THE SILENT STRUGGLE

"The Silent Struggle"

Kyoshi sat in the car again, the familiar hum of the engine filling the air. The world outside the window blurred past, but Kyoshi couldn’t focus on the scenery. His thoughts were heavy, swirling with the memories of the boy—the boy he’d seen in the previous vision, a child neglected and forgotten. The scenes played back in his mind, and his heart clenched at the cold indifference the boy had faced. He didn’t know who the boy was, or why he was being shown these glimpses of his life, but the pain in the boy’s eyes was all too real.

The car slowed once more, coming to a gentle stop. Kyoshi felt the air shift as if the world was holding its breath, waiting for him to step out. He hesitated, a sense of dread creeping up his spine. Each time he witnessed these fragments of the past, the weight of it grew heavier, and he wasn’t sure how much more he could bear.

Finally, he opened the door and stepped out.

The scene had shifted again. The mansion stood tall and imposing before him, its grandeur now a cold reminder of the boy’s loneliness. The sky was overcast, dark clouds gathering above, casting the entire estate in a somber light. Kyoshi could hear the faint murmur of voices from inside the house, and instinctively, he followed the sound.

Inside, the boy—now 11 years old—stood in front of the living room, clutching a report card in his small hands. His knuckles were white from the grip, and Kyoshi could see the slight tremor in his fingers as he stood there, waiting, hoping.

Noya, Kyoshi thought. He couldn’t help but think of Noya, his close friend. But that didn’t make sense—why would these visions of a child’s past remind him of Noya? He brushed the thought aside for now, focusing on the boy in front of him.

The boy’s parents were in the same positions as before. His mother sat on the couch, flipping through a magazine, her perfectly manicured nails gliding over the glossy pages. His father, as always, sat at the dining table, his eyes glued to the screen of his laptop. It was a scene Kyoshi had already witnessed, but this time, the tension felt even more palpable.

“M-Mom, Dad,” the boy stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. He stepped forward, holding out the report card, his eyes wide with anticipation, pleading silently for even a hint of acknowledgment. “I… I got my grades. I—I did really well this time.”

The boy’s voice wavered, and Kyoshi could feel his heart ache for him. He knew that tone, the desperate longing for validation, for love. He had heard it before in his own moments of vulnerability, in his own silent pleas for attention.

The boy’s mother glanced up from her magazine for a fleeting moment, her gaze sweeping over him like he was little more than an afterthought. “That’s nice,” she said, her tone flat and disinterested. She didn’t even bother to look at the report card. She simply flipped the page of her magazine and returned to reading.

The boy’s father didn’t even glance up. “I’m busy right now,” he muttered, his eyes still focused on the screen in front of him. The boy stood there, frozen, his hope slowly crumbling before their indifference.

Kyoshi felt a surge of anger rise in his chest. How could they ignore him like this? He had worked so hard, put in so much effort, and yet, to them, it was as if he didn’t even exist. The silence in the room was suffocating, and Kyoshi could feel the weight of the boy’s disappointment settling in the air like a heavy fog.

---

Dinner that evening was no different.

The dining room was grand, with an ornate chandelier hanging above the table and polished silverware neatly arranged on the tablecloth. But the atmosphere was cold, devoid of warmth or love. The boy sat at the far end of the table, his small frame hunched over as he pushed the food around on his plate. He barely touched his meal, too consumed by the hollow ache in his chest to eat.

Sitting across from him were his two cousins, children of his adoptive parents’ relatives. They were older than him by a few years, their arrogance palpable as they sneered at the boy across the table. Kyoshi could sense their malice even before they spoke, the way they exchanged glances and whispered to each other.

One of the cousins, a boy with slicked-back hair and an air of superiority, smirked as he leaned forward, his voice dripping with mockery. “So, you got good grades, huh? What’s the point? It’s not like anyone cares.”

The other cousin laughed, his voice louder, more abrasive. “Yeah, who do you think you’re impressing, anyway? You’re just the adopted kid. It’s not like you’re part of the real family.”

Kyoshi felt a surge of fury at the cruelty in their words, but the boy just sat there, his eyes downcast, his hands trembling slightly as he gripped his fork. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t fight back. He just sat there, swallowing the hurt like he had learned to do so many times before.

The cousins weren’t done. “Hey, Noya,” the first cousin sneered, throwing a piece of bread across the table. It hit the boy’s arm, but he didn’t flinch. “Why don’t you show us your report card again? Oh wait, nobody cares.”

Kyoshi’s heart pounded in his chest. Noya. It couldn’t be, could it? The thought gnawed at him, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that the boy in front of him was somehow connected to the Noya he knew. But why hadn’t he seen it before?

---

Later that night, after the dinner plates were cleared and the adults had retreated to the living room, the cousins decided to play their own cruel game. The boy was in the hallway, quietly gathering his books, when the older boys approached him with matching smirks.

“Let’s play a game,” the first cousin said, grabbing the boy by the arm and dragging him toward the bathroom. “It’s called ‘How long can you last without crying?’”

Before the boy could protest, they shoved him into the bathroom and slammed the door shut, locking it from the outside. He banged on the door, his voice trembling as he called out for them to let him out, but the cousins just laughed.

“Good luck in there, Noya!” they shouted, their footsteps echoing down the hall as they walked away.

The boy sank to the floor, his small body trembling as he hugged his knees to his chest. The bathroom was dark and cold, the tiled floor unwelcoming beneath him. For the first time in a long while, he let the tears fall. Silent, choked sobs wracked his body as he sat there, alone and forgotten.

Kyoshi, still invisible to the scene, watched with a heavy heart. He wanted to help, to reach out and comfort the boy, but he couldn’t. He was just a spectator, forced to watch as the child endured the cruelty of those around him.

Hours passed before the door was finally unlocked. The boy’s eyes were red and swollen from crying, but he didn’t say anything as he emerged from the bathroom. His cousins had long since gone to bed, and the house was quiet, save for the ticking of a distant clock.

The boy’s heart had hardened that night. He had learned that no matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he wanted to be loved, it would never be enough. His parents didn’t care. His cousins saw him as a joke. And the house that should have been his home felt more like a cage.

---

The scene shifted again, and Kyoshi found himself back in the car. Noya—now an adult—sat beside him, his face impassive as he stared out the window. Kyoshi wanted to say something, to offer some kind of comfort, but the weight of what he had witnessed left him speechless.

Noya’s childhood had been filled with pain, neglect, and loneliness. He had been abandoned by the people who were supposed to care for him, and that pain had shaped the man he had become. Kyoshi had always known there was something beneath Noya’s calm exterior, but he had never imagined the depth of the wounds his friend carried.

The car started moving again, the road stretching out endlessly before them. Kyoshi’s heart ached with the knowledge that Noya had spent his childhood trying to earn love that would never come. And now, even though he didn’t fully understand it yet, Kyoshi knew that the boy in the visions—the boy who had suffered so much—was Noya.

The realization left him breathless.

The weight of it all pressed down on him, and for the first time in a long while, Kyoshi felt truly helpless. He didn’t know how to help his friend, didn’t know how to ease the burden that Noya carried. All he could do was sit in the car, the silence between them growing heavier with each passing mile.

As they drove on, Kyoshi couldn’t shake the feeling that this journey was far from over. There were more memories, more pain, waiting to be uncovered. And as the car sped down the road, Kyoshi braced himself for whatever came next.

*To be continued.*

Chapter end