(V2) Chapter 3: Metal

There are two things that students hate about school; teachers that offer tons of workload and second…

Delinquents.

Not just the ones who loiter around, skipping class and pulling stupid pranks. I’m talking about the ones who break bones in gang fights. The ones who control the school’s underground hierarchy, influencing student council affiliations, and heck, even faculty decisions.

And today, those kinds of delinquents walked straight into our classroom.

“Oi, oi. Looks like Class 3-2 is enjoying a damn break.”

Heads turned to the doorway, where a stocky guy with bleached hair stood, his uniform partially unbuttoned to expose his sculpted chest. He was flanked by several other guys, all dressed similarly—disheveled uniforms, chains dangling from their pockets, and accessories that made them look more like thugs than students.

“Bring us that Takeuchi punk. Our business with him isn't finished yet.”

His voice was thick with arrogance, his oppressive glances putting weight on us.

A collective silence settled in the classroom, an air of tension growing heavy.

“He's been absent for the past four days,” the hesitant voice of a male classmate broke through the silence. “I’m sorry but I think you should go.”

The delinquent leader scoffed, “Me? Leave? Who do you think you are talking to, nerd?”

In a flash, he moved.

Before anyone could react, his fist connected with the student’s jaw, sending him sprawling over his desk, books and papers he carried crashing to the floor. Gasps rippled through the room.

The guy didn’t get up. He was out cold.

A few girls screamed. Some of the guys tensed, but no one made a move. Not even Akito and Saori would stand up and defend. They were scared—scared of escalating the situation, scared of getting their own skulls cracked open.

His accomplices roamed around the room, looking for the signs of the student they are looking for.

“Now,” the leader continued, cracking his knuckles. “I’ll ask again. Where the hell is Takeuchi?”

“No signs, boss.” one of his henchmen responded.

His eyes narrowed, “Then look for a goddamn placeholder!” he growls, voice laced with frustration.

Not long after, three figures huddled around me. One even pushed my shoulders down, preventing escape.

“Boy,” one punk whispers, “forgive us for giving you a bad day.”

I barely looked up from my desk, still deep in my thoughts. Thoughts of Ayase, of everything that had happened a few nights prior.

Another half of me, drowning on Takamine-san's offer of a helping hand.

“Haru!” Saori shrieked, but as she tried to rescue, a couple of men stood in her way.

Somehow, I grabbed the chance to take one last look at Takamine-san, who was petrified at my situation across the rows of seats.

And they were the only ones worrying.

The majority? Murmuring about my physical inferiority. Insults echoed around the classroom, some were bad wishes.

Yes, I was somehow slim and lightweight, and that alone makes me a great catch for delinquents who seek for helpless students to add to their notch.

And today, my intuitions bore true.

“You. Quiet guy,” the leader sneered. “A small time with us wouldn't hurt.”

Just as expected, I will fall victim.

I exhaled, finally meeting his gaze. “Sorry, not interested.”

The room seemed to hold its breath.

“Haru is talking back to the punks…?” one female classmate whispered.

“He's done for…” another male student added.

The leader narrowed his eyes. “Not interested?”

“You heard me,” I said, my voice calm but distant. “I don’t care about whatever beef you have with Takeuchi. Do not involve me in these silly games of yours.”

The whispers became background noises in the classroom. Maybe because no one ever talked back to them, not even somebody like me. To hold my ground against the chosen brawlers from third-year students was an honor bestowed.

“You got a death wish, or are you just stupid?” the leader asked, stepping closer and grinning. His eyes were filled with the kind of cruelty that had probably left countless victims bruised and bleeding.

I finally stood up, meeting his scowl head on.

The room seemed smaller all of a sudden, as if all the space had been sucked out, leaving only me and him.

He motioned his hands forward, signaling his lackeys to attack.

I quickly turned, and one of his men already swung his fist forward, but I reflexively ducked below it. He threw a few more but to no avail, only the screams of spectator students managing to break through our invisible barrier.

“So predictable…” I whispered, mostly to myself.

The speed and agility is there, but in fighting, variation in attacks matters. You can’t do the same thing over and over again—it’s a terrible weakness.

He kept throwing arms forward, but this time, I caught one of his hands. A slight twinge crawled onto my palm, proving his strength.

I gripped his fist harder, and his face contorted as he let out an agonizing groan. Then, I performed a swift twist on my palm, and the sickening crunch of bones resonated in the room.

The accomplice went down instantly, clutching his arm and screaming louder than before.

“Where are you two staring at? Get him!” the delinquent leader commanded.

They rushed me, but I was already moving. A fist cratering to one’s stomach, and the other went sprawling on the floor after a sweeping kick.

Staring at the fallen bodies made me feel something for a long while. It was nostalgic. It felt natural.

It felt like home.

