Moscow. Fall. Cold. It rains constantly, drops are small and cold. Everything is gray and dirty: houses, cars, and people. They are in a hurry, running along these gray streets with gray faces and empty eyes. Only he stands on the sidewalk and realizes how stupid, senseless everything around him. What is the point of their rush? After all, they do not even have time to see life! Their lives pass in an endless stream of gray everyday life, similar to one another and already washed out in their minds in one endlessly dull gray day like this one.

Damp and cold made their way under the clothes - the teenager put his hands in his pockets and, throwing the hood of his jacket over his wet hair, walked along the wet sidewalk.

Why is he haunted by this feeling that this is not his life, not his time, not his place, not his city? Why? Maybe it all started from the moment when he realized that everyone around him was distant from him? When he didn't become like all of them. Kai glanced at the people running past.

He's different. And if you are different, then you are an outcast. People don't need you. You are internally rejected by everyone you know and love! But why? Why do people close to you stop loving you just because you do not want to be the way they want you to be?

His family: dad, mom, his two elder brothers, and a sister. Why did the people closest to him, the dearest to him in the world, move away from him? What did he do wrong? He simply began to live, speak, and think as he saw fit. And they wanted him to match the image they had created. They came up with a life for him to live.

Gradually, they began to realize that the image they had created did not correspond to reality. At first, it was not very noticeable and they even pretended that nothing was happening, that it just seemed to them. But then they couldn't help but notice that everything was wrong. He was not what they wanted him to be. And nothing could change him, neither talking about what he should become, nor trying to force him to submit to their will!

When you are little, you depend on your family you cannot fight back and therefore you endure everything they do to you.

He was constantly put under "house arrest", but this arrest took place in the library, and it was happiness for him, and not a punishment, as they wanted. He opened the book and was transported to other worlds that opened to him from the pages. He found freedom in books. He traveled for hours in other worlds, acquired knowledge and experience given in books, and learned the surrounding space.

They hired teachers so that he had no time to think about rebelling against them. But he loved to learn and gladly drew knowledge from those who gave him this knowledge.

They never let him go to school, believing that the world behind the wall would ruin him.

But he had long ago penetrated that other world. They did not notice it, they missed it. They thought that a little boy riding his bike through the fields around their house, surrounded by a huge fence, would not be able to know that there was another life. But he found out.

Prokhor! They met then at the pond: little Kai with a mute question in his eyes turned to the sky and such an overly serious teenager who saw the boy's eyes and felt his loneliness. He was lonely too. But from that day on, they divided their loneliness into two.

They did not talk about the pain that was already in their souls. Rich, from a good family, Kai, but with such huge and sad green eyes, and Prokhor, a teenager from an ordinary family, where there was no father, only an eternally working mother, whom he always saw tired.

Prokhor also asked himself a question:

"Why? Why does his mother hate him so much? Why then did she give birth to him, if his whole existence was now so hateful to her? What for? Why tell him that she works three jobs to feed him and put him on his feet. After all, if you love someone, you do it for him. And if you don't love? Then you do it anyway and you hate that person even more."

After all, it was he who was to blame for such her life. It was his fault that his father left when he had been still little. He just left to live with another family. But Prokhor felt that it was because of him, and she knew it, and hatred for him had already arisen in her soul. And now his mother had a broken life - this was how she had spoken of herself to everyone who felt sorry for her. But what was he to blame? It turned out in everything. It was he who broke her life with his birth.

"How strange," thought Prokhor, "a new life is being born, but it turns out that everyone has already hated it. You live with a person who is dearest to you, the closest on the whole earth, but gradually you begin to feel that this one hates you. Your whole existence is unbearable to this person! "

The small apartment in which he lived with his mother did not make it possible to exclude communication, and therefore Prokhor more and more often began to disappear on the street. This angered her even more. Now he was gradually turning into a difficult teenager who got involved with a bad company, and that finally ruined her life. It was a vicious circle. There was no way out of it. It was only necessary to accept the reality of what had happened. And Prokhor accepted. He loved his mother, the one he created in his dreams, sweet, caring, loving him. He loved her with all his heart. And in real life, he calmly listened to the next reproaches and painful words addressed to him and left where he was not alone.

