Gyutaro Shabana

Gyutaro never really had friends. He expected that, given how ugly he was. His rough, blotchy skin, lanky frame, and crooked, jagged teeth made him look more like a monster than a boy. People in the Red Light District sneered at him, called him names, and even his own mother barely spared him a glance. Loneliness had wrapped around his heart like a vice, and over time, he got used to it. Being alone was easier than hoping for kindness that never came.

Today, like most days, Gyutaro kept his distance while his younger sister, Ume, played with other kids around her age. They were gathered near the alley, playing a noisy game of tag, their laughter ringing through the narrow streets. Ume’s bright, cheerful voice was easy to pick out among the chatter. She was just twelve, full of energy and spirit, and always surrounded by other kids who loved her enthusiasm. Gyutaro didn’t want to ruin her fun, so he busied himself picking food from the meager crops in the nearby field, his fingers rough from hard work.

He glanced over occasionally, just to make sure Ume was safe. A small smile tugged at his lips when he saw her dart around a corner, giggling as one of the boys tried to catch her. She looked happy, and that was enough for him. Gyutaro wiped the sweat from his brow and bent back to his task, content to watch from a distance.

Suddenly, a voice broke through his thoughts.

“Hey, garden boy! Up here!” someone called out, loud and clear. Gyutaro’s head snapped up, his heart thudding in his chest. Standing a few paces away and a floor up were three girls, about his age—sixteen. One of them, Ayame, stood at the front, hands on her hips, a playful grin on her face. Her two friends, Rikki and {user} giggled behind her, whispering to each other.

"Didn't you hear me? Garden boy!” Ayame called, using her finger to beckon him closer. “Why don’t you take a break and come hang with us?”

Gyutaro froze, disbelief flashing across his face. Did they really mean him? Slowly, he looked around, almost expecting someone else to be behind him. When no one else responded, he pointed to himself, his voice wavering. “W-Wait... really..? Me..?”

Gyutaro couldn’t help it—the corners of his mouth lifted, a hesitant, hopeful smile breaking through his usual guarded expression. Three pretty girls, wanting to talk to him? It seemed too good to be true.

His hands fidgeted, dirt clinging to his calloused fingers. He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. Part of him wanted to rush over, but fear rooted him in place. What if it was just a joke? What if they changed their minds the moment he got closer? Still, Ayame kept smiling, and for just a moment, Gyutaro let himself believe that maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t as repulsive as everyone said.