Groundhog Day

The burning heat of the sun quickly faded into the twilight as it projected its last dying rays onto the city below. A boy stared at the roads and alleys that connected the comfort district of the city. He whore a blue and white hood over his head, black jeans, and worn-out running shoes, an inconspicuous attire that maybe showed a little desperation and a desire to preserve his good clothes by using old ones.

Houses, apartment complexes, food stores, and 24/7 all-night stores. People indolently walked on the road, their silhouettes painted in the same orange-red light that covered everything at that time of the day. The crowd moved with the flow of the city, but followed the set paths of their routine as well.

With a deep breath, he looked around. An alley going down. Two sets of stairs were divided by a handrail. The stairs were dusty and worn out, and the railings were scratched due to punks skating on them.

Those same punks were there as well, laughing, enjoying life like any other. Laughs, whispers, pains, wallows, sorrows, everything mixed up in a bag at the end of the day and start of the night.

He rested his arms against the rails.

The youth closed his eyes.

A part of him envied his fellow youths with things to enjoy, lives to live, and friends to keep them company; his lips dried, his heart hung heavy in his chest, like a pendulum held by a steady hand, its movements forced to stop, but he could never stop breathing, or living anyway.

His fingers tapped against the slightly warm metal.

Things were bad, but he should not allow it to be halted to a crawl.

He walked up to a phone booth and inserted a precious coin into it.

A phone call was expensive, and it cost him money he couldn’t allow himself to spend, but she would chew him if she knew he was doing off-the-books patrols again.

He dialed the number to their special secret base.

Someone picked it up, but it was not the person he wanted.

“Hello, Dawn here. Who is on the other side? And why do you know this number?”

He sighed deeply.

“Hello, Sona-san. This is Itsuki, warn Momo that I will be patrolling district E-4. As always. Good luck.” Before she answered him, he hung up the phone and walked away.

He took the stairs down. His heavy footsteps echoed like chains bound to a prisoner, as the twilight danced above his head.

His hooded figure became one more in the crowd. Another nameless face in the town.

They walked, and walked, as cars passed by, the symphony of honks, brakes, and tires ground against the concrete echoed.

The blinks of traffic lights.

Those same scenes, sounds, the life that everyone born in such a big city was cursed with, the same acts replayed and reprised by every actor on the stage, including themselves.

How many times did Itsuki rehearse his lines and play this role?

The hunter.

The broken

Unrelenting.

An actor tied to a broken replay button, and a shut-in fast-forwarding one.

The last heats of the bleeding sun filled him with cold warmth, as memories reminisced in his mind. Reveries of happier times, of when he still could hold her hand while they were underneath the dusk.

How warm it felt, until the day she left him alone and went to focus on her relationship with that person.

At that time, he still felt warmth, too, happiness for her.

Now, all he felt was this mix of cold brought by warmth.

Was Itsuki alive at all?

What was the difference between him and a corpse? He could no longer tell.

His eyes became half-lidded as he watched closely for any sort of strange movements, any danger towards the crowd he was part of.

The scenery grew purple, like a nasty bruise, an open wound left to be infected.

As the night drew in, his mind became hazed, as if darkness’s hands engulfed half of his heart. He felt the calling of something darker, the urge to indulge in his violence, to find that person.

But he couldn’t give in, not today.

He decided to patrol those streets instead.

His eyes rose to stare at the moonless dark skies of the city, the melody and lightshow illustrated on the dark clouds, a city that never died.

Welcome to those who want to enjoy life.

Itsuki scoffed.

He knew those welcomes all too well, those fake welcomes, to a life of indulgence and worry-free wanton desire.

Hugs and words that could never amount to anything close to the heat of a real person, or the genuine words of caring of a friend.

Aaah, but what did he know about those things? He had lost them for some years now.

Maybe he should focus solely on the mission at hand, as he always did.

Itsuki heard a scream.

No, it was not a scream.

More like a pitiful whine.

His eyes opened, as if he was awakened from a sleep.

He took a look around.

He saw a scene.

Two thugs, pressuring a woman against the walls of an alley, one with his palm pressed beside her head, and the other on her side, cutting away any chance to flee.

He turned quickly on his heel and went after those people.

A smile parted his lips, like the forked tongue of a snake.

For a normal person, even for a delinquent, especially one of the Fujiwara-Senki, the appropriate reaction would be to feel outrage.

Righteous anger to protect a defenseless, innocent woman.

But why did he smile?

He was a freak in his heart, someone who lost every shred of dignity and soul he once had. He craved this violence. He craved blood, like a well-oiled engine wanting for more and more to continue working.

Itsuki knew he was no hero; he was in it for himself, to fuel this vengeance and anger, to enjoy the violence that had hurt him so deeply.

He would never fool himself into thinking he was doing anything for heroics or because it was right.

It only made sense, after all.

Then, why every time he beat someone, every time he broke their limbs, ripped their teeth out, and beat them until their lips nearly fell out of their mouths and their faces were too bruised to be recognized, he felt such emptiness?

