Handicapped Heart

Students in Furieki Academy are all handicapped. For freshman students, you will need a Sense to help you get by. But Takanari Yamato is not handicapped. So, technically, he doesn't need a Sense. Right? But a certain student thinks otherwise. And this student's dead.


Hello reader! :D Welcome to Handicapped Heart, my first original story. Just a few reminders for you before you go on reading! Please read these reminders!:

Rated T (for fighting and sexual suggestions [rape])

All characters are mine, the original plot is mine, and Furieki Academy is mine. Saitama, Japan, is a real place.

Furieki is a Japanese word for 'Handicapped', and so that means "Handicap Academy" in English. (And in Furieki, 'handicapped' means advantage, not disadvantage—so it's not a "special school")

Okay, that's it for the reminders. :D I hope you all enjoy H.H.~! Please feel free to point out something that feels wrong in the text! :D

Prologue: A Year of Rainbows

A voice inside his head begged the young Yamato to go back to his house—where his parents were probably looking all over for him, holding big plates of mochi, and yelling "Akemashite omedeto gozaimasu—Aah! He's gone!"

The idea was tempting. Mochi only came by once a year. And might be New Year's mail from his old classmates. Might.

But he stayed; waited, silently, readily. Poised to jump at his prey—the bright lights, those lights that shoot up unexpectedly, showering gold and red like dragons—and to lash out at them with his own set of colors.

He sat in the cold dark, leaning against a park bench's leg. A set of acrylic paint lay beside him, and a small cup full of bay water stood next to it. He looked up at the sky, waiting for the dragons. The city by the bay was all dark—every resident turned off their lights, the only light were the stars and the moon. Every person was probably waiting as much as he did for them.

He vaguely wondered if they were starting the count-down to New Year. He did not know what time it was, but if he gave it a few minutes, it would be New Year.

The bay below him crashed gently against the cement walls, and the grassy earth whirled underneath him. There was no snow that year, it was far too warm. Yet, it was windy that night. The wind howled on New Year's Day.

Even the park threatened him to go back to the house.

But he shook his head. Not yet. Not until I draw


The dark haired boy's eyes lit up as he watched a dragon zip up the sky.


The teen Yamato's eyes gleamed against the bright lights as he clutched his old, yellowing sketchpad. He dipped his brush furiously into the small plastic cup beside him, wetting it enough to dip it into his acrylic oil set. Across his page, he painted the cityscape, blinding it with the dragons that flew across the sky, one by one.

Whizzz! Whizzz!


The dragons lit up Saitama beautifully, and they roared so loudly. Sooner or later, the dragons would stop soaring, and it would be too smoky to see the moon. The young Yamato struggled with squinting, painting, and looking back and forth from his page to the cityscape before the dragons disappeared.

The sketchpad page was completely covered in oil. The best looking, fiercest dragons were littered across the skyline. The smoke hit his eyes every time a new dragon was set free to reign the clouds, and he was teary-eyed from it all, and he knew that his eye sight would get even worse than it already was.


But he enjoyed it—because Saitama knew how to make the best studies for painting.


He chewed on his thumb as he began dipping his brushes again when some one walked past his bench.

There had been no one at this park since sunset—everyone was at home. Except for him, of course. Yamato caught a glimpse of brown hair, and a winter trench coat, but he did not turn his head.

"Wow! Those are some amazing fireworks!" Yamato looked up at the sky.

"No, no!" The Man with brown hair stooped over the bench, and peered at the young teen's painting, "Those fireworks! The ones you painted!"

The Man grinned, "That is some amazing skill you have there!" Yamato felt like he was being lured into a trap—a bad trap. "Say, how old are you? 14? 16? Because I haven't seen anybody as talented and young as you are with a brush!" The Man had a glimmering set of black eyes that shone as he sat down on Yamato's bench.

Yamato stared at him. At his suspicious looking eyes, down to the black trench coat which, to the young teen, could have knives hidden in the deepest pockets.


He remembered the way that kidnappers would do it; first they lure them in with kind words, then they try to befriend them--

"Don't worry!" The Man held out a leather-trench-coated hand, "I don't bite!"

-- and when their victim would trust them, they'd come in for the catch--


Stranger Danger, Stranger Danger! Yamato glared at him, and looked away without shaking his hand. His mother's voice got into his head; Listen to your mother! I will tell you once, and I will tell you again! Do not talk to strangers! Ever again!

