Chapter Text
Yamato Endo
It didn’t take coincidence to attract someone’s attention. All it took was a plan – precise, cold and as inescapable as a closing cage. Endo knew this concept better than anyone else, without ever sacrificing a single thing. All he had to do was move the right pieces, and sooner or later the world would do exactly what he wanted.
His latest target was as simple as it was dangerous. A fascination that had taken hold of him like poison: Sakura Haruka. A boy who had no idea that someone like Endo formed his name with faint obsession; that he had long been trapped in a game whose rules were known only to one person.
And Endo loved games. Especially those in which his victims realised too late that they had already lost.
With his hands buried in his trouser pockets, Yamato kept his gaze fixed straight ahead. Ever since that moment in Keisei Street – when he had first seen this lost-looking boy – he couldn’t shake the thought that there was far more to this unpolished character than a tamed kitten. He was still raw, full of wild potential, but Yamato knew how quickly Furin turned savage animals into harmless house tigers. Claws clipped, teeth ground down, fighting spirit trained to do only “good” things. And that was exactly what couldn’t happen. Not as long as this boy perhaps harboured the same power, the same sinful hunger for war and destruction as Chika.
The mere thought of having two gods on his side made something unfathomable rise up in Yamato. Power. Influence. Chaos that he could mould at will. With Sakura Haruka, Noroshi could become a group that would make all of Makochi tremble. He could already see it before him: a reborn place, shimmering in the blood of past brawls and drenched in the splendour of old times. And Furin – that ridiculous bunch – finally silenced because they had been deprived of a soul that might have meant something to them.
But to achieve all this, it needed a start. A functional, even tantalising game. One that would compel the boy to attack, to rip someone apart like a wolf would. He had to taste blood burning on his tongue, had to experience how his own body felt when he was on the verge of madness. Only then could he realise that he never wanted to return to the tight cage Furin had built around him. This boy had to feel the wildness inside him. Not a little. Not a hint of it. It had to be so overwhelming that he was willing to break the world apart just to regain that feeling. Then, at the latest, he would be perfect.
Perfect like Chika Takiishi.
Yamato’s mouth twisted, a mixture of mockery and impatience at his own pondering crossing his features. No idea stood out; none promised the delicious reaction he craved. A flat declaration of war was ridiculous. Far too direct and clean. He didn’t want a clean fight. He wanted an outburst, uncontrolled hatred and a face contorted beyond recognition. He wanted to hear Sakura scream, wanted to feel the anger like heat on his own body, wanted to fuel and possess the brute force that had to be hiding inside him.
This meant a crude attack was out of the question. It would only be a surprise, but not a moment of hatred. Not a moment Endo would be able to wallow in at the end of the day, because reddened cheeks and bared teeth drove excitement into his loins.
With a sigh, he slumped his shoulders and turned into a narrow alleyway where not a soul existed. Only rubbish containers lined the edge. Metal, which he strolled past without really noticing. It smelt of rot, which Makochi had been carrying around with it like a cloak for years.
As he took the next few steps and left the alley behind him, Tonpu Market Street opened up in front of him. It was a place usually crowded with Furin’s puppies; proudly yapping, but basically easy to break. An ideal place to knock over the first stone. A spot where he would find someone willing to become a tool for him. Or a victim. Perhaps both.
When Endo closed his eyes for a breath, he could almost feel the scene back in Keisei Street – an echo of voices, footsteps, sweat of fear. The people who had crowded around Sakura back then had remained in his memory. There had been that guy with the eye patch, whose posture had revealed that he would actually bite if he was teased. And a little further back, there had been a pale blond, shaking so badly that he had barely managed to crawl out from behind the sign he had been clinging to. A pathetic boy who probably couldn’t even defend himself and blamed everything on others. And this boy, of all people, had defended Sakura with almost fervent conviction. A loyalty that made Endo shake his head. It was a waste, really. But one that could be put to excellent use.
The longer he thought about it, the more obvious it became: the blond was an ideal target. And fate smiled on him when he spotted the very same boy a few metres away at one of the stalls selling sweets. He was almost ridiculously cute with his messy hair, the far too friendly, somewhat placating smile and those silly freckles that made him look like a child who’d been forgotten in a playground. Someone like him just didn’t fit into Furin’s uniform.
On the other hand, he fitted all the better in a game of Endo.
This little walking sunshine was exactly what he needed. Just the thought of grabbing him by the neck and beating him until his cheeks burst open and his skin shimmered in a beautiful play of red and purple made his fingers tingle. The idea of taking a picture of it was just as appealing. A single, flawless photograph that made Sakura realise how useless he had been in protecting his friends. The emotions this boy would feel in those seconds would surely be delicious.
