Monsters

The rain in South Carolina washed away the remnants of former grandeur with the same ease with which it washed away the mud on the side of the road. Riko Moriyama sat on the concrete curb outside a closed gas station, clutching his right arm to his chest. The bones had been broken so professionally and brutally that he could barely feel his fingers—only a throbbing, brain-searing pain.
The Moriyama clan didn't just exile him. They erased him from the living. Penniless, undocumented, with a "one" tattoo that now felt like a mark of shame, he was a nobody. He didn't ask for help. He simply waited for the cold to finally sap the last of his strength.
The screeching of the old SUV's brakes sounded like a gunshot. David Wymack stepped out, frowning at the downpour. He stared for a long moment at the hunched figure, barely recognizable as the "King" of the Exy.
"You look like shit, Moriyama," Wymack said hoarsely.
“Go away,” Rico snapped, though his voice dropped to a whisper.
Wymak didn't leave. He silently opened the passenger door.
"I have one open spot on the team and a hell of a lot of patience, which you're currently testing to the limit. Get up. If you want to die here, that's your right. If you want a chance to become a human being, and not a monster from the Crow's Nest, get moving."
The next three weeks in Wymack's apartment were hell for Rico. Helplessness choked him more than his master's wrath ever had. He couldn't tie his own shoelaces, couldn't eat properly. He snapped, threw glasses with his left hand, and glared at the coach, expecting a blow. But none came. There was only silence, strong coffee, and an icy, "Sit down and calm down, Rico. You're not at Edgar Allan anymore."
When it was time to move into the dorms, the Fox Den greeted him with emptiness—summer wasn't over yet, and the players had all gone their separate ways. Wymack placed him in a room with the monsters, deciding that if Rico were to survive, it would only be among those who weren't afraid of him.
Rico sat on his new bed, his knees pulled up to his chin. His broken arm, in a cast, rested on a pillow. The room was quiet and unusually bright.