Like a new thing inside his soul rotted to such a degree he could not tell anymore, like a slowly decaying corpse in a glass coffin.

With a loud groan, hair escaped his lips and nostrils in a hot steam, the haze in his mind cleared, to give way for a well-sharpened violin, pressing its cords until they were ready to snap.

Blind to ways out and deaf to hope, he walked.

Each step was heavier than the last, but this heaviness gave him a purpose.

Soon, he was upon them.

They were tall, but not as tall as him, not even close.

“Hey.” His voice echoed rispy. A tooth grin with grim intentions hid behind blunted fangs.

The two men darted to look at him.

A fatal mistake, they should’ve started swinging already.

Itsuki’s punch flew in a moment’s notice against the guy pressing himelf against the woman.

The familiar sensation of flesh trembling under his fist, knuckles against teeth underneath said flesh, the way a body’s momentum and center of gravity shifted after he punched them.

The same old highs that turned out dull.

The man was thrown to the ground. His partner tried to move, but he just tried.

Itsuki was already upon him, his hand held his head, and smashed it against the alley wall.

And then scrubbed it against the cold concrete.

And smashed it, and scrubbed it, and smashed.

The man tried to scream, but his voice was drowned out by the sound of his face being messed up.

He tried to break free, his hands held on Itsuki’s arms, and punched, pinched, and struggled to break free.

A tired, burnt-up, and on the verge of a breakdown smile appeared on Itsuki’s face. He dropped the man’s head, who thought for a moment he had broken free.

Itsuki rose one of his legs and planted the other firmly on the ground.

The man’s face crashed against the wall in a loud and wet thud. He lost consciousness immediately as teeth fell on the ground.

When he first started to dab on violence, to indulge in this sweet and bitterly rotten sin, he flew to great heights when he executed such cruel moves on people.

The type of highs that could haunt a man for the rest of the day, the type of adrenaline rush that would make or break someone in a pinch.

Now, all he felt was just a used afterglow of that sensation, just like embers that died out.

He did it on automatic.

Itsuki entertained the thought that he played with his prey to give them the illusion of running away after a struggle, but it was a bold-faced lie.

He would never admit it, but the truth was that he was no longer thinking of the highs, or the emotion, or anything else.

Itsuki did those moves to chase after an emotion that had long run out of stock, as if those moves would bring the highs and emotions back, and make him feel anything but the crushing numbness in his body.

Give the feeling he was alive, he was important, and not just a shade, a shapeless soul, repeating the same day forever and ever.

The illusion that time has been running, and not been stuck for a while.

But it was a lie.

Even if it was ignored, denied, and thrown away, a lie remained a lie. Once again, his eyes became half lidded, his chest even heavier, and the bitterly spoiled taste overran his mouth.

A strange mix of guilt and indescribable sorrow flooded his system, and it made him notice the other guy had vanished. He wanted to scowl, give in to a cheap, fabricated emotion of feigned rage, but he didn’t. There was a woman, sobbing, scared at the sudden violence.

To allow her to stay there, frightened… and in a situation that would get messy, was not something Momofuku would approve of, so Itsuki smiled at her.

He still smiled; he smiled gently at that woman. “Please, miss, run away. Things are ‘bout to get ugly.”

It did the trick, and the girl got up from her spell.

She looked around and picked up a purse that had been dropped on the ground and nodded at him. “Thank you.”

She ran away with an empty thank you, or so he thought.

But if it was empty, why did he feel that fuzzy feeling in his chest?

Why does it make him feel strange amidst the storm of sorrow and sadness in his chest?

That thank you made him feel grateful, for what? Itsuki had no idea, but it made sense, even if it didn’t make any sense to his mind at all.

He smiled sadly.

He noticed more people approaching the alleyway.

The girl had long since run away, too far away, he was grateful for that, but he stayed. He had no reason to, then why was he there, waiting for them?

His lips trembled.

The heaviness on him became even worse, as his chest clenched. The sense of purpose straightened and ironed out, to ditch out violence, a mindless thought and actions engraved in his body.

But he felt nothing for them; even the burning inferno of his anger had become charred and a husk after so long.

Yet he was there to meet them.

“This is the territory of the Bikers from Mt. Ooe. Whatcha are you doing here, pretty boy?” A man talked, his voice gruff as if he had swallowed gravel and forced himself to talk using only his throat.

He was sweaty, drenched in it, and smelled bad, but he didn’t look like a fatso at all. He was quite athletic, even.

Itsuki laughed. He thought that the guy must’ve been the type to try and impress men by looking all worked out and tired.

The man took offense to his laughter and came to Itsuki. He tried to impose his presence, make himself look bigger.

With a second look, Itsuki saw that they were around the same age, but the man was far shorter than him.

Which made his act of looking tall and mean hilarious in hindsight.

“This turf is near my home, thus this area is mine. If you know what is right for yourself, you should give up and pack your things quickly, Ugly Little Man.” Itsuki showed his fangs again.

