Blood and Thunder

Ichiro hastened his steps toward the school's front entrance, a sense of urgency guiding his movements.

He wished to minimize his time at the school, propelling himself towards his shoe locker located in the foyer of the building. At this point, he was uncertain about his destination; however, he believed any place would be preferable to his current surroundings.

Technically, he couldn't simply leave without notice, but he held confidence in his ability to convince others that his departure was prompted by a sudden stomach ache. Ultimately, the reasons behind his departure were insignificant to him; his primary focus was on making a swift exit.

“Ishii!”

So much for that.

His aspirations of a swift departure dissolved as he reached his locker, a voice resounding from the main hallway, which stretched further into the school. Emitting a sigh of frustration, his attention shifted to Ishida, who stood with arms crossed, exuding a stern demeanor that the glasses perched on his face failed to hide.

Flanking Ishida on either side were a handful of underclassmen players, individuals Ichiro recognized from the baseball team. In just a matter of days, they would ascend to the role of senior members, responsible for guiding practices and acquainting incoming freshmen with the club's routines. However, their current demeanor was one of glaring disdain, directed at Ichiro as though he were no better than a pile of refuse before them.

“Sorry Ishida,” Ichiro shook his head and proceeded to retrieve his casual shoes from his locker, “but I truly don't have the time.”

“I noticed,” Ishida began moving forward, his entourage of players trailing behind. They positioned themselves to hinder his progress, forming a human barrier around the lockers. “You didn't even attend the club celebration.”

The realization hadn't crossed Ichiro's mind until that moment. A group celebration had been organized to commemorate their progress in the Koshien and to bid farewell to the departing seniors headed for university. Instead of participating, Ichiro had remained at home, clutching his phone, waiting for something to change.

He merely shrugged his shoulders and commenced changing his shoes as he responded to the presumably new first-string pitcher. “I didn't think my presence was wanted.”

“You were our lead pitcher,” Ishida's voice was charged with intensity, causing Ichiro to flinch at the unexpected forcefulness. Such a display of emotion was unprecedented, catching Ichiro off guard.

“You’re talkative for once.” Ichiro narrowed his eyes at the shorter pitcher, who was glaring harshly up at him in return. Nonetheless, he brushed it aside, depositing his school-issued shoes into the locker. “Either way, you took over quite well, so it doesn’t matter.”

“Only because you abandoned us!” Ishida's exclamation was accompanied by a swift locker slam, fortunately missing Ichiro's hands. The sudden metallic clang startled him, eliciting a flinch. Recovering quickly, he shifted his gaze to his underclassman, glaring daggers. “I was merely filling the void you left.”

An impulse to retaliate surged within Ichiro, directed at the bespectacled teen before him. Though, he restrained himself, releasing a sigh of frustration instead. With his backpack slung over his shoulder, he turned, preparing to exit the school. “Listen, Ishida, my priorities have shifted. I don't have the time—”

Before he could make much progress, his shoulder was jerked backward, causing him to pivot sharply. Off balance and taken by surprise, he found himself propelled backwards until his head collided with the unforgiving metal surface of the lockers.

Stunned, he cautiously opened his eyes, met by the blaze of Ishida's furious gaze, which pinned him to the lockers. Ishida's hands held him in place with an iron grip. The circle of friends around them tightened, making it impossible for Ichiro to escape without confronting at least one of them. Conversely, no one would be able to intervene on his behalf if the situation escalated. Amidst chuckles from the encroaching group, the scene before them descended into chaos.

“What was that—” Ichiro desperately began, his words choked by the throbbing pain in his head, yet Ishida's sharp finger jutted in front of his face, cutting him off.

“I want you to understand something.” Ishida's voice bore an intensity that Ichiro had never witnessed from the usually more composed teen. With each succeeding word, Ichiro's anger intensified. “I admired you. You were the person I aspired to be someday. But now, seeing you wallow like this,” Ishida propelled him back once more before releasing his grip and stepping away. The abrupt release jolted Ichiro's knees, causing him to buckle slightly, but he managed to remain on his feet. He watched as Ishida adjusted his glasses on his nose, the gesture accompanied by a shrug. “I don't know what I was looking up to.”

Ishida turned away, departing with his cohort following closely, final smirks etched onto their faces. Yet, a rising voice halted them in their tracks. They turned, witnessing Ichiro rising from his previously slouched position to full stature. His eyes blazed with intensity, his words honed into sharp weapons.

“You think I wanted anyone to look up to me?” He roared, his voice resounding loudly as he advanced, narrowing the distance Ishida had created. “Did you assume I even knew your existence before you joined the team?”

Ishida's eyes widened as he stood immobilized. Even his companions were shocked by the sudden shift in the lone upperclassman's tone. They cast glances around, searching for possible escape routes if things turned south for real.

“Why should I live up to your ideals?” With another step forward, most of the teenagers retreated, seeking to evade his wrath. All except Ishida, who stared over his shoulder, his mouth agape, his body frozen in place. “I am my own person. I set my own goals! The responsibility to achieve them lies solely with me. Don’t go around making up standards for me just so you can feel better about yourself!”

