Chapter Text
Rin hummed happily as he walked down the street alone. Yep, he was alone. He was eight years old, and no matter what Dad said, that meant he could explore the world on his own… until 7 p.m.
However, it wasn’t seven yet, so he had free rein of the world.
Besides, it wasn’t like he was going far—just a few blocks. He glanced around and realized he was on the street no one really walked down. Well then, all the more safe! No chance of being kidnapped here! Nope, not at all.
He continued on his jaunt—until he heard a loud crash.
Now, Rin had never been known for being the responsible twin. Without hesitation, he scampered toward the alley the sound came from. He peeked around the entrance and… nothing. He stepped deeper into the shadows. Still nothing.
Then something slammed into him from behind.
He squeaked and twisted, muscle memory kicking in. He remembered when those dumb bullies used to sneak up on him—he’d perfected the art of not letting them get the jump on him.
And that’s how he met him .
The boy had green eyes, brown skin, black hair, and features that clearly didn’t belong to someone from around here. He was also bleeding. Badly.
So Rin did the only thing that made sense when someone injured attacked you.
“Are you okay?!” he half-shouted, quickly scrambling off the boy and eyeing the wound.
“Tt,” the boy responded, voice clipped and dismissive.
They stared at each other for a moment—one with suspicion and calculation, the other with worry and stubborn determination.
Rin moved first.
“You need to get to my dad. He knows how to take care of wounds,” Rin said seriously, reaching out to grab the boy’s arm, fully intending to drag him to the monastery.
But the boy pulled away immediately.
“Tt. I do not need your father’s help!” he declared. He spoke like one of those rich kids who thought they were entitled to everything.
“Yes you do! You’re hurt—you need help,” Rin said firmly.
The boy actually hissed at him. Hissed. Like a cat.
Rin huffed, then shrugged, dropping to sit crisscross in front of the boy. He pulled a roll of bandages from his pocket.
“What are you doing?” the boy asked, clearly confused.
“Well, if you can hiss like a cat, I figured I should treat you like a feral one,” Rin replied matter-of-factly.
He remembered when he found a hurt stray cat in an alley once. It refused to let him carry it, so he had to patch it up right there on the spot. Clearly, this boy was the same—couldn’t be moved but still needed help. Rin remembered exactly how he treated the cat. And thanks to his constant fights (and the off chance he’d find another injured animal), he always kept bandages on him.
The boy blinked at him like he was staring at a lunatic.
Rin stared right back, daring him to try and stop him.
He didn’t. Rin was kinda surprised that the other didn’t try to attack him as soon as he got close. But it would seem as though he wasn’t really in the mood to fight at the moment.
Rin worked with surprising focus, pulling out antiseptic and gauze from his patched-up backpack. The boy flinched when Rin dabbed the wound with disinfectant, but otherwise stayed still. He didn’t thank him. He didn’t speak at all.
Rin didn’t really expect him to.
“Hold still,” he mumbled, taping the last of the bandages down. “It’s not perfect, but at least you’re not leaking anymore.”
The boy gave him a flat, unimpressed look, but Rin could tell he was just tired. His shoulders sagged slightly, tension bleeding out of him as the immediate pain dulled.
Rin sat back on his heels and took a breath. “You’re lucky I found you, y’know.”
The boy said nothing.
Then Rin heard it—soft footsteps. Multiple sets. He turned his head just as a group of figures stepped into the alley, dressed head-to-toe in black. Some wore cloaks. Others had veils, masks, or armor so dark it shimmered like oil in the streetlight.
They moved like shadows.
Rin’s first instinct was to jump to his feet, but the boy beside him tensed, and Rin froze.
The strangers began speaking rapidly—in a foreign language. Rin didn’t understand a single word, but the boy responded in the same language, sitting up straighter now, more alert. His voice was sharper, more composed than before, like he’d flipped a switch.
They spoke back and forth quickly. It didn’t sound angry, but Rin couldn’t tell.