And then there was the prospect of Takiishi’s reaction. He would love an escalation, would warm himself on the chance of chaos like a fireside. All of Noroshi would. For Endo, it was a pleasant side effect, while gaining a Sakura who wasn’t only angry but also hurt, irritated, and ready to throw reason overboard. And a person seething with rage was easy to break and mould.
Yamato kept his eyes on the blond, on this boy whose movements seemed awkward when he carried something around. This mutt who stuck his ass out far too far when he bowed in thanks. This child was nothing more than weakness personified. A failure, as it was written in the book.
How would Sakura react if this weakling was humiliated? What if he, Endo Yamato, went further than just hitting with his fist? There were so many ways to destroy someone that it seemed almost too easy to just disfigure this face. He could ruin this boy in other ways. Slowly and painfully until he would crawl before Sakura in tears, bloodied and scarred for eternity. How angry would this housecat-in-training be then?
Straightening his shoulders, a new idea formed in Endo’s mind as he sauntered towards the blond. What was his name again? He shook his head with a grin. It didn’t matter what this boy’s name was. All that mattered in those seconds was to start a game of chess that would stay with his victim forever.
He would break him.
With pleasure.
He followed the boy at a leisurely distance. The people here knew him; most of them had seen him dozens of times. But as long as he acted harmless, they instinctively made way for him, gave him fleeting glances and forgot about him in the next breath. A gift that this place gave to those who wanted to move silently through the crowds.
The boy stopped twice to help some old geezers. In return, he was given vegetables and a bottle of water. Nothing Endo would have even lifted a finger for. And yet this idiot bowed so low that it could hardly have been more ridiculous. This pathetic grovelling by someone close to Sakura Haruka, of all people, made Endo smile. It only confirmed to him that selection was necessary. Furin needed no pack animals, no sentimental appendages. No one would miss him once they realised how much better off they were without him. Only Sakura would fidget. For a week or two. And then he would realise too.
The blond, laden with his small, worthless gifts, finally turned into a side street. Another one of those alleys that people only used to store cardboard boxes or hide rubbish bins from view. The kind of connecting passageway that linked two main roads without ever really being used. Amidst all the silence and rubbish, no one would be waiting for him on the other side.
It was the perfect place.
Endo quickened his pace. Not hastily. More as if he were approaching a familiar ritual whose outcome had long been sealed. And in a way, it was.
The alley eagerly swallowed the sound of his footsteps. All that remained of the busy street was a muffled murmur that sounded like distant breathing. The blond boy continued walking, unaware, perhaps a little elated by the kindness he had been shown. Each step this kid took brought him closer to the spot where the alley narrowed. A kind of bottleneck and therefore a good place to make any escape impossible.
He stumbled further and further into the trap. With every metre, the end came into view – until he stopped to regrip the rustling vegetable bag. His shoulders were relaxed, his posture almost defenceless. Endo could already imagine how they would soon twitch, how his body would freeze, and how confusion would turn into panicked realisation. A wonderful transformation that he was only too happy to observe.
Yamato slipped deeper into the shadows, where the alley grew darker and the stench of damp cardboard and rusting metal filled the air. The darkness gathered between the containers, and Endo felt it settle over him like a familiar cloak. It made him invisible, silent, part of his surroundings. That was his speciality: moving in such a way that the world only noticed him when his hand was already around someone’s throat.
The boy continued on his way but hesitated briefly. Perhaps he sensed that something was wrong. A primitive reflex that was rarely enough to ensure the survival of people like him. A brief pause, a breath too deep, and he was already walking on. Naive and completely unprepared; perfectly worthy of being chosen.
As the blond approached the narrowest point, Endo took his final step. He emerged from the darkness, stepping out of the shadows so quietly that even an attentive person wouldn’t have heard him. His victim froze the moment a hint of his presence touched his skin. The bag sank a little, fingers trembled, his mouth opened in a reflexive sound. But Endo was already close behind him, wrapping his hand around the soft skin of that untouched throat and pressing his lips to his victim’s ear.
“Not a sound.” Yamato’s voice was like a deep vibration that visibly rippled through the blond’s body. He could see the hairs on the back of his target’s neck stand on end, see his shoulders begin to tremble, and hear a sharp whimper escape his throat. He might be Furin’s useless mutt, but part of Endo was sure he would scream. Perhaps to prove to himself that he could at least manage that much. So, to be on the safe side, he pressed his other hand over the blond’s mouth.