A taunting smile, an invitation for a bloody bowl.

“A gang, huh. A biker gang.” Itsuki spoke out loud. He was not planning on any hunts today, but given the chance presented itself, he could patrol, take out a rival gang out of his territory, and go hunt all at the same time.

A group of around five people appeared. “You will regret those words, pretty face.” Like a beast sharpening its claws, Itsuki opened his hands and then balled them into fists.

“Go get him, boys!” The man screeched and landed a punch on Itsuki’s face, who answered with a hearty laughter, before throwing his fist forward as well. Itsuki pummeted his whole fists into his mouth, breaking multiple teeth in one go, before pulling his hands out, shattering even more teeth in the way out.

The fragments embedded in his hands made it bleed, but he no longer cared about it.

The man fell to his knees, holding his bloodied mouth, as the others staggered and flinched in affliction and fear.

Itsuki moved; he bobbed his body and head to the sides, his body to the left, his head to the right, like a maniac beast approaching.

His hands stretched out like the claws of a bear.

“You'd better be ready for what is to come. I will boot your asses out of Fujiwara-Senki’s turf.”

Soon, they would learn what the meaning of despair was, and what Itsuki was capable of. They had the unluckiest of luck that day.

More people started to flood into the alleyway. He smiled.

Itsuki smiled large.

Things wouldn’t be as dull as he thought they would be, after all.

In the distance, a third party watched over the event.

She watched him tear apart those thugs and gangsters with raw, unmitigated might and violence, like a splash of ink over a blank canvas.

A canvas drenched in blood. She smacked her lips as Itsuki became a beast against them, raw, but able to be refined, turned into a fine pigment rather than the baroque and rough look he had right now.

Truly a great find she had, who thought she would see a person that could be both a pigment, and a nice brush as well.

What kind of violent extravagancies could he make?

(A few minutes later)

Itsuki took a deep breath.

Rain started to pour down on him. His breath was heavy, his body steaming hot after one of his biggest brawls in a while.

He rested his head against some empty boxes and trash cans, and blood ran down his face.

His body always bruised and bled quite easily for a boy, ever since he was a child, but in the last few years… he stopped caring at all about how bruised he was, or how many cuts he had.

Wounds always closed, bruises always healed.

“You gave quite a performance there, but you were quite clumsy, unrefined, I am afraid.” A voice called him, and he raised his face to stare at her. She reminded him of Momo, his boss, but some things were amiss.

Black hair? Check, red eyes? Check, but they were a shade too pink, and she was a little too tall to be Momo.

“Who the fuck are you?” He questioned immediately, his crass words drew in a laugh from the girl.

“Let’s say I’m a woman bored of usual extravagancies, and I saw your show. Your violence. How much hurt you can bring to the table at the supper.” She smiled sweetly, or at least, Itsuki thought so.

He scoffed off, throwing his head against a metal trash can. “Blow off.” Itsuki scowled.

The woman didn’t go away; instead, she extended her umbrella to him in an attempt at goodwill. “What do you want? No one fights like that. No one bleeds themselves and others like you do for no reason. Whatever you want, I can give it to you.”

A hot breath came out of her mouth, and the woman finally retreated as she threw a card at him. “If you are from Higan Academy, come to the Bohemian Club. We have use for someone like you, and in return, I will help you, be at causing even greater pain than you can ever think of, or even, maybe help you in darker, more personal, and grudge-bound tasks.”

Itsuki got fully awakened, ready to chase after that woman. Mentioning Higan and his… grudge was not information anyone would have that easily, despite his past.

But she was already gone, as if she were a ghost. Itsuki groaned again, all strength vanished from his limbs, as he continued to bleed.

He just gave up and closed his eyes.

Be at his “Bed”, that rotting sofa, or just an alleyway, all felt the same to him. There was no such thing as a safe sleep, or a nice bed, not anymore.

He just closed his eyes and allowed his mind to drift away.

…

Memories called back at him.

The days when he and she walked under the blazing summer sun together.

The blinding golden-orange rays of the setting sun pierced through the darkening clouds and shone upon them as they walked back home.

She looked stressed that day as well.

“You are bothering me, Itsuki-san! Can’t you see I can’t go home with you anymore? I have a boyfriend! I can’t spend more time with another man other than him!”

Itsuki reached his hand to her, as he bit back his trembling feelings, hurts, doubts… “But… we have always gone home together after school. Surely it won’t hurt if you go home a bit earlier to-”

“Stop making excuses! We are grown already, we are no longer children! You can go home by yourself.” She stomped away and left him alone in the heat of the dazing summer sun.

His hand fell to his side, his heart sank to the bottom of his chest.

Had he done something wrong?

Were they lost in the daze of youth?

What would’ve changed if he had taken her hand?

Tried to fix things even before they broke?

Could he save her at all?

…

After a short eternity, the rain continued to pour down on him, and then it suddenly didn't.

He opened his eyes.

A hand reached out to him with an umbrella.