Whizzz! BANG!

"Okay, then." The Man sank back into the bench, feeling the artist's angry hostile vibe all over the air.

Yamato continued with his oil painting, not speaking a single word, and hoping dearly that The Man would just bugger off and leave him alone. He did not want to spend his New Year being tricked, laughed at and being kidnapped—again.

"You know," The Man said coolly, "you can draw buildings pretty well! You really captured the Central Bank." Then he pointed to the cityscape, "That's my house."

Yamato ignored him, and brought his knees up to his chin, cradling his sketchpad near his chest. His name was written on each and every page of his sketchpad. If The Man had the slightest peek at it… then The Man would know his name.

This, obviously, is bad.

And so, it must be avoided.

Whizzz! BANG!

"And the way you painted those fireworks! They sort of look like dragons!"

Whizzz! BANG! BANG!

"Hey, where do you study, at an art school?—"


"I don't study." Yamato said almost on reflex. The Man gave him a surprised look. Yamato tried to speak as less as he could, intending to make The Man get the message; Hi, I know you're a kidnapper, so bugger off, because I'm not going to get tricked by you low-lives.

"Oh? Really? Not at an art school?" The Man leaned in closer. The Man tried hard to engage this Yamato in a long talk—or at least, getting him to talk more than one sentence. "So, you study at a high school near here? Nakoga? Yashikito? Perhaps…"


This was a different approach of kidnappers. If they could tell that their victims do NOT want to talk, they get a little more persistent to get information and trust from them—so they would try to wheedle.


"I don't study." The teen flatly replied, grumbling.

The Man glanced at him. "Really?"


Yamato glared again. "I don't lie."


The Man titled his head, smiling, "That's good to know!"

Only now did Yamato notice the colorful bonnet on his head, and the rectangle glasses on his nose. He looked like one of those young, hip teachers or professors, in Yamato's eyes.

'Ah! Stop thinking that!' Yamato kicked himself mentally, 'That's just one of their disguises! To deceive me!' He started painting again.

"You speak really well and paint pretty well for someone who hasn't schooled."

"I stopped going to school this year." Yamato stopped himself. "I mean last year." He glanced at the dragons.

"Oh, you're a sophomore, then?" The Man stared at him with amazed eyes. Yamato wondered if he gave something away. He brought his knees closer to his chest and drifted inches from The Man and the bench.

Yamato felt a shiver down his spine when he noticed that gleam of curiosity in his eyes—because for once, it actually seemed genuine, like The Man was truly interested in him, not in harming him, but...


It was another trick. 'That's how some people just get tricked. They think that this stranger is safe, because he just looks so earnest, and it looks like he won't hurt them… so…' Yamato dared not think of the consequences. It happened once before, and he did not want it to happen again.


"Freshman." He bit back his tongue—but to no avail, he said it already.

"Oh, freshman, huh?" And on another note, "Did you get good grades?"

"… Yes." Yamato replied reluctantly, completely confused with what good grades had to do with kidnapping.

"Do you," The Man paused, "miss your old classmates?"

An alarm went off in Yamato's head. 'W-what if… What if… He's going to kidnap me right here right now!' He panicked, 'I mean, why else ask if I missed my classmates?! If I say I don't—and I really don't, what if he… says, 'Well, now you will' and kidnap me! On the other hand, if I say I do, then he'll say 'Well, now you will really miss them' and THEN kidnap me!' He threw his head into his knees and cried in his head, 'Either way, I'll get kidnapped… AGAIN!' And then he thought of another pressing thought, 'What if he's going to kidnap my classmates?! Maybe that's why he asked about them!'

Yamato was speechless. He should have left the park a long time ago-- he should have just gone home! He knew this was a bad idea. STRANGERS were always a bad idea! Why did he stay!? Why did he answer all of The Man's questions?! Hadn't he learnt his lesson already, that strangers are all bad?! He buried his own grave—and now he's going to bury another one!

And in the young Yamato's distress, he clutched his head with both hands and yelped, "Don't take them! Take me instead!"

And then it hit him almost instantly:

The city, luminous lights, dark alleyways, and loud music. The smell of whisky and beer in the air, and dancing bodies everywhere. A small boy, crying. Lost. In the street, a man came up to him. His voice, it was velvet, like silk. He told him he had paint sets and paper, so, so much of it. The boy stopped crying. And the man through him to his house.