Then by the pond, seeing a boy with eyes full of pain, he read in them a question that had tormented his soul too:

"Why don't they just love me, just because I exist?"

Prokhor did not talk to him about this. He could not answer this question. But from that day on, two souls found each other and the pain shared with the other was no longer so strong. They stopped looking for an answer to their question. They just began to live and enjoy life!

Prokhor opened another world for Kai. The world outside the wall of his house. It turned out to be cruel and adult. And in order to survive in it, he had to grow up quickly and fight for a place in this world.

This did not frighten him. Prokhor's company, to which the boy brought him, was one of the same teenagers who were also simply not loved just because they were born and lived. And it hardened their hearts.

Kai was under the protection of Prokhor. He was much younger than them, although in conversation and prudence they thought he was older. At first, they hated him for having everything in this life, and then they accepted him, realizing that he did not need all this. That, having everything in life, the most important thing was taken from him - this was his freedom. For them, freedom was the most important thing, and therefore they accepted Kai, and no one else dared to throw an insulting word against him.

***

Once, returning to the place of their "deployment", an abandoned basement, where their small teenage gang equipped themselves a temporary shelter, a group of guys, much older than them, from another gang came out to meet them.

Prokhor hid Kai behind himself, telling him to flee from here when the fight started. The forces were unequal. Prokhor's gang numbered ten people - another one was twice as many. And they were well prepared. In their hands, there were sticks, metal rods, bottles, and knives.

A fight broke out.

It was then that Kai first used his martial art in a real fight. Then, for the first time, he felt the warm blood of his enemy on his hands. He managed to snatch the stick out of the hands of the attacker, and he fought with it, using all kinds of martial arts techniques that his teachers had taught him.

Prokhor and his guys froze in amazement when, with another precise movement, he knocked the bottle out of the opponent's hands and knocked him out with a stick to the solar plexus. But he was still too young, and therefore he also got bit a lot.

He tasted his blood in his mouth. This taste - the taste of metal - how often he would feel it later in his life.

The fight ended, or rather, the attackers did not expect such fierce resistance and therefore began to retreat, picking up their guys and dissolving into the darkness of the alleys.

Having kicked the last two teenagers lying on the asphalt, Prokhor gave the command to leave.

Kai held on with the last bit of strength. The whole body ached from the blows received, the right hand became numb from such an overload. He spat blood from his broken lips and wiped the dripping one from his nose with his sleeve. Prokhor walked beside him, casting attentive glances over his shoulder at him.

Already going down to the basement, he staggered and felt that the floor was leaving from under his feet. Prokhor grabbed him, carried him in his arms to an old iron bed in the corner, covered with a torn bedspread. One of the guys brought a roll of toilet paper and, tearing off a larger piece, gave it to his hand to put it on his nose, which was bleeding. Prokhor brought a towel soaked in water and wiped his face. The guys picked ice from the freezer and, putting it in a bag, gave it to Prokhor, who put ice on his nose.

Kai felt that everyone was looking at him strangely, he understood that his behavior in a fight, his mastery of fighting technique made such an impression on them. From that moment on, their attitude towards him changed radically. Now they treated him with a kind of awe. On the one hand, in their attitude, there was an almost parental concern, because he was younger than them, and on the other hand, respect as he was a cooler kid than they.

"Does it hurt?" Prokhor asked carefully, bending over him.

"It's okay," he smiled, although it was given to him with difficulty.

"You fight in such a way! This is the first time I've seen this! Like in the movies!" Prokhor spoke, not hiding his admiration, "Where did you learn this?"

"Father's friend is Japanese, he lives in our house. I have been training since childhood," then he became sad, "and my father also hires such teachers especially for me. You remember I've told you that I have to become a military man. That is why they teach me this."

