The King of the Hill

Chapter 1: The King of the Hill

Shiro Hoshigaki's footsteps echoed like a steady drumbeat through the dimly lit halls of Otemae High, a school nestled in the bustling city of Haruyama. The school was a modern concrete structure, with sharp angular lines and sprawling wings that seemed to stretch on endlessly. The atmosphere within its walls was a cocktail of tension and youthful ambition, where the clang of lockers, the murmur of gossiping students, and the sharp commands of teachers blended together into an unmistakable soundtrack.

As Shiro moved through the hallways, the sea of students parted before him like the Red Sea before Moses. No one dared to challenge his presence; he had long since claimed dominion over this territory. His presence was more than just a physical form; it was a looming shadow that stretched across the school, a quiet storm that stirred with each step. Shiro didn't need to say a word to assert his authority; the very aura he carried was enough to send even the bravest students scurrying for cover.

The walls of the school were adorned with motivational posters, science fair ribbons, and the occasional sports trophy, but to Shiro, they were nothing more than background noise in the ongoing performance of his dominance. His clique of friends, a group of boys who had either fallen in line or had been swept up in Shiro's orbit, flanked him like loyal bodyguards. They had learned early on that their place in this school, their status, depended entirely on their proximity to Shiro. Without him, they were nobody.

As Shiro walked down the hallway, he noticed the first-year students eyeing him nervously, and he couldn't help but smirk. One particular kid, a small and awkward-looking boy, was walking too close to him. Without breaking his stride, Shiro shoved the kid aside, sending him crashing into the lockers. The boy's books exploded in all directions, scattering across the floor like confetti. The sound echoed through the hall, drawing a few heads, but Shiro didn't care.

"Pathetic," one of his friends, Takumi, muttered, watching the spectacle with a smug grin.

Shiro didn't respond. He was already moving on, his eyes scanning for the next opportunity to assert his superiority. He didn't even spare the fallen student a second glance. His attention had shifted. That's when he saw him—Daiki.

Daiki was sitting alone at the far end of the hallway near the windows, the soft golden light from the late afternoon sun streaming in and casting long shadows. He was hunched over a textbook, his thick black glasses sliding down his nose. To an outsider, Daiki might have looked like any other student, lost in his own world of academics, but Shiro saw something different—an opportunity.

He made his way toward Daiki with deliberate steps, his entourage following closely behind, their footsteps in perfect synchrony. Shiro stopped just inches from Daiki, who didn't seem to notice him at first. Shiro leaned down, his voice a sharp whisper that only Daiki could hear. "What's this? Studying in the middle of the hallway like a loser?" His voice dripped with disdain.

Daiki looked up, startled, before quickly averting his gaze. "I-I'm sorry," he stammered. "I didn't mean to be in your way."

Shiro's smirk deepened, leaning even closer, his breath hot against Daiki's cheek. "Sorry?" Shiro's voice took on a mocking tone, "Who the hell is asking for your apology? You're in my way now, and that's all that matters."

Without warning, Shiro shoved Daiki with enough force to send him stumbling backward. Daiki crashed to the floor, his books scattering across the hallway like debris in a storm. The sound of Daiki hitting the floor resonated throughout the corridor, and Shiro's friends erupted in cruel laughter.

"Pathetic," Takumi muttered again, his voice a blend of amusement and disdain.

Shiro stood over Daiki's broken form, looking down at him with cold amusement. Daiki didn't fight back. He didn't even try to stand. His face was flushed with humiliation, but there was something in his eyes—a flicker of resistance that Shiro couldn't quite place.

Without a second thought, Shiro cracked his knuckles, his eyes scanning the hallway. "How about you stop acting like a little baby and stand up for yourself, huh?" he sneered.

Daiki's voice was barely a whisper. "P-please… I don't want any trouble."

Shiro's eyes narrowed. The sound of Daiki's quiet plea stirred something in him—a strange sense of unease, one that he quickly dismissed as weakness. He wasn't looking for trouble, but he would make sure Daiki knew his place. Without hesitation, Shiro threw a punch that landed with brutal force against Daiki's gut. The sickening sound of impact was followed by a sickening thud as Daiki crumpled to the ground.

"Nice one, Shiro!" Takumi cheered, his voice full of approval, as his friends howled with laughter.

As Daiki lay on the cold, unforgiving floor, Shiro stared down at him, feeling a strange rush of satisfaction. But something lingered in the back of his mind. Daiki's eyes—the flicker of defiance in them—had unsettled him in a way he couldn't explain.