But the boy only saw a dark room, and it smelled like that creepy place with all the dancing bodies. There were chains and knives everywhere.

And the boy asked where the paint and paper was.

The man just laughed.

Whizzz! BANG!

The Man, from the bench, bowed down to meet Yamato's eyes and sent him a completely shocked expression, "Uh.", he paused, "You figured it out? I was going to take you, you know! You're very interesting!" He held out a hand to him. A pale, white hand. Like the hands of the man who had no paint nor paper. "Great, now we can go and—"

Yamato grit his teeth, and his knuckles turned white. 'You can run faster now. You're much older now. You can fight back.' He slapped The Man's hand away, then grabbed all of his stuff, and started walking away as fast as he could.

'Run away, you don't need to hear this TRASH.'

"W-wait! I'm not yet done—" The Man caught up to Yamato, and grabbed his sweater, tugging him back. "I need to know your name! So that I can find you tomorrow!"

A sharp shiver ran down his spine, and Yamato freed himself from The Man. He did not like being touched! "Why!? So that you could kidnap me THEN?!" He furrowed his brows, and his hands stayed, shaking by his side.

There was a moment of silence—even the dragons had stopped roaring.

The Man did three things then:

Gawk for about three seconds

Double over

Then laugh his head off

"Uh, I don't think you quite understand yet." He said in between laughs, "I'm not a kidnapper—I have no intention of kidnapping you!"

And it was Yamato's turn to do 1).

"Wait! How can I trust you! Y-you're a complete stranger!"

The Man smiled undauntedly, "Let me explain." He stifled another laugh while Yamato tried to suppress the red tinge in his cheeks. But he still kept his guard up.

Whizzz! BANG! BANG!

The Man finally regained his composure (and Yamato finally got the guts to look him straight in the eye again) and spoke, "Do you know Furieki Academy?"

Of course Yamato knew Furieki Academy, who in Saitama—no, scratch that, Japan, did not know the prestigious, high-end, socialite for-the-handicapped school, Furieki Academy?

"Furieki Academy gives scholarships to many special and talented artists, did you know that?"

The Man let it sink in, before continuing,

"And" He paused, "I think you qualify as one of those many talented artists!"

Yamato continued doing 1). He could not BELIEVE this was happening. Even a kidnap was more expected!

Yamato's mouth quivered, "But who are you to… give me a s-scholarship to Furieki?"

The Man held out his hand once more, "I am Mr. Hanashi Tokunai, the principal of Furieki."


One thing sped by the young teen's mind as he grabbed Mr. Tokunai-san hand in a handshake: 'This can't be happening.'

Mr. Tokunai-san plastered a cheery smile on his face, "And you…?"

"I-I'm… Takanari Yamato." Yamato bowed lowly in respect, his legs feeling a lot like jelly.

'N-no… This can't be happening.'

Mr. Tokunai-san laced an arm around the young teen's shoulders, heaving him up from his bow and giving him whopping smile, "Well, Yamato-kun,"

'I-I must be dreaming! Someone, please wake me up! This is a dream! This is just a dream! A dream that TRICKS me into thinking that I have something more than a stormy and rainy life! But I do, and I always will! Always!'

"Welcome to Furieki Academy."










And the sky exploded into a rainbow—something that only came after a storm.

End Notes:

Akemashite omedeto gozaimasu is a Japanese greeting that means Happy New Year in English.

Mochi is traditional food eaten during New Year in Japan. It is a rice cake.

:D Oh, maaan, that was fun. I had lots of fun writing this chapter and it really hyped me up to write more of it! B] I hope you all liked it! Even though it was… horribly long. D: I'll make all the other chapters short, don't worry! I just wanted the whole prologue for H.H. to be really good! :D I hope it's good, I really do.

I also hope you guys enjoyed Yamato. XD I know I didn't reveal much about him in this chapter (other than his pretty bad past and his hatred of kidnappers and being tricked in general), but he's the main character of H.H., and more of him will be revealed as the chapters go by. I hope his past wasn't that stereotypical. XD But his past is a key ingredient of the story, I won't tell you how, though. XD

:D Thanks for reading!

~King Echo