Chapter Text
The days were dull.
That much was obvious. Even as a 12-year-old, soon-to-be 13-year-old, Grey Yeon was in the unique position of realising something that most people learned at a much older age.
This was pointless.
The entire point of the education system was to set people up for a career. Getting into university was a goal that pressed down on the backs of many. Social connections came and went with varying permanence. After the career came… nothing much. Just wasting away your time with good company and family, if you were lucky. One’s legacy usually amounts to whatever you impart to your child, whom you push into the same cycle. And so it continues, over and over and over—
Gray thinks of a cold home that was warm in the winter but never when it mattered, of the sparse texts and weekly phone calls. His parents love him, he knows. But that love has never equated to companionship. Never amounted to something fulfilling. Love never has to be anything other than a firm belief. Anything more was just... luck.
He stares down at the mathematics textbook in front of him. At the formulas, comforting in their grounding in fact. The elementary school library wasn’t as full as the public libraries when exam season rolled around. He thinks he’d prefer the crowded floors anyway, filled with silent figures hunched over with pens and pencils and plenty of cheap food and drink to keep them going. Such an environment was proof that he was right.
Was this living?
He puts down his pencil and leaves for the vending machine. He feels uncharacteristically philosophical as he ponders his own understanding of love. His knowledge of what constitutes “living”.
Surely, it’s more than just breathing and staying alive, right?
As the aloe vera crush, one of the few sweet drinks his caretaker and nanny approved of makes its way out of the machine, a sudden crashing noise makes Gray perk up, alert.
Usually, he’d inwardly shrug, grab his drink and leave for the safety of the library. The noise had come from outside the elementary school walls. There’s no reason to go out of his way. Besides, he doesn’t trust the school security in the face of the pettiness of his (unfortunately) fellow elementary schoolers.
Satisfied with his logic, Gray retrieves his drink and goes to leave when a sudden pained scream cracks through the night. The following whimper is closer than before. Pausing to listen, Gray quickly identifies the sounds of someone getting beaten up. Why else would there be several thumps and cries for mercy?
The foul language hammering the air was just the metaphorical cherry on top. The only thing that gave him a pause was how young the voices sounded. Close to his own age, perhaps.
Still not enough for him to go and investigate. Gray beelines for his seat in the library, intending to send an anonymous tip to the police, but several paces from his desk, he’s abruptly reminded of just why he had left for the vending machine in the first place.
Staring at the mathematics textbook, still lying open where he’d left it, Gray wonders.
About several things, really, but also about where love comes from. It has to start somewhere, right? The psychology textbooks he’d read suggested that, ideally, it would come from mutual positive feelings that usually arise from friendship, kind acts and the like. If given a chance to grow, it might become love.
Romantic love, platonic love, familial love…
Somewhere inside the darker curves of his mind, Gray has always wondered if he’s just… hard to love. He has made his peace with people being put off by his serious, no-nonsense demeanour. Has done so since the fifth time an adult stared blankly at him as if wondering where his upbringing had gone wrong. Solidified after the 28th time someone his age raked against his sharp edges, trying to worm their way inside his heart and ultimately lashing out from the sheer frustration inherent in the task.
So, yes, Gray knows he’s hard to love. His time is always better spent elsewhere, on more productive things. Cynicism eventually took over, closing him off even more. He’s always known, intellectually, that bonds are a two-way street and that changing nothing about himself was not conducive to creating such relationships—
And isn’t that his final answer?
Maybe it’s his worldview that’s flawed. Start on a faulty premise and get a flawed answer. In a world where he was Gray Yeon, 12 years old, he wouldn’t see anything beyond that.
Couldn’t. Because he’s always refused to proactively try.
He never had a reason to; he always had a hundred excuses not to.
He may need to try new things. Be Gray Yeon, 12 years old, but more.
He’s always been a good multitasker. It’s not like he can’t keep up his academic achievements because he took four hours from his week. Sure, he’s 12, but he’s not an idiot. If it’s what he wants, the nanny won’t protest against accompanying him on evening walks as a new daily routine. Research will be conducted with the foremost priority being personal safety. Backup plans were a necessity, not a suggestion.
Start small, gather information, plan ahead, and then go get what you want, right?
Packing up his work and organising his schoolbag, Gray leaves the library and finally sends that tip to the police. Knowing that he wasn’t due back at the house for at least two hours, he treks to a balcony with a decent view.
So he deliberately chose a spot that would let him survey just what that ruckus was about. So what? Nobody was telling.
