"When I was in elementary school, I loved my big brother."

I remember how he would call me cute names and always take care of me. We used to play together all the time. But as we grew older, everything changed.

When my brother entered high school and I started middle school, I began to ignore him. I don’t even remember why. Maybe it was the influence of TV, the idea of being a "gal" who was rebellious and carefree. Over time, I changed. I started being rude to him, nagging at whatever he said, rolling my eyes whenever he tried to give me advice.

He used to warn me not to wear revealing clothes, saying they attracted the wrong kind of attention. But I laughed at him, thinking he was just being controlling. I had a group of friends—high school 1st-years—who made me feel cool and mature. I thought they were just friendly.

One evening, my brother saw me at a juice shop with them. When I got home, he was waiting on the sofa, his face serious.

"Nijuri, come here," he said.

I sighed and replied in a rude tone, "What do you want?"

His sharp eyes narrowed. "I saw you with some boys today. Who are they to you?"

I scoffed. "Why should I tell you? You’re not a part of my life, so it doesn’t matter what I do."

A cold expression crossed his face. "Maybe you don’t know this, but there’s a rumor those guys go to nightclubs where prostitution happens."

I gave him a disgusted look. "Ew, gross. How can you say that to your own sister? Also, don’t believe rumors. I don’t need you to worry about me."

He just sat there, his gaze a mix of concern and something deeper—something I ignored. I clicked my tongue and left the room.

A few days passed. I kept meeting my friends, talking about lewd stuff. It was fun, being around older guys who treated me as one of them.

After 2 week from when I had that conversation with my brother school sport festival started.

Our school and my brother’s school were part of the same campus, just divided into two buildings—one for middle school, one for high school. I was in my gym uniform, participating in a few games.

At around 12:01 PM, my friends from the 1st year came up to me. "Hey, we’ve got something to show you."

Excited, I followed them. The sky was cloudy and dark, adding a strange tension to the air.

They led me to an abandoned classroom in the older part of the school. After looking around and not seeing anything interesting I asked, "What, are you gonna show me a ghost that haunts this place?"

One of them smirked. "What are you talking about? We’re feeling lonely. Let’s have some fun."

I blinked. "Huh? What do you mean? Like, games?"

They chuckled. "Yeah, a game where we all love you alot and make each other feel good."

A chill ran down my spine. "What?! You’re joking, right? I don’t like you guys like that. I don’t want to do anything with you guys. We are friends right?"

They laughed and said with a smirk face, "Huh, what are you talking about? You hang out with us, talking about dirty stuff, dressing like that—because you also want to do it, right?"

I started to back off until I hit the room wall, "No why would I want to do it with some assholes like you. My brother was right. You all are scumbags."

They stepped closer. One of them sneered, "Aw, in that case you should have listened to your brother. Too bad he ain't coming to save you now."

Before I could react, two of them grabbed me and pushed me down on the floor.

Panic surged through me. Maybe I should’ve listened to my brother.

I struggled, trying to scream, but the middle guy took off his shirt and pants, his disgusting body moving closer. His penis dangling like a disgusting shit.

"HELP! SOMEONE, HELP!"

They laughed. "No one can hear you. This place is isolated from the whole school. Just accept it."

He came on top of me, tearing my gym t-shirt, revealing my breasts. He started to foundle my chest.

I struggled to brake free. Throwing my legs. But he was too strong for me to resist.

Then he took off my shorts, leaving me in my panties.

He started rubbing his penis against my underwear.

I cried for help.....Oniii.......

Then—BANG!

A loud crack echoed through the room.

The guy in front of me collapsed, unconscious, blood pooling from his nose.

A masked figure stood behind him, a steal bat in hand, eyes filled with terrifying calmness.

The other two barely had time to react before—BANG!

Another one hit the floor, his mouth bleeding, teeth shattered.

The last one—his face twisted in horror—scrambled back, hands trembling. "P-please! I didn’t do anything! I swear, it wasn’t my idea!"

But the masked figure didn’t stop. He bashed the guy’s eye with the bat, the sickening sound of an eyeball bursting filling the air. blood flowing from his eye like a fountain with red water.

Then, he moved methodically—one by one breaking their hands, their legs, crushing their balls by stomping on them.

Their screams rang so loud that their vocal cords must have torn apart.

And yet, he didn’t hesitate. He did it calmly. Coldly. Like it was routine.

After finishing, he cut off each of their ring fingers.

Then, he turned to me.

With a blank expression, he removed his mask.

It was my brother.

Shock. Relief. Fear.

I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even process my thoughts.

He handed me my shorts, gave me his shirt, and took me home in his arms. Neither of us spoke a word. While leaving I heard a ambulance sound in the distance. I was too shaken and weak to question why a ambulance was at my school.

After reaching home the first thing he did was take out the hand and shoe gloves which he used when he was killing those boys and burned them.

That night, as I showered, the weight of what happened crushed me.

The next morning, my phone buzzed.

A news article: "Three High School Boys Found Beaten Nearly to Death in Sakurazawa Institute’s Abandoned Building. But for the fast reaction of Sakurazawa hospital they were saved. When asked who called the hospital, they didn't find any lead to the informant. The police is trying to find the caller as he might know who did it."

Then, I saw it.

A video on my school’s FabBook page.

A blurry recording—showing those three bastards trying to assault a girl. The girl’s face was blurred, but I knew it was me.

I clenched my fists. My brother leaked this.

But then a sickening thought hit me. If he recorded it all… why didn’t he stop them earlier? Why did he wait?

Rage. Confusion. Betrayal.

I stormed into my brother’s room. He looked tired, but I didn’t care.

"WHY DIDN’T YOU SAVE ME SOONER?!" I screamed.

He didn’t answer. Just stared at me with cold, dead eyes.

"You let them do that to me… ARE YOU EVEN MY BROTHER?!"

He still said nothing and turned to leave.

Furious, I slapped him.

The next moment—PAIN.

I was on the ground, cheek burning, my body frozen in shock.

My brother—the one who never laid a hand on me—had just slapped me back.

He looked down at me. His voice was ice.

"Save who? You’re not my sister. Those who don’t know what’s good for them don’t deserve love."

And then, he left.

Days passed. The whole school whispered about the three boys.

Their parents—filthy rich—stayed silent. They were too ashamed of what their sons had done.

Some students even said, "They got what they deserved."

Months later, two of them killed themselves. One cut his veins. The other drank poison. The third was sent to a psychiatric prison.

For the next year, rape and abduction cases in Japan dropped to near zero.

After that I was never able to look at my brother or talk to him.

He left home to attend Erito High.

That’s when I made my choice.

I trained in martial arts, studied endlessly, worked harder than ever—to reach him.

All just to gain the confidence to call him Onii, and to say "thank you Onii for always being there for me."