Then followed a rumbling sound. The bag hit the ground. In one fluid motion, Endo spun the boy around so his shoulder blades crashed against the wall. Cardboard boxes formed a wobbly, musty-smelling fortress around them. Here they were hidden from view, just as Yamato had calculated, so he could press himself against him. His victim’s dark brown eyes widened. A little panicked. A little shiny from welling tears, which probably took a lot of effort for him not to shed. Still, he was unable to hide the violent pounding of his pulse. The fear in his body couldn’t be swallowed.
Yamato leaned forward again to press his lips to the boy’s ear. “What? Is that all the resistance you’ve got?” A soft laugh escaped his throat. “Trapped. Helpless. Do you really belong to Furin?”
The power that lay in his hands, the certainty of controlling this moment, eagerly licked over Endo’s body. He was ready, able to give his victim the nightmare of a lifetime. He moved his hips forward slightly, the hard bulge of his erection pressing through his clothes against the blond’s thigh. The boy’s body stiffened, and a muffled squeak vibrated under Endo’s fingers.
“No one can hear you,” Yamato whispered, far too gently given the circumstances. In the next breath, he released the boy’s throat to slide his free hand over his black trousers. His fingers scratched across the fabric. The blond flinched for a single second, which only increased Endo’s desire. When was the last time he had taken apart such a helpless deer? “You knew what you were getting into when you joined Furin. Someone as weak as you are is practically begging to be devoured by Makochi’s beasts.”
Skilfully, Endo unbuttoned and unzipped the boy’s trousers. The metallic whirring of the barrier sounded too loud in the confines between them, and his victim dared to squint his eyes. A futile attempt to block out the world, as Yamato could imagine. But it was nothing that could save him. Nothing that changed anything.
In one powerful motion, Endo spun him around and pressed his chest against the rough wall. The boy cried out, a stifled sob, before Yamato’s hand covered his mouth again. In the blink of an eye, he tore his victim’s trousers and underpants down to his thighs, exposing him. Meanwhile, he pushed the dark green jacket and white shirt up a little.
Endo’s trousers remained unchanged, hanging on his hips. He merely freed his cock, the tip of which was already glistening with cruel impatience. The anticipation, the fantasies, the images in his head – waiting had tortured him more than he would have ever openly admitted. And knowing that all these fantasies would come true within the next few seconds only made the blood rush even heavier to his loins. He couldn’t hold back the amused snort as he spat into his hand – an almost disgustingly wet sound – and roughly moistened himself.
“No preparation for you. You don’t need it, do you? After all, you belong to Furin. You should be able to take a little pain.” He pressed the glans against the boy’s tight entrance. The latter froze, his whole body seemed to scream with tension, and his “no” was stifled by Endo’s hand.
Not that it would have made any difference if it had really sunk in. This stupid child had brought this situation upon himself. If he weren’t part of Furin, if he weren’t Sakura’s friend, his life would certainly have been easier. But instead, he had chosen the wrong path. Decisions that had driven him into Endo’s grip, who slowly pushed his hips forward. The tip of his cock threatened to penetrate. A stretch that elicited a broken sound from the blond. A melody that was even more arousing than the act itself.
“You’re tight,” Endo sighed into his ear, the words coming out with difficulty as he struggled to control his own lust, fighting against the boy’s tightness and resisting the heat beneath his skin. “Virgin, huh? No wonder you’re struggling so much.”
Still, he thrust forward, a single, devastating movement that drove him all the way into the boy’s body. His victim trembled around him, a stifled cry escaped his lungs, and blood gathered. In a thin trickle, it drew a long line down the inside of his thigh. For Endo, however, all this was nothing more than a pleasant tightness rubbing eagerly against him. Perhaps this boy was actually good for something, apart from being a pawn in this game that Yamato was playing with him and Sakura in mind.
He didn’t hesitate. From the start, he set a relentless pace, his hips thrusting forward, each movement eliciting a wet, gasping sound from the blond boy. The rhythmic sound of skin on skin echoed off the walls of the alley, a symphony of blood, pain and helpless whimpering.
“You like it, don’t you?” Endo hissed through clenched teeth. The breath in his throat burnt slightly. Slowly, he leaned over the boy’s back, his teeth grazing his shoulder. “Imagine how thrilled ... Sakura will be when you tell him ... that I made you ... my whore.”
They were deliberate words, cruel and simultaneously a promise of more to come if this child didn’t start to pay attention. And he felt the blond boy cling tighter to him, tormented by a moan that almost aroused pity.
But only almost.
Endo thrust harder, pressing the boy even more forcefully against the wall. As he did so, he watched his victim’s fingers desperately searching for something to hold on to. His nails scratched the concrete in vain, blood drawing lines that were eagerly absorbed. Despair clung to him like a shroud, and Endo pressed it tighter and tighter against him. His hand slid down from the blond’s mouth to his neck. Fingers wrapped around a throat that was far too soft.
