your parents’ll worry if you’re out this late.” Shin glanced at the horizon, then turned to leave.

“Parents… worrying about me…”

The words were barely a murmur. The boy’s head was bowed, hair falling forward, hiding his face.

Shin stopped.

“What about you?”

He looked back. The boy had lifted his head. His eyes were raw—something in them equal parts pain and a reaching, desperate kind of hope.

“You were asleep over there all afternoon. Won’t your parents worry if you’re late?”

Shin stood there a moment.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “Probably.”

If they were still alive, they would.

“Is that so…” The hardness went out of the boy’s eyes. He looked back down at the water. “Must be nice,” he whispered, “having someone who worries about you.”

His voice broke on the last word.

Shin said nothing.

The wind picked up, low and hollow through the trees. The air turned cold. Dark clouds were rolling in above them, swallowing the last of the gold.

“Go home,” Shin said. “Rain’s coming. You’ll catch something.”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He turned and walked.

……

Behind him, the boy stayed where he was—watching Shin’s back until it disappeared into the dusk.

Then the first drop hit his cheek.

He looked up. The sky was falling in pieces, silver and cold.

Rain.

He didn’t move. Let it come.

Did that guy… actually care?

Shin walked fast, quietly annoyed at himself for not leaving sooner. The rain came harder. It soaked through his collar, plastered his hair flat, wicked into the hem of his clothes.

Then he stopped.

A figure was running toward him through the downpour—Kiba, half-swallowed by a rain jacket three sizes too big, its hem dragging through the mud, arms clutching an umbrella to his chest.

Something in Shin’s chest eased.

Kiba reached him, breathing hard, and snapped the umbrella open over Shin’s head. Rain hammered the canopy and slid off in curtains. Then he shoved the handle into Shin’s hand and stepped back.

“I figured you’d forgotten about me,” Shin said. He took the umbrella. The corner of his mouth moved—just barely. “Guess not.”

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Kiba pressed his lips together. Said nothing. Gave Shin one look, then turned and bolted back into the rain, his oversized jacket flapping behind him until his silhouette vanished.

That idiot.

Shin watched him go. Then he started walking, umbrella overhead, toward home.

By the time he got back, changed into his dark blue yukata, and settled in, the rain had softened to a murmur. Night had fallen for real.

A knock. Then Hana let herself in, carrying a bento box.

“I can feed myself,” Shin told her.

She ignored him, set the food out on the low table, and sat down across from him with a smile. “Can you beat my cooking?”

He couldn’t argue with that. He accepted the chopsticks and ate.

“I saw Kiba grab the umbrella and run,” Hana said. “Was that for you?”

Shin nodded.

“Honestly.” She sighed—fond and exasperated at once. “He ditched you earlier, didn’t he.”

“He didn’t know it’d rain.”

“Still.” She shook her head. “You’re too patient with him, Shin.” A pause. “You’ll both be at the Academy soon. Look out for him, okay?”

“I know.”

“Oh—Kiba got his dog today.” Her tone lifted. “Little white one. Akamaru.”

“Already?”

“Tiny thing. You’ll see him tomorrow.” She smiled. “Our Kiba’s finally on his way.”

“He’s got years yet.”

“Don’t say that to his face.” She laughed.

A beat of quiet.

“I leave on a mission tomorrow,” Hana said. “Land of Rivers. C-rank. About two weeks.”

Shin looked up from his bowl.

“It’s fine—jonin-led.” She reached over and ruffled his hair into a mess. “Don’t worry. I’ll bring you something back.”

“I’m not worried,” he said.

“I know you’re not. That’s the part that worries me.” She smiled, but it was wistful at the edges. “I’m just sad I’ll miss your first day. I keep trying to picture you and Kiba walking in.”

She laughed softly, then grew quieter.

“When I started, I was terrified. Spent the whole day wishing I could go home.” A pause. “Back then, they’d send students to the front after two or three years. I was scared to death.” She looked at the table. “But the war ended before I graduated.”

“Hana.”

She glanced up. He was looking at her.

“Peace is better,” Shin said. “War shouldn’t happen. Not ever.”

She stared at him for a moment. Then she smiled—genuine, a little soft.

“You really mean that.”

“Of course.”

“You hate war, Shin?”