Chapter 5: A Physical Education (Part 2)

It cut through the room like glass cracking.

Their laughter stopped. Three of them slowly turned to me with eyes narrowing, as if I was some kind of uninvited guest to their meeting. Somehow, it reminded me of what kind of ground I am currently standing on.

“What was that, Shimizu?” Morita, the biggest one, brushed his long black hair backwards with a predatory grin.

I calmly put down my bag and towel.

“I said, you talk big when she’s not here. Is it some kind of boredom, or are you just cowards?”

The second one, a guy with bleached buzz hair named Hirose, snorted. “Ohhh, look at our dango boy out for blood.”

“Didn’t know you had the hots for busty rich delinquents,” said the third, probably Takuya if I recall correctly. “Or maybe you’re just into girls who ignore you?”

“She's not ignoring him now,” Morita sneered. “Maybe he sold her a stick and got a little bold. You know, poor people like him are delusional.”

“Or she gave him the sticks,” Hirose added with a laugh.

Heat prickled at the back of my neck.

“She’s not what you think. You don’t know a damn thing about her.”

Hirose stepped forward.

“Wow, sounds like someone finally grew a spine. Is that heroism or you're just overly attached? Damn, living up to the rumors I see.”

“Maybe. But I don’t talk about people like I own them.”

“Our dango boy thinks he has a chance on that bitch. You don't even have a chance against us.”

The silence that followed wasn't empty. It was thick with hostility. I can see this raw emotion returned from their eyes. They look at me, and they don't see Shimizu Itsuki—the wallflower who sells dango in a quiet park and secretly acquaints with another recluse. They see a 'target', an anonymous element necessary for their ritual of dominance.

Punks like them don’t wait for permission to attack. They will take you down before you could even realize it.

I looked down at my fist and realized I wasn't holding my ground tight enough.

Morita stepped closer now, a full head taller than me. His thick and chiseled forearms possibly honed by a thousand towel pull ups were exposed to the light.

“What are you looking for? Bad blood?” he spat with venom.

"You can say that. I’m here because I cuss at people right in their faces."

His expression became ferocious, and his brown eyes thin as slits were testing if I’m prodding with fight or flight.

Fight, it is—and his gritted teeth flashed from his parted lips.

“Hey, Yuuya’s errand boy.” he goaded, “I have one request for you.”

“..........”

“Stick to selling sweets!”

Then the first hit came fast, a brighter white flash. His fist slammed into my face, sending me backward into the lockers with a bell-like clang.

Pain flared like a grenade to my nose and lips. Worse yet, my impact to the hard lockers left my temple bleeding. Just like that, my vision started swimming terribly.

“Talk!”

He kept swinging his hands back and forth in my face as if he were testing out how strong I might be by hitting me.

I ducked, avoiding the most critical hit, and hobbled out of the lockers just to prevent myself from collapsing. Clinging to a metal, tongue tasting like iron.

“Say that again!” Morita growled loud.

Blood already filled my mouth, staining my lips and gushing between my teeth. I wiped them and looked up.

“I said—”

And then he swung again, this time, his fist clipped my cheeks, knocking my head to the side and sending me to the corners of the changing room.

Seeing that I am incapable of fighting back, Hirose came crashing in, kicking me straight to the chest. The impact was so hard that it felt like being crushed between his feet and the wall behind me. He was really worthy of being Yuuya's second.

I crumpled like paper, but that wasn’t enough to stop them. Another kick—stomach this time, leaving a muddy footprint. A punch to the jaw, the most vital hit of today. I tried to curl in, to protect my face, but everything slipped way out of my control.

Voices blurred together.

“Should’ve stayed quiet!”

“You asked for this, right?!”

“You wanna be her knight? Fine! Take the hits too!”

This wasn't a fight out of action movies. There was no slow-mo, no dramatic dodge, or lengthy flashbacks and monologues.

It was just me asking myself if this fight was even fair, knowing the chasm between our strengths and numbers. I wonder where this kind of ferocity came from, or if it's just a simple act of calling them out to earn a personal vendetta.

Not even my own survival mechanisms could spare me from this one-sided beatdown.

I don't know why I'm still capable of standing up despite the critical hits. Maybe I was too proud of this stupidity. Maybe too angry to let them single out Kousaka-san unpunished.

“Are you satisfied now?” I taunted them.

“You…how the hell are you still standing?!” Hirose hissed.

“Because…you’re not even strong enough…”

It only provoked them further.

“You total psycho!”

And just like that, another round of punishment fell upon me.

Despite their punches falling harder to my skin, all I could think about was Kousaka-san and my own selfishness.