Fighting.

Not schoolyard brawls. Not street fights. No—real combat.

I quietly stared at my right palm balled into a fist, each memory of not just blood, but oil of Sentinels that poured into it.

It was used to crush metal. To shatter steel bodies.

I remembered the sheer weight and toughness of military-grade DARTs, the cold efficiency of military androids meant to replace and crush human resistance. I remembered everyday that I was taken down by them, and the times I got up, and the times I was finally able to withstand them, fight them and destroy them.

To seep in the feeling of revenge for my parents, for everything that was stolen from me. I had suffered enough from their hands, and how I wish they could too.

I fought enemies that didn’t breathe, didn’t scream and didn’t fear death. And that made them more enjoyable.

I remembered the rusty taste of blood.

The shrieks of broken platings and circuits from their severed limbs.

I remembered the pain.

And then—Akio-san.

His voice, his hands pulling me back from the edge. The day I stopped fighting, the day I buried those experiences deep inside me, trying to live like a normal person.

But some things never really leave you.

The delinquent leader threw the first punch.

I saw it coming before his muscles even tensed. He was fast—for a human. But compared to what I used to fight? A joke.

I sidestepped, letting his fist cut through the air where my face used to be. His balance shifted, leaving him wide open.

One hit.

A clean strike to the ribs. He gasped, staggering back, his face twisted in confusion.

Another hit.

I swept his legs from under him. He crashed onto the floor with a heavy thud, his gang scrambling backward in shock.

I didn’t stop.

I grabbed his collar and slammed him against a desk, sending pencils and notebooks scattering.

And for the final blow, I raised my fist, aiming for his face. I finally felt emotions from staring at those formerly defiant eyes—my danger, and his surrender. He wasn’t expecting this. None of them were.

But as I casted the sword of justice down, a pair of tender hands grabbed my arm.

My eyes widened. It wasn't Ayase at all.

“Stop it…Ishida-kun…” voice thick with worry and sympathy.

Takamine-san.

Her fingers barely wrapped around my wrist, but her presence alone made something in me freeze.

“What are you doing?” I asked, voice laced with frustration. “I am just curing their pettiness.”

“No more,” she protested. “Please.”

That voice—she never spoke to anyone else that way. She always spewed words filled with determination and direction, always commanding.

This time, she sounded imperfect. Like a lost woman.

Slowly, the adrenaline drained from my body. The weight of dozens of stares pressed down on me.

My classmates.

My teacher, Inoue-san.

Takamine-san.

I looked down at my hand—still clenched into a fist.

For a moment, I wasn’t Ishida Haruki anymore.

I was something else.

Something I promised I wouldn’t be again.

I took a step back, releasing the leader’s collar. “Leave.”

He swallowed hard, barely having the energy left to stand up. “Y-you…What the hell are you?”

I didn’t answer.

Instead, I turned away. He coughed, scrambling to his feet, his gang members hesitating before rushing to help him.

The leader glared at me, eyes burning with something between fear and rage. “This isn’t over!”

I tilted my head slightly. “It is for today.”

“I’ll come back until this classroom finally bows down.” he taunted, but I preferred not to listen.

With that, they left.

Silence filled the room, heavier than before.

I turned back to my desk, picked up my chair, and sat down like nothing happened.

But the classroom wasn’t the same anymore.

I could feel their eyes—my classmates, my teacher, even Takamine-san—staring at me like I was something they had never seen before.

And maybe, to them, I wasn’t the same Haruki anymore.

***

“That was insane, dude! You looked like Jackie Chan back there! Tell me, where did you get those skills?”

Akito’s ecstatic voice rang out, way louder than necessary, cutting through the usual cafeteria clamor. Heads turned. Whispers followed. Together with Saori and Takamine-san, our circle of three friends finally had a new member.

Weeks ago, I wouldn’t have thought that this was possible.

Weeks ago, I would’ve given anything for this moment.

Takamine-san belonged to the upper echelons of the school hierarchy, always surrounded by popular girls and boys, But now?

Now, I wasn’t sure anymore. I can’t wrap my head around why she would abandon stardom and mingle with three losers in the classroom.

I sighed, barely lifting my gaze from my bowl of ramen. “Baking classes.”

The broth was rich, but it tasted bitter on my tongue—probably because my mind was still replaying what had happened this morning. Or at least to where I actually honed my skills.

“Baking classes?!” Akito snapped. “How the heck—Ow!”

Saori stormed in, pinching Akito’s side. “Akito-kun, keep it down.”

Akito complies and nods feverishly, using his hands to cover his groans.

Saori then cast a nervous glance around us, her delicate hands returning on the tray. “People are already looking.”

Before, I was a wallflower, an invisible student in a school filled with louder, brighter, more noticeable people. Now people are staring at me as if I was some kind of unsung hero after my resistance against tough foes that seemed unbreakable before.

