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As a twelve-year-old boy, Rakta knew he had absolutely no reason to be liked. He was gloomy, spoke a foreign language, and never smiled. Rakta didn’t really care about getting along with the other kids at the dojo. His own parents had been heartless enough to leave him at the gate during winter—why should he bother hoping for new bonds with people who were clearly not his relatives?
So, he went about his daily life as a loner. Of course, he participated in training and completed the tasks assigned by his master like any other student, but he didn’t get close to anyone, nor did he join in the fun during free time.
Bacchus often challenged him to duels during practice, and Rakta accepted. However, if the blond-haired boy tried to strike up a conversation with him outside the hall, he would deliberately put on a blank expression and speak in his native language. Bacchus would back off in frustration, and Rakta would walk away.
One day, Rakta was walking home through an alley when a group of adult men suddenly surrounded him, accusing him of stealing a number of chicken eggs. Rakta denied it, but the men wouldn’t listen, and he couldn’t avoid a brawl.
As a martial arts student, Rakta didn’t go down without a fight. He put up a fierce resistance and managed to drive the group of men away on his own. However, as a child, he still had his limitations, and his self-defense techniques weren’t yet truly effective in a real-life brawl—not just a sparring match. As a result, he sustained a small but deep cut on his right arm and several other scrapes on his face. His stomach ached from being elbowed, and he sat down for a moment on the alley floor, intending to wait for the pain to subside before heading home.
Then, the sound of footsteps suddenly rushed toward him, and Rakta opened his eyes, feeling disturbed. Were those people coming back to beat him up again? That’s what he thought as he looked up. Instead, he found himself staring into two pairs of worried eyes.
“Rakta, hey, you’re hurt!”
Bacchus.
“Go away…” Rakta muttered in his native language, wiping his sweaty, damp temples. He just wanted to be left alone, not bothered by all this noise.
“Huh, what did he say?” Bacchus turned to his other child in confusion, and Rakta unconsciously glanced at the boy with reddish-brown eyes. SunFei—if he wasn’t mistaken, that was what the master called him. The boy was three or four years younger than him, so Rakta had never been paired with him for sparring. He didn’t know much about SunFei, except that he was considered smart and could easily get along with everyone.
“Uhm… where are you hurt? Can you stand up, Rakta-nii?”
Instead of translating Rakta’s words of dismissal, Suo knelt down and asked after his condition. He spoke the language Rakta used fluently, and that left Rakta with no reason to pretend he didn’t understand.
“I’m fine, I—”
“It’s still bleeding.”
Rakta blinked as his sentence was interrupted. The boy in front of him pulled out a handkerchief, then hurriedly tied it around his cut arm. It wasn’t very neat, but Suo genuinely asked if the knot was too tight and making him uncomfortable. His eyes looked sad, as if he were sharing in the pain the older boy was suffering.
Rakta couldn’t help but be stunned, unable to recall the last time someone had shown him such strong empathy.
“Rakta-nii, I’ll help you walk.”
“Huh?”
Suo reached out his hand, and so did Bacchus. Before he knew it, Rakta had been pulled to his feet, and the two of them were supporting him on either side. There was a significant height difference between him and Suo, but the boy still positioned himself to serve as a support. Rakta tried to explain that he could walk on his own, but neither of them paid any attention to his mutterings.
When they arrived at the house—at the dojo—the other children were enjoying an afternoon snack in the large hall. Bacchus and Suo at least knew that Rakta didn’t want to draw any more attention to himself, so they led him to his room through the quiet side yard. Suo slipped away after helping to settle Rakta into bed, and Bacchus also disappeared after closing the door as quietly as he could.
Rakta closed his eyes with relief, thinking he would finally be left alone. However, three minutes later, Suo reappeared with a first-aid kit. The boy removed the handkerchief from Rakta’s arm, cleaned the edges of the wound with cotton, applied ointment, and rebandaged it with a few wraps of gauze.
“It’s not very neat, is it?” Suo muttered uneasily, looking as if he was determined to unwrap it all and start over, but hesitating for fear that doing so would only make Rakta more tired and in pain.
“…No, this is perfectly fine.”
Suo looked up, stunned—he hadn’t expected Rakta to praise him. He flashed a wide smile, and Rakta squinted, suddenly feeling dazzled.
“All right, I’ll do an even better job when I change your bandage tomorrow!”
Rakta was taken aback. “Why…?” he muttered, confused.
“Why?” Suo repeated Rakta’s question, tilting his head in confusion. “Master said bandages for wet wounds have to be changed every day.”
