Chapter 6: Next Time, Try Not To Lose (Part 1)

A deep sleep wasn’t enough to give me a reprieve to the pain I’ve been in just earlier. I woke up in the infirmary, limbs throbbing and bruised. The digital clock overhead says it’s nearly 12 o'clock, thus on my calculation, I’ve been asleep for around a good three hours.

I stood up and walked barefoot, the cold floor sending chills on my soles. The aim was clear—to search for Tsurugi-san and make a plan for a getaway.

It’s not like I was born as sinister as those punks who just beat me. I just can’t find anything useful to do in the infirmary. There’s no TV show to watch, no books to read, and on top of that, the scent of antiseptic is enough to make my stomach flip.

If I manage to stumble upon the school nurse, she’ll just casually say “You need to rest in order to recover~” with that sing-song voice of hers. No, it’s not even applicable given my circumstances. If I had to rest, I'd just use that time to sell dango instead.

Again, life on a pen balance.

Having thought of that, the urge to escape the infirmary came in full throttle.

I immediately picked up my things and trudged slowly, peeking past walls like a fugitive on an action movie.

As I had anticipated, the reception personnel were busy chugging their noontime meals and fumbling with their phones, unconscious of the movement just in front of them.

I was halfway to the exit doors when the universe decided to play games with me.

I accidentally kicked a soya milk bottle haplessly thrown near the trashcan, which made an audible noise as it rolled against the floor. The receptionists who had been initially preoccupied with their phones gave me an incredulous glance.

“Hey, where are you going?” the one on the right called out. The other was just watching me intently, waiting for my answers.

“Uhm…” I swallowed, searching for the right words. Eventually, I decided on the safer route. “I am hungry and I left my things back at the classroom.”

I once mocked their irresponsibility that gave me a window for my escape. It came back to bite me through that not-so-responsibly thrown trash.

“Left your things back in the classroom? I thought it was brought along?”

“No.”

They gave me a pensive glance.

“Mr. Shimizu from Class 2-1,” the other receptionist chimed in, tapping her pen on the counter, “the head nurse instructed you to rest until at least afternoon classes.”

“Is that so…”

“Please go back to your bed and rest as advised. In that note, we’ll call one of your classmates to give it to you instead.”

Ah. This is the only time I needed the adults to be useless, but it seems they decided to grow a pair of functioning brain cells.

“But—”

“—No buts, Shimizu-kun. You haven't recovered yet from the previous commotion.”

I was cut off when the back office doors opened. A man wearing his usual tracksuit stretched over a chest too muscular emerged.

I took a tiny step backward. It was our P.E coach.

Great, just when I thought my luck couldn’t get any more pathetic.

“He got into a fight?” the receptionist asked. “Hey, it’s not a good look for scholars, Shimizu.”

I only managed to internally grit my teeth to their snide remarks. Does scholarship automatically mean servitude? I never thought scholars like us were put in this kind of light.

“That's no—”

“It is, unfortunately.”

I wanted to refute but another voice chimed in. This time, it was softer, colder, and ten times worse.

From behind our P.E coach, a woman stepped out—hair tied neatly, glasses perched on a sharp nose, clipboard tucked under her arm.

She was the school guidance counselor and my teacher in social studies.

“Omori-sensei…good afternoon,” I croaked with an eye roll.

“Good afternoon, Shimizu-kun. Since you seem healthy enough to walk around and plan escaping, I suppose you’re also healthy enough to talk?”

“I'm not escaping.”

I absolutely do not. Why am I the one that gets the ‘suspect’ treatment?

Our P.E coach folded his arms and tilted his head toward the hallway.

“Let’s go. The guidance office should be the perfect place to sit quietly.”

Damn it. I thought this mess was over the time I got beaten to pulp by a group of jocks in the changing room.

At that moment, I realized that the infirmary was a purgatory of sorts to me. I wasn’t being catered to health, I was being escorted to judgement.

I knew exactly where I would be situated, but I quickly shook off the image forming in my head as I followed them.