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### Chapter 17
After the fight between Dylan and Sylvester, there were a few more matches. I didn't have any fights that day, so I left alone.
As I was walking home, I came across a cloaked figure standing over a boy's body in an alleyway. The boy appeared to be in extreme pain as he slowly crawled away from the figure, blood oozing from his eyes, nose, ears, and mouth.
He mouthed the words, "Please help me," as I ran toward him and his assailant. Just as I got close, the cloaked figure stretched out their hand and released a beam of blinding light.
The light stunned me for a second, and by the time it dimmed, the figure had disappeared. Only the boy's almost lifeless body remained. He was convulsing and coughing up mouthfuls of blood.
I rushed to his side and placed his head on my lap. "Please save me. I don't want to die," he muttered, tears streaming down his face.
Without hesitation, I carried him on my back and ran at full speed toward the nearest clinic in the city square. As soon as I reached the clinic, doctors rushed to me and took his limp body.
"Please stay here. You cannot come in," one of the doctors said hastily before disappearing into a room at the end of the hallway.
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#### *A Few Hours Later*
The doctor emerged from the room, his face sullen. "We tried all we could... but we couldn't save him," he muttered, placing a hand on my shoulder.
"Can you tell me how he died?" I asked, my voice firm despite the turmoil within.
The doctor sighed heavily. "He was cut in multiple places. He sustained a severe blow to the back of his skull. Some of his organs were turned inside out, while others were outright destroyed. Lastly, he was stabbed in the spine. Whoever did this wasn't defending themselves—they did it purely for fun."
His words weighed heavily on me as I walked home, my steps slow and my mind clouded with guilt.
As soon as I got home, my old man ran up to me, his face full of worry.
"You have blood all over you, Eason. Is everything okay? Are you hurt anywhere?" Denim asked, inspecting me frantically.
"I'm fine," I replied flatly, brushing his hands away before running off to my room.
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Inside my room, I locked the door and sat on the edge of my bed. The only thing I could think of was the boy's face, the desperate way he mouthed the words, *Please help me.*
Even though I didn't hear him say it, those words echoed in my mind, making me feel empty and weak. *I could've saved him if I was faster. If I had stopped the perpetrator...*
That thought haunted me as I drifted into a restless sleep.
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In my nightmare, the boy with the bloodied face was back. His head rested on my lap as he pleaded, "Please help me."
Then he screamed, his hands reaching for my face.
"Please! Please!" he continued screeching.
I woke up with a start, my heart pounding in my chest. My cheeks were wet.
I was crying.