Would she be angry seeing me get beaten up like this? Guess not. She might even join them in curing my arrogance.

She treats rumors like these with a cold shoulder. I saw it as poison.

Oh…I get it now.

It's ridiculous, isn't it? To want something so stupid to satisfy my own ego? To feel entitled to the attention of another human being that ignored everyone?

That porcupine didn't need saving. Morita was right. I’m delusional. I'm probably just way too obsessed with her acknowledgement.

Me, who sat behind silence in my dango empire, wanted to get decked for somebody I always stumbled across sitting across a bench?

This kind of behavior is inhuman. It's perverse.

And feeling good because I'm doing this for Kousaka-san?

It's masochistic.

I can't describe these feelings. I haven't felt this way before. No matter what kind of existing philosophy I looked at, I can't understand it.

I didn't know I was capable of such feelings until this moment.

“HEY! WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?!”

The coach’s voice boomed through the doorway like thunder. Almost immediately, they stopped beating me up. I blinked up through pain and blurry vision to see sneakers stomping in. They were yelling words I barely recognized and barked names that felt too heavy.

Finally, arms were being yanked away. Alongside it, furious screams and groans saying the words ‘Let go of me!’ echoed on the lockers. It was an unexpected peck of salvation. But I'm glad my penance ended when the coach stood between us.

"I know Shimizu-kun more than you fools! He will not start a fight like this!"

I always won't. I just don't know what kind of thoughts made my act this stupid.

“But that freak started it!” Hirose protested. “We were just talking about the P.E classes when that leech approached and hooted us!”

“Save the talk for later!” our coach rifled back. “The four of you will be brought to the guidance counselor, got it?!”

He glared at each of us. We all stared back in fury and silence. I was already slumped against the lockers, blood and bruises everywhere in my face, and a faint ringing in my ears.

Morita tried to explain, Hirose and the third guy kept on complaining. But our coach wasn’t listening. He marched away down the hall, shouting orders as he went, leaving all of them fuming. And with a new round of bruises forming on my face, I realized I wouldn’t be able to hide any further.

“Itsuki-kun, what happened?!”

A white trail of light zoomed toward my direction.

Our former class rep Tsurugi-san’s shoes skidded against the floor as she rushed to me, dropping to her knees without hesitation. Her hands, warm and trembling, cupped my cheek before I could even look away.

“Don’t touch—” the act took me by surprise, but I swallowed what was left of the sentence. I can see that worry in her amethyst eyes up close, exactly as I remembered before.

It was funny to think that we haven’t spoken in years, and she still looked at me like that—like nothing ever changed. As for me, everything already did.

“Who told you to act cool? Look at your face!” she snapped, quick and anxious.

“It’s a little misunderstanding between me and the delinquents. I'm fine.”

“You’re not fine!” as she brushed her silver hair aside.

She already had her first-aid kit open—when did she even pull that out? But I had no time figuring out the answers as she already tended and wiped the blood off my cheeks with utmost care.

Then, she dabbed a cotton on the cut under my eye. White hot pain flared immediately.

“Ack—! That stings!”

“Stay still, idiot! You look like a rotten peanut!”

The irony was hilarious. I wasn’t scared of jumping straight into three punks but cowers away at the sting of alcohol.

“I’ve received statements worse than that…”

“I’m sorry! I just can’t help it because you’re being a nuisance!”

At first, I wanted to waive her off. It’s normal because I felt too small and weak right now to be gawked at. But it’s Tsurugi-san, so I’m assured that she won’t judge me at the tiniest bit.

“...Thanks.”

She paused. With a frown, she cocked the cotton back as if trying to stab me with it.

“Don't expect me to be gentle with morons like you!”

“As you like it.”

A small talk, and it left me questioning if it will ever cross forgotten bridges. I had that in mind when our worlds drifted cleanly apart. But here she was, kneeling in front of me, treating my wounds as if she never stopped caring.

“So, Itsuki-kun…” she began softly.

“Yeah, yeah. I know. You wanted to scold me and say ‘This isn’t the Itsuki-kun I met before, have you changed?’ No need, I’d do it every single time.”

She clicked her tongue, and playfully chopped my head out of exasperation. At one point, she even murmured about me being a moron and a headache.

I had no time to ponder about that matter further as the real headache started to get the better of me.

I laughed internally, bitter and short.

“This isn’t the hero act I signed up for.”

I wasn’t trying to be Kousaka-san’s savior. I just didn’t want her to feel what I felt—that no one would ever step in.

I would do that every single time, even if it meant losing.