The street along the canal was narrow, paved in uneven brick worn smooth by decades of rain and bicycle tires. Moss clung stubbornly between the stones. The water beside it moved slowly, dark and glassy, carrying warped reflections of bent streetlamps and the warm yellow squares of apartment windows. Somewhere nearby, a radio played softly behind closed curtains.

  Kazou walked in hopes of making it back to the safehouse with Zawsiza as quickly as possible.

  His coat was damp at the hem. The air smelled faintly of rain and iron and something sweet drifting from a bakery several streets away. He noticed these things without really thinking about them, the way one notices details in a dream.

  A bicycle bell rang sharply.

  Then came the sound of rubber skidding across brick, metal rattling loose, and finally a small, sharp cry that cut through the calm like paper tearing.

  Kazou turned just in time to see it happen.

  A boy, no older than eight, lost control of his bike near the curb. The front wheel clipped a raised stone and twisted violently. The child pitched sideways, hit the ground hard, and slid a short distance before stopping. The bike followed, clattering uselessly into the street, its wheel still spinning long after everything else had gone still, as if it hadn’t realized yet that the ride was over.

  KA-THUNK!

  For half a second, the boy didn’t move.

  He sat there frozen, palms pressed to the ground, eyes wide, breath locked somewhere deep in his chest.

  Then the pain found him.

  He cried out, not loud, not dramatic, just raw.

  Kazou was already moving.

  He crossed the street in three quick strides and crouched beside the boy, one hand coming to rest gently on his shoulder, the other reaching out to drag the bicycle away from the road so no one would hit it.

  “It’s okay,” Kazou said immediately, voice low, steady. “I’ve got you.”

  The words came automatically.

  The boy’s knee was scraped badly. Skin torn, blood beginning to well and run in thin lines down his shin. But nothing was bent the wrong way. No bone pressing against skin. No sickening angle. Just the sharp, stinging pain of a fall that had come too fast.

  The child’s hands clenched into Kazou’s sleeve, small fingers gripping as if Kazou were the only solid thing left in the world.

  “I—I can’t—” the boy sniffed, trying very hard not to cry and failing. “It hurts.”

  “I know,” Kazou said. “It hurts a lot.”

  He didn’t tell him not to cry. He didn’t tell him to be brave. He simply stayed where he was.

  “You did very well,” Kazou added quietly.

  The words surprised even him as they left his mouth. He hadn’t meant to say them. They were simply true.

  He took the boy’s knee carefully, his touch precise and practiced. He pressed gently around the wound, watching the boy’s face more than the injury itself. Gentle pressure. A pause. Another. The child hissed but didn’t pull away.

  Good. No instability. No deep tear.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  “You’re lucky,” Kazou said after a moment. “Your bike took most of it.”

  “It’s stupid.” The boy hiccupped.

  Kazou shook his head.

  “No. It did its job.”

  The boy blinked at him, confused.

  “Really?”

  Kazou nodded once.

  “Really.”

  Across the street, a woman slowed her pace, newspaper half-raised, uncertain whether to step in. Kazou met her eyes briefly and gave a small nod—I’ve got this. She hesitated, then lowered the newspaper and continued, glancing back once before disappearing around the corner.

  Kazou reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a clean handkerchief, folded neatly. He pressed it gently against the boy’s knee, firm enough to help, not enough to hurt. It was all muscle memory from working with the children in the lab.

  “Can you wiggle your toes for me?” he asked.

  The boy sniffed and obeyed, shoes scraping lightly against the bricks.

  “There,” Kazou said. “That means everything important is still listening to you.”

  The boy let out a weak laugh, watery but real.

  “What’s your name?” he asked after a moment, voice quieter now.

  Kazou paused.

  Only for a fraction of a second—but it was there.

  “…Li Wei,” he said.

  The lie slipped out easily.

  Too easily.

  Like a coat he’d already worn in.

  “I’m Bram,” the boy said. “I was racing my sister.”

  Kazou smiled faintly.

  “Did you win?”

  “She cheats,” Bram said bitterly.

  “Older or younger?”

  “Younger,” Bram said, offended. “But she has longer legs.”

  Kazou considered this seriously.

  “That is cheating.”

  Bram laughed again, this time without crying. He tightened his grip on Kazou’s sleeve as another pulse of pain rolled through his knee.

  “Mr. Li Wei,” he said, voice trembling again. “Am I gonna lose my leg?”

  “No,” Kazou said at once. There was no hesitation in his voice. No doubt. “You’re not.”

  The certainty settled the boy more than any bandage could.

  “You’re going to have a scar,” Kazou continued. “And someday, you’ll tell people you got it doing something very brave.”

  Bram thought about this carefully.

  “…Like a knight?”

  Kazou nodded.

  “Exactly like a knight.”

  Kazou cleaned the wound as best he could. The boy held very still while Kazou worked, jaw clenched with the kind of determination only children had, the kind that insisted on bravery even when it hurt. Every now and then, his shoulders twitched, but he didn’t pull away.

  “You’re good at this,” Bram said after a moment.

  Kazou blinked.

  “At what?”

  “At… fixing things,” Bram replied. He glanced at his knee, then up at Kazou’s face. “My dad just puts plasters on and tells me not to cry.”

  Kazou smiled faintly.

  “Your dad is probably trying his best.”

  Bram considered that.

  “Maybe.”

  The canal water lapped softly against the stone edge beside them. A boat passed slowly, its engine humming low, lights reflected in broken lines across the surface. Somewhere nearby, cutlery clinked against ceramic, someone setting a table for dinner.

  Kazou tied the handkerchief carefully, making sure it was snug but not tight. His fingers were gentle. When he finished, he sat back on his heels and looked Bram over once more, like a final check.

  “You’ll need to clean it again when you get home,” he said. “Soap and water. It will sting a little.”

  Bram grimaced.

  “I hate the sting.”

  “I know,” Kazou said. “But it doesn’t last.”

  Bram nodded again, solemn.

  For a moment, neither of them spoke.

  Then Bram tilted his head.

  “Why are you here?”

  Kazou hesitated, not because the question was difficult, but because it was honest.

  “I’m just… passing through,” he said at last.

  “Oh.” Bram frowned slightly. “Do you live far?”

  “Far enough,” Kazou replied.

  Bram accepted that answer without pressing. Children were good at sensing when something didn’t need digging into. He shifted his weight, testing his leg.

  “Ow,” he muttered.

  Kazou was instantly attentive.

  “Slowly.”

  Bram tried again, more carefully this time, pushing himself upright with a small grunt. He wobbled, and Kazou steadied him by the elbow.

  “There,” Kazou said. “See? Still works.”

  Bram stood there proudly for a second, then his face fell.

  “My bike…”

  Kazou followed his gaze. The bicycle lay where it had fallen, chain twisted, front wheel bent slightly out of true. Kazou walked over and righted it, turning the wheel slowly. It scraped unevenly, protesting.

  “It can be fixed,” Kazou said. “Not today, maybe. But it isn’t ruined.”

  Bram exhaled in relief.

  "Thank you, mister. I think you should be called the knight. Not me. You are my hero!"

  Click.

  It was soft.

  Kazou didn’t move at first. His body recognized the sound before his mind did.

  Another click followed.

  Then another.

  Metal. Safety catches.

  Time stretched thin.

  Bram noticed it too. His swinging legs stilled. He looked up, confused.

  “What’s that?”

  Kazou slowly turned his head.

  The street was no longer empty.