The fight was still ongoing, though it was winding down from what he could make out in the dark.
There were bodies on the ground, some twitching, some still, all small.
There was one in particular that many of the remaining figures were going after. They tried, and indeed, they succeeded, but they also failed where it mattered. The… feral kid. Let’s go with that. The feral kid just wouldn’t go down, instead slugging it out with reckless abandon.
Despite himself, Gray leaned forward a little to see everything more clearly. Violence was not to his taste. It was crude. It got you into trouble. If you were smart, you would never get into trouble, and trouble would never find you. There was no need for violence.
That was Gray Yeon, 12 years old. This is Gray Yeon, 12 years old, plus a little more.
This Gray Yeon let the line of thought stay open. And the longer he watched, the more his curiosity grew. What was this fight about? Why were they fighting? Who was the feral kid? Why did they choose violence? Why not choose other methods of resolving… whatever this was?
He observed some more. He flinched a bit whenever a hefty-looking blow landed. His hands tensed when a figure suddenly jumped the feral kid from behind, and his mouth opened a little when he realised that they still weren’t going down.
Tenacity. Stubbornness. Just what was it?
Gray had never seen such a display before. His interest was piqued. It didn’t feel like the last few times something caught his attention — those times were like looking at anything interesting out the window when driving by.
In contrast, this was a display piece tucked into a corner of a museum. Meant to be gawked at, usually overlooked, it had earned its place in that museum nevertheless.
Suddenly, one of the figures broke away, sprinting as far as… his. As far as his legs could take him. The sudden movement into an adequately illuminated area let Gray see a mane of purple hair, almost black in dim lighting.
After sending their last opponent down to the ground, the feral kid gave chase. Gray categorised what he could see. Male. Tattered clothing. Purple hair, but a far lighter shade than that of the one who was fleeing.
Even from far away, what truly drew Gray’s attention was the facial expression.
A broad and stretched smile framed in blood splatters — a streak from a cut dying a whole strip of it red.
Gray couldn’t quite make out the eyes, but—
Despite the physical injuries, the feral kid looked wholly, viscerally, alive.
As quickly as the moment came, it was gone, the chaser and the chased disappearing back into the shadows. Less than ten minutes later, police arrived at the scene with paramedics in tow. They collected those who remained behind and were gone before the clock struck eight.
Gray boarded his usual bus home. Instead of listening to the history podcasts he liked for their educational and entertainment value, Gray queued up some white noise and spent the entire ride ruminating on the experience.
The experience. If one could call it that.
By the time he was seated before his own desk at home, he’d already created a mental list. At this point, writing it down in one of the several blank notebooks he owned was just formality.
First came the journal entry. The human memory is a flawed thing. He could only benefit if he transcribed what had happened for future reference.
Halfway through, he paused and thanked his past self for using a pencil instead of a pen. It meant he could get rid of it later after he’d finished researching cryptology and cryptography.
Even Gray didn’t know where this new… hobby was going. The feelings hadn’t died away in the time between that fight and the journey to his current location. If anything, his mind had only fanned the flames rather than extinguishing them like usual.
Father and mother had always said that if you didn’t know where something was going, it was a good idea to be thoroughly prepared for things going sideways, just in case.
And while Gray may not be socially adept, even he could recognise that putting down his personal, unedited version in writing for just anyone to stumble across would be a regrettable affair. His thoughts and feelings were not just for anyone.
Hence, cryptography.
It was past the witching hour when he’d finished. His 12-year-old body was barely hanging on, but his mind was strangely clear.
Beneath the journal entry was a short list.
- Gather information:
- On the feral kid.
- On the neighbourhood.
- Track where they came from.
- Why violence?
- Personal and external reasons.
- Profiling. Research this.
- Plans:
- Prepare for confrontation.
- It will likely need physical self-defence
- Or remote interaction.
- Extend efforts to all districts and sections of society. Need diversity. A good sample size.
- Digest information. Recalibrate. Assimilate and learn. Find other perspectives. Bring another mind?
- What I want:
- Answers.
He’ll refine everything later, he decided. He knew he could do better than this. He could do it on the bus. Those podcasts weren’t necessary. And rather than the extra worksheets he’d planned, he could spend the time laying the groundwork instead. Yes. He also needs to talk to the nanny.
Gray Yeon, 12 years old, goes to bed with a spark in his red-violet eyes.
Gray Yeon, 12 years old, wakes up.
He goes to school, notebook in hand.
It's a brand new day.