Inu had been saving up for years, trying to buy a house. It would've been the first thing he ever owned. The first thing that had his name. It would've been his mark on the world.

He saved and saved. He worked hard every single day and meticulously made sure all his wealth was safe. He refused to let the bank take any of his hard-earned money for doing something he could do himself, though and ended up simply hiding his money.

He hid his small money pouches under floorboards at cafeterias and other public buildings, in between bricks in dark alleys, in small holes in the sewers covered by stones, and more. There it stayed safe for years. He would always check on them once in a while to relieve the pressure on his heart.

Then, one day, he had enough to buy the house. All he had to do was gather the money from all the money into the bag he carried around everywhere. He would walk the main streets in daylight and nobody would notice a thing. It would be done, and he would be the owner of a property before he was twenty. From there he could climb the ladder and become anything.

He nervously went around and picked up his pouches, shoving them into his blank bag. It took hours upon hours, but then he had it all. He walked the streets with a smile. Nothing had been stolen. He had no worries now. He'd been to all the dangerous places already.

He just had to go a few hundred steps more and it would all be his. That was when he felt it. A sting on his right side.

Dozens of people passed by in the time it took Inu to look down at the knife. He looked up in shock to see who it was and... a youth with sly eyes and lips full of dry cuts, his whole face shaded by a hood.

Inu didn't know him.

That's when he realized it. This had no meaning. No purpose. He was just stabbed by a nobody. His life would be stolen by a nobody.

It wasn't revenge or anything other personal. It wasn't even someone seeking his position. That would have concerned Inu too much for it to be meaningless. No, it concerned his pouch, but more than that, the money in it. He would die for the least personal possession he had: money.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Those coins that were passed around from person to person and were never really anybody's would cost him his life.

Inu tried to remove the knife from his stomach, but didn't have much progress before another knife sunk into his side. Then came a third.

He was losing it. In a second, he had lost everything. He was sure he would lose everything.

He tried to struggle, but the pain shooting through his body prompted him to stay still. He opened his mouth to yell for help, but nothing came out. The knives were pulled out before each one of his muggers stabbed him again. This time, the pain was more dull. He could feel the atmosphere caving in on him.

He wanted to yell for help so badly. Maybe someone would intervene and the thieves would scurry off. But he didn't try to shout again. He realized that if anyone was going to help, they would've done it already. People were just walking by. They had no time for others. They had to buy their own houses and climb the ladder. Besides the theft would only take a few seconds. They didn't have to endure the ruckus for long.

Inu couldn't accept it. He couldn't let those slimy people win. He gripped his bag with both hands and grit his teeth. He put everything he had into his hands. Every single second of hard work had culminated in this moment. All that pain and suffering was poured into his hands. He would never let go.

One of the thieves tried to pull the bag out of his hand, but couldn't. They pulled out their knives, about to stab him again. Knowing this, Inu put his weight back and slumped onto the bloody gravel beneath him. His bloody gravel.

Then the one who was grabbing his bag kicked at his arms. That was nothing. Then he felt a stomp on his wounds. His stomach went in from instinct as he gasped. And then came a kick to the side of his head.

The same pattern continued.

Again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again, again.

The bag slipped from his hands and the thieves dispersed into the crowd of people walking around Inu. His head was shaking and his sight was blurry from concussions and tears. He looked at his hands that had betrayed him so.

Red. Bloody. Some of his nails had torn off. Some were hanging off by a skin thread. Some were ripped and broken.

He brought his hands to his face and cried before turning to the crowd and reaching out while trying to squeeze out words.

None of it worked. Nobody would help. Eventually, his head started to clear a bit and the pain in his stomach became more clear. He turned his body painfully, the least of his worries being the gravel tearing his skin.

At last, he let go and made himself as comfortable as he could be, cringing his body and putting his hands on his wet belly.

It was over.