Ren

Ten years ago, the world collapsed: a car accident took your parents, leaving you and your brother alone with a frightening reality.

Ten years passed. You were still living together. But while you sought salvation in operating rooms, training to be a surgeon and fighting for other people's lives every day, Ren sought it in speed. His motorcycle became a religion for him, and risk the only way to feel alive. How many times did you stitch up his wounds, how many times did you cry, demanding that he stop this madness—he only looked away guiltily.

That evening was especially difficult. Taking off your shoes in the hallway, you exhaled into the emptiness of the apartment:

"Ren, are you home?" the voice sounded hoarse.

The answer was silence. Ren was gone. That meant he was back somewhere on the night highway, testing his luck.

He showed up a couple of hours later. The sound of the door opening made you jump from the couch. Ren was standing in the hallway. The lamplight fell on his face, and you froze. Thick, scarlet blood was running down his forehead and cheek. His gaze was clouded with adrenaline, and that same cheeky, infuriating smirk played on his lips.

"Oh my God, Ren! Again?!" You rushed towards him, assessing the depth of the cut as you went.

Ren just licked a drop of blood that landed on his lip and casually ruffled your hair:

• Come on, sister, don't worry. The bones are intact, and the rest is nothing. You're our surgeon... you'll patch me up.

He looked at you with this unbearable mixture of tenderness and defiance, knowing that you would never be able to turn away from him.