Prokhor remembered their conversation, when Kai briefly had told what his family expected from him, and that he did not want this, and for this, he was rejected. Then Prokhor did not ask him about the details, feeling that this was a very painful topic for him and it was difficult for him to talk about it. Prokhor understood why he had such sad eyes and why he was with them, and not with his family. And now, having once again heard this from him, and most importantly, seeing him in a fight, Prokhor realized how serious it was in his life.

"I haven't asked you, but I want to understand," Prokhor looked into the eyes of his friend, "it is important for me to understand this for myself, because you are here, among us, and you are my friend, so I want to understand you. You've said that your family wants you to become a military man, and as I can see, their intentions are serious. Tell me why don't you want it?"

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"I don't want to kill!" he answered very clearly.

Now Prokhor saw in the eyes of this boy an adult life position, which could not be changed by anything or anyone.

"But they will not leave you alone?"

"Yes, I know. I will grow up and then I will be able to decide for myself how to live and what to do!"

"You have made a decision, I will be with you, we will think of something. When you grow up, you will join my gang. Do you want to be with me?"

"Yes. I have no one else but you."

Kai's eyes glowed with sincerity.

Prokhor put his hand on Kai's one and shook it.

"You are not alone. We will always be together now."

Then he fell asleep, the load and nervous stress from the first real fight in his life made itself felt. Prokhor, covering him with his jacket and making sure that he was sleeping soundly asleep, went to the guys who were preparing a festive dinner in their makeshift kitchen.

The so-called kitchen was located here, in another branch of the basement. There was an old gas stove with a gas cylinder, a shabby washstand hung on the wall. Here the guys brought the furniture they found in the trash heap, but the main value was a huge long table at which almost everyone was placed. Benches, chairs, and stools were around the table. Everything that was found in a more or less good condition was brought here to their "home". In the center of the table, there was an old armchair, this was Prokhor's seat. Nobody even thought of sitting there. Prokhor, although he did not possess the eastern fighting technique, but hit hard and concretely. And he was feared and respected. He was their leader, who managed to unite them and lead them.

To the right of Prokhor's chair, there was a chair that no one was occupying either - this was Kai's place. Even the first time when Prokhor brought him to their gang. He put this chair next to him and asked if anyone had any questions on his wish to see Kai next to him. No one had any questions.

Prokhor guarded his little friend, although he never made him exceptions or indulgences in anything. He felt responsible for him, as for a younger brother, so he always kept him by his side if they went to fight or to rob. Among the members of his gang, he quickly figured out those who were dissatisfied with such a decision and explained to them once and for all that his decision had to be respected.

Now in this kitchen, his guys were preparing dinner. After all, they had won! Nobody even expected this. Seeing these adult boys in front of them, and even prepared for battle, they realized that they would fight to the last, but they had no chance. And here was Kai. Who would have thought! Now, opening the stew, stirring buckwheat, and slicing bread, they heatedly discussed how he behaved in a fight. Some even tried to imitate his fighting moves, but this only made the others laugh.

Prokhor was pleased with the realization of what his friend turned out to be. But even if Kai today, as Prokhor told him, ran away when the battle began, it would not matter for Prokhor. Their friendship would not have broken up. It was strange, but Prokhor understood that Kai would never run away. Why did he understand this? There was something in him that attracted Prokhor - this inner strength. It was an incredible inner strength of mind. Therefore, Prokhor was with him. He never made mistakes in people, even if he was still a little boy, but with huge sad eyes.

They took out vodka from the refrigerator. They have long behaved like adults, although they were still children. Prokhor drank with everyone. They put hot food.

While eating such delicious buckwheat porridge with stewed meat, Prokhor thought about Kai's words: "I don't want to kill." But he had crossed this line long ago, and he did not care. Although no, then when he realized that the man who had been struggling in his arms had quieted down - he became afraid. It was very scary. It was a couple of years ago. Then he just began to gather around him those who were rejected by this world. They decided to rob the warehouse. According to their calculations, there should have been no one there. But a drunken man was sleeping inside. It was either a watchman or a bum who got inside. It didn't matter. He saw them and began to shout. Rather, he just screamed when Prokhor's knife entered his stomach. Prokhor struck several times. The body went limp, short death cramps - and everything was over. Prokhor felt warm blood on his hands. He dried his hands. He looked at the pale faces of the guys standing around him. From that moment on, he became their true leader. It was like a rite of passage - a sacrifice. Now no one dared even think badly of him or contradict him. Those who saw it with their own eyes told the boys who were newly arriving at them about Prokhor, who even without flinching had ripped open the man's stomach.