He waited for them to yell at him. Threaten him. Take the boy and disappear. Maybe attack him for even being here.
But nothing happened.
They stared at him— hard —and Rin stared right back, chin up. He didn’t run. Didn’t flinch. He just raised an eyebrow like “Well? What now?”
The boy didn’t try to stop him. He also didn’t try to push Rin away.
And that’s what surprised Rin the most.
He kind of expected the boy to shove him aside and act like he never needed help in the first place. But… he didn’t. He just sat there, letting Rin sit nearby like it wasn’t weird at all.
Maybe he was too tired to care.
Or maybe, Rin thought, as one of the strangers barked something and the boy quietly replied, he doesn’t mind me being here.
Eventually, one of the cloaked figures stepped forward and, in heavily-accented Japanese, said flatly, “You saw nothing.”
Rin blinked. “Uh… right. Nothing.”
The woman narrowed her eyes. “You speak of this to no one. Ever.”
“Okay,” Rin said slowly. “But—wait, is he gonna be okay?”
The boy glanced at him then. Just for a second.
“We are done,” the cloaked woman said. “Go home.”
Rin stood reluctantly. He looked at the boy one more time, then gave him a little half-smile. “Try not to die, okay?”
Still no response. But Rin thought he saw the boy’s eyes soften—just a bit.
Then he turned and walked out of the alley, still feeling the weight of their stares pressing down on his back.
He had no idea what just happened.
But as he walked home, heart racing and mind spinning, Rin couldn’t stop thinking about those green eyes.
Would he ever see that boy again?
Something told him… yes.
Deep blue eyes had seared themselves into Damian’s mind. The boy was too stupid. Too stubborn. Too… kind .
Grandfather had always taught him that kindness was a weakness—something that would get you killed. But when Damian saw that kindness burning behind those bright blue eyes, he didn’t see weakness.
He saw strength.
That strength was what made him ask his mother to spare the boy. Nothing more.
Of course, he couldn’t say that aloud. Couldn’t admit that he felt something— anything —for a stranger. So instead, he told her it was a favor for a favor. That he didn’t like owing debts to anyone, especially random strangers who happened to stitch him back together in a filthy alley.
But he knew she hadn’t believed a single word of it.
So when his mother pulled him aside later, her expression unreadable, Damian already knew what was coming.
“Why?” she asked. A single word. Sharp. Demanding.
Not a question. A test.
Damian met her eyes. He didn’t flinch. He never did.
He also knew that lies would get him nowhere.
“…Because he’s different,” he answered, after a beat of silence. “He helped me when he had no reason to. He could’ve run. He should have. But he didn’t.”
Talia tilted her head slightly. “That is not a reason to risk the League’s attention. Or your safety.”
Damian’s jaw clenched. “He’s not useless. He’s not soft. He saw people watching him—us—and still stayed. He saw a stranger bleeding and didn’t hesitate.”
Her silence was heavy. Not disapproving, not accepting. Just watching .
Damian kept his voice level, but firm. “He’s not weak. He’s kind. There’s a difference.”
Talia studied him a moment longer. Then she turned away.
“…Very well.”
Damian blinked. “You’ll spare him?”
“Yes. For now.”
He let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.
“But if he is to live,” she continued, “he must earn it. He will be tested. Watched. And if he fails—”
“He won’t.”
She smiled slightly. “We shall see.”
Over the next few days, Talia’s orders would ripple through the shadows.
The boy— Rin as Damian would come to find out —would be tested. Not with a blade, but with patience. With pressure. Traps, poisons, misdirection. Fear. A thousand ways to watch a child break without ever laying a finger on him.
Damian wasn’t told the details, but he knew. He knew how the League operated. Knew what his mother meant when she said Rin would “earn” his life.
And still, some part of him hoped Rin would pass.
Because he didn’t want to owe a debt to a dead boy.
Because—despite everything he’d been taught—he wanted to see those blue eyes again.