That wasn’t actually what Rakta wanted to ask. Why was Suo going out of his way to care about him, even though they’d never interacted before? Why was that little kid looking at him so warmly, even though Rakta hadn’t done anything worthy of appreciation?
Why—
“Ugh… what do you want in return?” Rakta finally changed his question, because he didn’t want to owe anyone a favor.
“No need!” Suo insisted, shaking his head.
“Candy? Mochi? Sweet bread filled with red beans?”
“N-no need....” Suo refused again, but Rakta could see his gaze wasn’t as firm as before, and he seemed to be hiding some excitement.
Aha, this kid must actually love sweets and feel guilty for starting to waver.
Rakta smiled without realizing it.
Bacchus burst through the door shortly after, tugging at their master's sleeve while gesturing frantically toward Rakta. Rakta hadn’t wanted their master to find out about his injury, but now it seemed he had no choice but to tell the whole truth.
That afternoon, for some reason, Rakta felt restless. The dojo students had gathered around him and Bacchus to watch their sparring match, but he gripped his wooden sword without being able to truly focus.
“You’re acting really weird today, like you’re not taking this seriously,” Bacchus remarked, easily parrying Rakta’s attacks and unleashing a flurry of slashes that his sparring partner was still able to handle.
“Maybe it’s because I don’t need to take this seriously when it comes to you. How many times have we gone through the same pattern now?” Rakta naturally covered up his inexplicable mental turmoil with a taunt, and Bacchus immediately exploded in anger, just as he’d expected.
“What the hell is that, Rakta?! Just wait—you won’t be able to say another word once I show you my newest technique!”
Actually, this wasn’t the first time Bacchus had boasted like that, so Rakta wasn’t on guard anymore. Besides, Suo had once commented that Bacchus was the type who was exceptionally skilled at a single technique, so he shouldn’t have to worry about learning every move. Of course, Rakta shared that opinion, but teasing Bacchus was always quite entertaining.
However, before Bacchus could launch his not-so-creative attack, the dojo door slid open from the outside and the Master entered with unusual haste.
Suo slumped helplessly in his arms.
The child had always been small, but now he looked even smaller in their master's arms. A bandage wrapped around his head, hiding the strands of hair that usually fell across his forehead. His right eye was also covered with layers of gauze, and cold sweat drenched his pale face.
“Sun Fei…” Rakta called out softly, filled with worry and anxiety, fear and pity. How severe were the injuries his little brother had sustained? What had happened to make his usually neat white changsan change its color?
“What? Why? He… what’s happened to him?!” Bacchus reacted more emotionally, though the Master immediately admonished him to lower his voice. Suo stirred slightly, perhaps disturbed by the commotion around him. But how could they see him in such a state and remain calm?
That was impossible.
Still, Rakta did his best to guide their younger siblings away from the crowd, convincing them to let the Master take Suo to his room, and began preparing dinner even though it was still a little early.
The master did not reveal the details of how the poor child had been injured, and Suo himself only muttered incoherently in his fever, so neither Rakta nor Bacchus could draw any conclusions other than to keep their thoughts to themselves. The master cared for Suo for three full days afterward, never leaving the room due to the risk of infection, which had to be constantly monitored.
Bacchus and Rakta actually wanted to be by Suo’s side as well, but there wasn’t much they could do while Suo was not communicative, and there were many other, more important tasks for them to handle. Taking care of their other younger siblings, above all. However, when night fell and the children were fast asleep, they would sit in the hallway, leaning their backs against the wall of Suo’s room. As midnight approached, their heads began to nod with sleepiness, but neither of them had any intention of leaving.
On the second day, the Master found the two boys when he was about to change the compress water, and they woke up on the futon the next morning, on either side of their little sibling whose fever had begun to subside and greeted them with a weary “good morning.”
Some time later, Suo recovered, and Master began to ease up on his supervision because he had a lot of work to deal with. One afternoon, Rakta slipped in to bring some sweets. Master was still in his office, chatting with a guest whose face looked quite familiar since he’d been coming back and forth to the dojo several times, and Bacchus was directing the other children to tidy up the room that had been used for practice.
“Rakta…” Suo was a little startled when Rakta slid open the door, but he looked delighted when his gaze fell on the pastries on the small ceramic plate that the Master usually used as a coaster. “For me?” he asked with a hopeful expression.
Who else would they be for? Do you think I’d go all the way to your room just to snack?
That’s what crossed the older brother’s mind, but of course he didn’t go on and on about whatever was going through his head. “Yeah, go ahead and eat.” Instead, he moved the plate closer so it was within Suo’s reach and calmly invited his younger brother to have some.
