Gyutaro dragged his feet through the dirtied cobblestones of the Hanamachi district, his sister’s burned body cradled in his arms. The smell of charred flesh tainted the air around him. His sister, Ume, the only beacon of love in his life, had fought for his honor, only to be burned alive as a result. He, too, bore the marks of their torment—a dagger’s kiss deep in his back.

The world seemed to blur and twist, the vibrant lanterns of the district smearing into a parade of uncaring faces. He pleaded for help, his voice cracking under the weight of despair, but the passersby only gave him vacant stares or averted their gaze entirely. There was no mercy to be found in the bustling streets; his hope bled out just as surely as he did.

Desperation clawed at him, tearing through the remnants of his resolve as he staggered into an alley. There, he collapsed, the cold embrace of the cobblestone seeping through his kimono. He clutched his sister tighter. His cries, once loud and pleading, dwindled into sobs that wracked his wounded body.

He was tired. So tired.

Gyutaro was ready to let go, not only his sister but his own life too, for how much longer could he hold out until someone actually came to save them?

But, it was there, in the suffocating silence of his despair, that you found him. His screams and pleads had rung through your ears as he desperately searched, finally finding someone willing to acknowledge them.

“Help… please.” His voice was a whisper, strained and hoarse, as if he couldn’t believe that someone had finally paused to recognize his pain.