He was going to come.
But engraving himself in this weakling wasn’t eye-catching enough. Part of him longed for a different image, something that could hardly have been more ideal. For that reason alone, he thrust once more before withdrawing completely from the boy and letting go of him. Instead, he grabbed his blood-smeared cock and rubbed it while the blond slid to the ground, gasping for air and sobbing.
He hit his knees, his forehead leaning against the wall, unable to suppress the trembling of his body. And to Endo’s delight, he dared to slowly turn his head over his shoulder to look up at his master. Large brown eyes, overwhelmed by tears, stared at him.
And Endo came.
His cum splattered on the boy’s face, ran down one cheek and left a dark stain on the collar of his shirt. It was perfect. The tears, the white, almost transparent liquid on his face, the all-consuming fear – it brought satisfaction that elicited a sigh from Endo.
Sakura would certainly not overlook the present he had given him. This boy wouldn’t be able to simply cover up what he had experienced. And that was enough for him to reach for a handkerchief in the breast pocket of his shirt, clean his cock as best he could, and push it back into his trousers before circling his shoulders. Not for a single second did anything change in the picture before him.
“Give my regards to Sakura.” One last time, Endo adjusted his clothes before turning away with a smug smile and moving on. There was no reason to spend more time than necessary looking at his first move. Here and now, what he had done had to be enough. It had to be sufficient to gain the attention he craved.
》YESTERDAY《
When Endo pushed open the door, the flat greeted him with that heavy silence that only arose when Chika wasn’t present. A silence that felt hostile. It crept over his arms, gnawed at his thoughts and painfully reminded him that the only warmth in this place was currently wandering around somewhere outside. Chika was probably roaming the streets of Makochi, either hunting for new trends or looking to restructure someone’s face. Endo imagined both and had to admit to himself that it didn’t matter. Chika could do whatever he wanted. He didn’t care about the consequences.
The only thing that mattered was that Chika came back because Endo had created a place for him here that held him. A kind of home. Not in the romantic sense, but like a warm nest that a stray animal kept returning to against its better judgement. That was exactly what Chika was like. A stray cat, moody, aggressive, untamed. And yet he kept coming back. At least once a day. Endo had done a good job – too good, almost. He had filled this place with so much Chika that it seemed hollow without him.
He closed the door behind him, took off his shoes and placed them neatly to one side, as if this tidiness would be enough to bear Chika’s absence. Then he wandered into the kitchen and opened the fridge. A yawning emptiness greeted him. An image that reminded him once again how pitifully alone he was without Chika. Without the smell of his food, his shampoo in the air, without the sound of his footsteps, his voice, his fickle aggression that often pushed him into a corner.
Endo slammed the fridge door shut a little too hard. Without Chika, this flat was nothing more than a half-hearted attempt to appear normal. A miserable shell that he lived in because Chika lived in it. On its own, it contradicted everything Endo was. He had made a place for Chika here, something this boy would have completely ignored on his own – and he was proud of it. He was the reason Chika didn’t sleep on some worn-out sofa or end up on the floor of a stranger’s room. He was the reason Chika returned every night, like a god visiting his temple.
And for a moment, Endo wished this temple wasn’t so empty. He wished Chika were here, a source of warmth that could always calm him down. The idea of snuggling up to his back, feeling the weight of his body until a punch hit him in the face, made a painfully sweet longing rise up inside him. But it didn’t change anything. Takiishi wasn’t there. And all Endo could do was wait. In those seconds, he didn’t exist to achieve anything; he existed so that Chika had something he could use when he wanted it.
He reached for his mobile phone and scrolled through the endless food options, which seemed far too overwhelming for his mood. But he searched anyway, putting together an order carefully and with devotion, as if the type of food he chose would reveal how much he cared about everything Chika did. In the process, he imagined how Takiishi would open the door, how his eyes would linger briefly on Endo when he recognised the smell. Maybe he would tell him something – about a fight, a new item of clothing he had bought, or a girl he had rejected. No matter what, Endo would listen to him, attentive to the core. He would memorise every syllable and study every expression. Chika’s voice was like music to him, unpredictable and melodic, proof every time that Endo wasn’t just imagining this perfect existence. Everything was fine as long as Chika was by his side. And Endo would make sure that nothing ever changed. No matter how much darkness, blood or lies he had to put up with to achieve it.
Those who loved a god learnt to make sacrifices. Just as he had done with the blond boy. Just as he would do with all of Furin the moment Sakura Haruka collapsed and came back to life. On the day his plan succeeded, he would deliver a feast to Chika and reap the rewards.
For a split second, his god would love him for it.