"I wonder how Kai will react to this when he finds out that I've killed a man?"

But that was not the point. He would kill if the situation called for it. It didn't bother him. This was life. And he accepted it for what it was. He needed to tell Kai about it somehow. After all, he was his friend, and there should be no secrets between them.

***

In today's fight, Kai suffered the most. The rest escaped with bruises and minor injuries. And not surprising - after all, he was in the thick of the battle.

An hour later he left the bedroom.

His body was recovering quickly. And now this hour of sleep restored his strength. Although everything hurt, he felt good overall.

Everyone was delighted with him. They began to shake hands and pat on the shoulder. They immediately pounced on with questions and requests to teach them how to fight in the same way.

Prokhor banged on the table, everyone was quiet. He motioned for him to sit next to, in his place. Everyone parted in front of him, letting him pass to the chair. One of the guys quickly ran away and brought him food.

"How are you?" Prokhor looked at him carefully, trying to make sure of his health.

"It's okay."

"Exactly? You got the most."

"I am not only taught the art of combat. There are also techniques for protection and recovery. It is important to know and be able to apply. Therefore, everything is really normal."

"Well, you're cool! You've passed the rite of passage into our gang - you've shown yourself in the real case. Now you will always be with me - you will be my deputy."

Prokhor held out his hand to him. They shook hands. This was the recognition of Kai by Prokhor in front of everyone. Now Prokhor had officially put him in second place after himself in their gang. And everyone understood this.

After that, the guys could not resist and inundated him with questions about how he fought like that. He ate and answered. Prokhor, being already full and lounging in his "royal" chair, looked at all this.

"What time do you need to get home today?" Prokhor's eyes sparkled slyly.

"Today I can do it late. My parents left for the reception at the Kremlin, they will return very late, and those who are in the house will not betray what time I have arrived."

"It's good that there is time," Prokhor sly smiled, "guys, bring a clean glass and pour vodka."

Prokhor put a glass of vodka in front of Kai.

"It's time for you to become an adult. And then you fight better than us, and you haven't even tried vodka. Is it so?" Prokhor looked into the eyes of his friend.

"No. Have not tried it."

"Then drink."

Kai looked at Prokhor. He trusted him. This was his friend. If Prokhor said, then he must drink vodka.

He drank. His breath caught. But then a strange warmth poured over his body. The pain from the blows gradually melted into this warmth. He no longer felt pain, he felt good, it was good and easy. And the soul was easy. Everything that had tormented and tortured him from the inside went away and remained somewhere far away.

Prokhor watched him, saw, and understood what the boy was feeling. He bent down to Kai and, so that no one could hear, asked:

"Doesn't it hurt now?" he understood that everything hurt him after today's fight. He admired how courageously his friend endured pain and did not complain. This glass of vodka was now the only thing that Prokhor could do for him to numb the pain, even if for a few hours.

"No," Kai replied in surprise, "I'm fine now."

The guys shouted at him to have another drink. But Prokhor covered the glass with his hand and said that it was enough for the first time.

He spent that evening in a state of strange euphoria. Late at night, when the alcohol had practically disappeared, Prokhor took several guys with him and went to see him off.

Since that time, Prokhor no longer allowed Kai to drink vodka. Only on New Year's, which they celebrated later than the holiday itself, Prokhor poured and allowed him to drink a glass of champagne. After this glass, everyone "lost" him. He woke up in the morning, when, finally, Prokhor managed to wake him up to send him home.

So he grew up. Then there were many more fights and not entirely correct affairs, to which he went with Prokhor. Although Prokhor did not take him for serious cases. He didn't want to involve the boy, and he was worried about Kai.