From nobody…to somebody.

A somebody that people weren’t sure how to deal with.

I could feel them. Stares burning into my back. Conversations hushed when I walked past. Some looked impressed. Others…cautious. And some…fearful.

My victory reminded them that some thugs are mortal, and predators can hunt the wrong prey at times.

My reputation had taken a complete 180.

“Maybe they’re right,” I started, putting my chopsticks down. “I should’ve kept my head down.”

“Keep your head down?” Akito scoffed, “Are you kidding me? You took out a gang of third-years like they were training dummies! You saved our entire class from those guys! People are calling you a legend already!”

“Legend?” I exhaled, leaning back. “Is that what they’re calling it?”

I wouldn’t even expect those words even from the kindest angels in the school.

Saori shifted uncomfortably. “No, they are actually calling you dangerous.”

That, I expected.

“That’s how it works, right?” I mumbled, stirring the remaining broth with my chopsticks. “People love an underdog story, but the moment that underdog becomes something bigger, they become a part of those villains.”

Akito frowned. “Oh, come on, buddy. It’s not like that.”

“It's exactly like that.”

I glanced around. Across the cafeteria, people were still sneaking glances my way, whispering to each other. Some flinched when our eyes met. Others turned away awkwardly.

Takamine-san stared at her glass absentmindedly, deep in thought. She hadn’t spoken much since we sat down. Not that it was surprising. After all, she had been there. She had stopped me from going too far.

“We still look at you the same,” Takamine-san finally spoke. “You only did what is right.”

“I might still be slapped in the wrist by the guidance council.”

Takamine-san gave me a thoughtful look—but there was something else beneath it. Curiosity? Worry? Maybe something else I couldn’t quite place.

“I'm not going to let them.”

I raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

And what she muttered next made my heart jump on the trampoline.

Takamine-san heaved a dismissive scoff, putting down the cup of tea back at the saucer.

“As the student council president, I'm also overlooking the guidance committee. I can just stare down at your violation form and look away like nothing happened at all.”

“That's not fair.” I argued.

She flicked the ends of her long black hair. “It is fair, for the sake of self-defense.”

Takamine-san’s right. Saori and Akito agreed too. It would be better just to use self-defense as a justification for my actions.

Deep inside still, I can't help think if I went too far responding harshly to their provocations. But talking things out wouldn't be the first thing you would think of in the face of danger.

After exchanging uneasy glances with Takamine-san, I darted away completely.

“Thanks, I guess.”

A traitorous warmth spread all over my face. Though I hate to assume that the girl that rejected me was protecting me in a sense.

Was it because of the things I was capable of doing?

Or would I still be invisible if things went south?

“...Just focus on laying low while I'm doing my part.” she voiced out.

I let out a breath, finally pushing my half-eaten bowl aside. “Hiding isn’t my plan.”

Because it wasn’t an option anymore.

People would keep coming. Whether I fought or not. Whether I wanted them to or not. I had already stepped into something bigger than a simple schoolyard hierarchy.

And I wasn’t about to let myself be hunted.

“No!” Takamine-san snaps from her seat, eyebrows scrunched. “That will only put us in the crossfire. What do you think we are, a collateral? No more fighting, Ishida-kun.”

Akito and Saori looked at each other in silent agreement.

“Takamine-san’s right,” Saori responded. “Only your classmates will pay the price of aggression.”

I tapped my fingers against the table, my expression flat and unreadable. “Choosing peace is correct, but are we only going to watch them pick our classmates one by one in Takeuchi’s place?”

Silence settled in our table. Takamine-san looked down on herself, possibly reconsidering her statement and my own.

Saori was the first to break it.

“Haru's opinion makes sense too. The best solution here is to find the middle ground, avoiding fighting while doing our best to protect our classmates from bullies.”

Akito grinned. “Man, you’re caught in between waves of ice and fire.”

Saori didn’t reply. Because in some ways, he wasn’t entirely wrong.

My fight this morning taught me that things weren’t going to be the same anymore. We have to be proactive, let alone be creative in dealing with it.

Takamine-san gave me a nod of approval after her contemplation. “I have carefully scrutinized and understood your perspective. No matter what, the priority here is protecting our internal and external peace. Your friends are just here, Ishida-kun.”

Friends, huh?

For the briefest second, our eyes met.

And in that moment, I saw it—

A flicker of something uncertain. A hesitation.

“Right. Good thing you reminded me.”

She quickly averted her gaze, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

Something had shifted between us.

I wasn’t sure how to name it yet.

But that kind of expression meant Takamine-san wanted to hear something from me. Something more than this conversation.

And those unsaid words floated across our seats and empty meals. Invisible and unnoticed, yet the two of us definitely felt.