Suo ate slowly, and Rakta was quite pleased that he was already more “lucid” than he had been on the first day after he came home with his injury.
“If you want more, I’ll get you some more.” Rakta offered, noticing that only a single dango remained on the small plate.
Suo shook his head, but then held onto the end of Rakta’s sleeve with his cheek still full, as if he were worried his older brother would leave as soon as he got an answer. Rakta himself remained silent, waiting for Suo to finish chewing so he could speak normally.
“Uh… well, can you help me?” Suo finally swallowed the dumpling and mumbled, still holding onto Rakta’s hand.
“What is it?”
“I think… I need to change the bandage on my right eye. It’s starting to itch.”
Rakta blinked. He had watched the Master change Suo’s bandages several times, and honestly, it wasn’t that difficult. Still, he harbored a fear that he wouldn’t do it well enough and would make his little brother wince in pain.
“Can you…?”
“I’ll try, but let me know right away if I’m hurting you.”
“Okay ~”
Rakta picked up the box that had been sitting by Suo’s head for the past few days. Inside were disposable gloves, gauze, cotton, pain relievers, special ointment, a thermometer—everything the Master took turns using while tending to Suo. Rakta had never outright asked what they were for, but he was a keen observer.
It was a quiet 15 minutes. Rakta first washed his hands, then put on the disposable gloves. He carefully removed the old bandage, moistening the sticky gauze with saline solution without taking the risk of pulling it off forcefully. Suo occasionally held his breath tensely, but he didn’t protest or complain. Rakta applied the ointment, reattached the gauze with medical tape, and finally wrapped the bandage, making sure there was enough room for one of his fingers so it wouldn’t press too tightly against the eyeball.
“…Done,” Rakta muttered, examining his work and thinking he might be able to redo it to make it neater. Ah, now he understood what little Suo had been thinking when he used to bandage his own injured hand. “Does it feel better now?”
“Yes!” Suo nodded quickly, and his resilient smile made Rakta want to cry. Changing the bandage allowed him to see up close the gash that had lacerated Suo’s right eye. He felt angry, hurt, and resentful, and didn’t know who to take it out on. He wanted to punch a wall, slam his head against the brick, smash things until they were reduced to shards, or anything. But hurting himself wouldn’t truly ease his heartache—it would only create more problems for those around him.
So, Rakta clenched his trembling fists and half-heartedly maintained his composure. After all, Suo was too perceptive to miss the turmoil in his brother’s chest, and he took the initiative to pull Rakta’s arm again.
“Rakta-nii, can I hug you for a moment?”
“…How about I lock the door first?”
“Why?”
“Because Bacchus will throw a fit, saying, ‘That’s not fair—I want to hug Sun Fei too!’ if he happens to walk by and catch us.”
Or, Rakta thought, Bacchus would also make a fuss about wanting to be called “Bacchus-nii.” Anyway, that teenager would always protest, and he didn't feel like dealing with him right now.
Suo chuckled, and before he could reply that he didn't mind a hug from Bacchus either, Rakta's arms were already wrapped around his back, careful not to let his face brush against anything that might cause pain.
“…Rakta smells like sugar.”
“Because I just stocked up on sugar for the next month.”
Besides, does sugar even have a scent? Rakta thought to himself, but whatever—he’d let Suo say whatever nonsense he wanted without correcting him.
And it would always be that way.
Omake
“Hey, Rakta, we’re getting our membership tattoos in a month, right? Have you decided where you want yours?” Bacchus asked casually. They were still warming up with light movements, so he decided to strike up a conversation with Rakta instead of focusing on counting from one to eight.
“None of your business.”
“I’d just really hate it if I ended up getting tattooed in the same spot as you?!” Bacchus exclaimed irritably.
Rakta considered it. The idea of getting a tattoo in the same spot as Bacchus did make him frown unhappily, so that was indeed the confirmation he needed.
“Here.” Rakta pointed precisely at his right arm, and Bacchus froze for a moment before grinning as a sudden realization dawned on him.
“That’s where you got hurt before, right! The scar’s gone, but I still remember!”
“Hm, I figured you wouldn’t, since you even forgot last night’s dinner menu.”
“That’s a different matter!”
Although, the focus of their memories might be slightly different. Bacchus remembered the torn skin and the slippery streets from the rain, while Rakta remembered Suo’s kindness in tying a handkerchief to stop the bleeding.
And that single act of kindness would become his reason to treat others the same way Suo always tried to help everyone. So, that symbol should be engraved there, even though Rakta would never forget it even without a reminder.