***

Being a teenager, he came into their flat. That basement had long been abandoned by them. And that house was also demolished. Now their gang was based in the flat. It was a huge communal apartment in the center of old Moscow in one of the lanes behind the Arbat. This pre-revolutionary house was dark and gloomy. There was a dark entrance, narrow stairs, and a strange apartment with a long corridor and rooms. There were several adjoining rooms in which they mostly hung out. These adjoining rooms belonged to a relative of one of the guys in their gang. The relative herself lived in another room, or rather, drank and slept there later in a permanent unconsciousness. Other tenants of the rooms were registered here, but did not live; where they were no one knew, and did not delve into the details. Only at the end of the corridor, in the room, lived a strange old man, practically out of his mind, who could walk along the corridor as a shadow, but spent most of the time, shutting himself up.

When he was here, Kai was always amazed at new faces and strange personalities that one could encounter in the hallway of this apartment and then never see them again. Who were they, where were they from and why were they here? Probably no one would have answered this question to him.

Their rooms were comfortable. There was also a table in the center, but now it was more decent than the one in the basement. There were also chairs around the table. The invariable royal chair of Prokhor was in the center and a little simpler - Kai's one - to the right of Prokhor.

During this time Prokhor turned into a stocky, broad-shouldered youth with straight, short-cropped brown hair, regular features with the first signs of a mustache and beard, which he began to shave off, and penetrating tiger eyes. Yes, if not for these predator's eyes, he could be called a very nice young man. But this strange look with yellow sparks frightened those looking at him and made his face cruel. There were tightly compressed lips, on which a smile rarely showed, and the unyielding character of the undisputed leader. They were afraid of him. They respected, but more were afraid.

During this brief period of his adolescence-to-youth transition, he had two more occasions when he had killed. And this left an imprint on him: although he was young, his soul had long ago become stale, and this was imprinted on his appearance.

One evening, still in their basement, Prokhor called Kai into his so-called office, into a recess in the wall, closed by a curtain, where there was a small table, a couple of chairs, and an armchair for Prokhor. Here he usually planned secret operations, not for everyone, and dealt with each member of his gang separately, if the situation required.

Kai sat across from him at the table and waited for what he would say.

"You know, I've killed a man," Prokhor said simply, peering into his face, looking for condemnation or self-loathing in him after what he had said.

Kai was silent for a long time. Then he got up, walked over to Prokhor, who was sitting in an armchair and hugged him by the shoulders.

"I'm so sorry that you have such a life where you have to do it. You are so good, so kind. I'll always be with you," said he and returned to his chair.

That moment Prokhor was shocked to the core. He expected anything his friend would say upon learning about it. But this still boy just hugged him by the shoulders and absorbed his pain into himself. But even Prokhor did not allow himself to think about it. He did not allow himself to admit that after that his soul was languishing with the pain of what he had done. He was moved by the fact that now he was understood and accepted as he was.

After that, Prokhor told his friend everything, and Kai also told him everything about his life there, behind the wall in his house.

His life was still the same, but with an even greater tightening of control over himself. After his parents began to find him regularly with a broken face and torn clothes, they began to put him under house arrest more often. But this only added to his knowledge, since he did not waste time. He studied. And at the same time, his desire to find freedom from them grew every day.

Now, being a teenager and entering their apartment, Kai could already afford not to come home for the night. He could stay here overnight or hang out here for several days. Returning home, he listened distantly to lectures about his behavior. But now it didn't bother him, he didn't care what they said to him. This was followed by another punishment in the form of arrest for several days. Sometimes he sat out these days at home if his studies required it, and sometimes he ran away - and no one and nothing could stop him.

Realizing that their son had contacted a bad company, his parents decided to send him to Rostov to a distant relative for the whole summer. Deciding that this isolated area away from people, and most importantly, from his dubious friends, would benefit him.

It was isolation, but not for him.

Being met from the train, he was taken by car for a long time through the Rostov steppes. Kai looked out of the window with delight, he had never seen such a huge space. And then a fabulous picture opened up in front of him - it was a herd of horses rushing across the steppe. The teen's eyes lit up.

"I want to fly with them over this steppe!" he decided firmly, seeing the galloping horses.