"I'm Lazy"

In the outskirts of Japan, spring had arrived, the season of new beginnings. Cherry blossoms were in full bloom, their delicate petals drifting through the air, creating a mesmerizing scene for tourists. The soundscape was filled with the hum of lawnmowers, birds chirping, children laughing, and families enjoying activities in their backyards.

Children ran freely, their laughter carried by the warm breeze. Snotty-nosed brats tumbled in the mud, played tag, flew kites, and raced one another to prove their speed. Among them, a particular child was chasing a cat that refused to be caught by grubby hands. Small, weak, and frail yet full of bravery, playfulness, and determination. This child possessed the same reckless energy as any other at that age.

They ran and ran, causing trouble along the way—bumping into a stall and earning a scolding from a vendor, pushing past other kids without a second thought, and getting chased by a nanny clearly unfit for the job.

Its was you!

Short and chubby yet quick enough to outrun the adults, you held out your arms, determined to catch the cat. Scratches covered your hands and legs, but you paid them no mind. Too focused on your goal, you didn’t notice where your chase had led you. Through a patch of trees, you emerged on the other side, oblivious to the towering gate and the large plaque above it that read ‘Yamazaki.’ Not that you could read it anyway.

You were so immersed in the chase that you failed to notice the boy staring at you, a boy with a look no child should have.

And before you knew it—

You tripped.

Because of the same boy.

His leg had been outstretched with the sole intention of tripping someone. He looked to be about your age, but you barely registered him as you cried, watching the cat disappear into a bush.

Splayed out on the ground, you wailed—not just out of frustration but also from the sharp pain stinging your chin and arms. Fat tears rolled down your cheeks, and snot threatened to dribble into your mouth. The boy grimaced in disgust.

"Ew. Wipe your nose." The boy, who you would later know as Gun—crouched next to you, nudging your side with his wooden sandal.

You didn’t listen to the boy, too busy crying your heart out over the lost cat and the stinging pain on your chin. You hiccuped, wailing even louder just to be difficult, snot hanging onto your lips as the boy recoiled at the scene. "Are you deaf? Wipe your nose." He pressed.

You sniffled loudly, wiping your nose with the palm of your hands, only making the mess worse. The boy made a face, recoiling slightly, but didn’t move away.

"You’re disgusting," he stated bluntly, tilting his head as if examining some strange, pitiful creature.

Still sniffling, you sat up and glared at him with the fury of a wronged child. "You tripped me!"

Gun blinked, unfazed. "Yeah."

Your tiny brain short-circuited from the sheer audacity of the boy in front of you. You expected an apology, maybe even help finding the cat, but instead, you got the driest response imaginable which made you want to bawl again.

"Why!?" You wailed.

Gun sighed as if your presence alone was exhausting. "You were running around like an idiot." His dark eyes flicked to where the cat had disappeared "And you were loud. It was annoying."

You hiccuped, rubbing your eyes furiously. “You made me lose the cat!”

"So?"

That one word. That single, indifferent word sent a fresh wave of outrage through you. You balled your fists and slammed them against the ground.

"You—you're the worst! A stupid face with weird eyes and weird shoes!"

Gun’s lips curled slightly. He flicked a pebble at your forehead. “You wanna fight?” He cracked his knuckles. “I’ll let you throw the first punch.”

You stopped mid-hiccup, staring at him. Wait. He was serious? For a moment, your childish brain struggled to process the situation. Most kids would back down, cry harder, and run away. Most kids would probably fight back and get beaten down.

But you were most kids, so you settled for both.

Without thinking, you swung your tiny, grubby hand right at his face.

Smack.

The world froze. Your palm, covered in dirt and wet snot, had landed squarely on Gun’s clean cheek. His head barely moved, but the sheer unexpectedness of the wet slap made the moment stretch unbearably long.

Then, Gun exhaled slowly through his nose. "You…" he muttered through gritted teeth.

You gulped.

Then—Gun lunged.

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The end. 😭