As the scene unraveled, a handful of students wandered in, curious about the disturbance. As they congregated around the corner, they beheld a senior yelling across the hallway at a group of juniors, who were now awkwardly backing away. Murmurs flitted through the confined space, speculating about the impending sequence of events. Was a fight brewing?

“And as for you.” Ichiro recentered his attention on the root of his current predicament. “You're one of the most remarkable pitchers I've seen in a long time!”

Puzzlement rippled through the foyer, an air of perplexity that pervaded. Where was this emanating from? The sole figure unaffected by the hushed murmurs was Ishida, who remained rooted in place, his mouth still agape, glasses sliding down his nose. “Why even measure yourself against me? Forge your own path and let nothing stand in your way.”

The hallway burst into a whirlwind of bewilderment at the bizarre spectacle. Ishida, who had remained immobile throughout, finally drew a breath. In an instant, he pivoted to face his senior, his eyes ignited with fervor. With a swift motion, he contorted his body into a deep bow, exclaiming loudly, “Yes, Senpai!” A clear expression of gratitude for the return of his aspirational figure.

Yet, Ichiro only scoffed, hoisting his backpack onto his shoulder as he resumed his journey towards the school's entrance.

“Now, move out of my way. I'm out of—”

Just as he reached the end of the locker row, a forceful impact struck his cheek, hurtling him backward once more into the lockers, his head reverberating off the metal surface. Dazed and shocked beyond words yet again, he gazed up with pain-stricken eyes to see Takuya standing there, his fist still extended from the blindside punch he had delivered from around the corner of the lockers.

“What the hell was that for?” Ichiro roared at his best friend, who began shaking his hand, the impact evidently causing him pain in return.

“That's for Hina,” was Takuya's succinct reply, as he positioned himself over Ichiro.

“What does that even mean?” Struggling to regain his footing, Ichiro faced a stunned audience, witnessing the unexpected outbreak of a fierce altercation. Takuya remained composed, his fist clenched at his side, as he merely observed Ichiro's struggles.

“I’m gonna be real honest with you, man, I don’t know what’s happening.” Takuya responded, shaking his head, “But I found her crying alone. All I was able to understand was that you hurt her somehow.”

“And so you just sucker-punch me?” Ichiro grabbed his friend by the collar, venting his justified fury inches from Takuya's face.

“I warned you,” Takuya brushed Ichiro's grip aside in a fluid motion. “You haven’t been yourself in months, and if you didn't sort yourself out, I'd deck you.”

“You don't even know—” Ichiro began again, poised to retaliate physically, but his next words were abruptly cut off.

“Nakagawa is gone!”

Ichiro stood frozen, his eyes widened like saucers, the words echoing repeatedly in his mind as well as the hallway. His best friend’s sudden outburst shocked him, but the word’s meaning eluded him.

“What are you saying?”

“Come on, man,” Takuya sighed, shaking his head with a condescending tone. “She hasn't been around since winter break. Word is she skipped town or something. Maybe even became a NEET, if not worse. Whatever happened doesn’t matter. What does is that it’s now time for you to move on.”

With clenched teeth, a burning sensation intensified around Ichiro's eyes, a sensation he struggled to suppress. “You don't know—”

“Dude!” Takuya interrupted once again, his fist retracting as he issued a threat, “Don't make me punch you again. I am only doing this as a friend.”

A tense aura enveloped the foyer, the audience swelling and growing increasingly raucous with each passing moment. Amid the cacophony of shouts, the teachers' voices joined the fray, urging everyone to disperse. Despite the urge to voice more thoughts at that moment, Ichiro was mindful of avoiding another entry on his record—two fights in one day was far from an accolade he wanted as he prepared for university.

With a disgruntled exhale, he picked up and swung his backpack onto his shoulder while turning away.

“Whatever,” he muttered, spitting out a bloody wad from his mouth as he crossed the threshold out of the building. “I'm leaving.”

Behind him, the shrill whistles of the teachers blended with Takuya's call after him, “Bro! You need to snap out of it! You're only hurting yourself now!” However, his words had no sway. Ichiro pressed onward, his steps carrying him into the gusty winds of the impending storm.

***

Regrettably, his progress was short-lived. Upon rounding the corner of the school's front gates, he came to an abrupt halt. Adrift without direction, he leaned against the concrete fence encircling the school grounds, gazing upward at the roiling expanse of black clouds overhead. Within moments, a raindrop splashed onto his cheek. He scarcely flinched, lifting his hand to brush away the water as more droplets descended upon him.

As his hand lowered, his phone began to vibrate in his pocket, its pulsations resonating through his body. Uncertain of the caller's identity, he hesitated before withdrawing the device and glancing at the caller ID.

“What do you want, Mizuki?” He answered brusquely, skipping all pleasantries.

“Hey,” Mizuki's response was equally curt, but her voice carried a raspy, barely audible quality as though she struggled to convey her words. “I know it's been a while, but…” She paused from a sniffle.

“Look,” Ichiro interjected, raindrops intensifying around him, driving him to seek partial shelter. “I'm really not in the mood to talk right now—”

“Listen, stupid!” Her voice surged forth, cutting him off with words rapid and quivering, delivering a sentence that drained the air from his lungs. “It’s Izumi!”