The Art of Fighting Back

“Eiji-dono…”

“…”

“Eiji-dono!”

“Woah!”

Eiji bolted upright, his heart hammering against his ribs. Meh was hovering inches from his nose, wearing a look of ghostly disapproval.

“Eiji-dono is going to be late for school. Again.”

“Damn it!” Eiji spat, grabbing his smartphone from the nightstand. The digits on the screen mocked him. “Why didn’t you wake me up sooner?”

“Well, you looked like you were resting quite well after so many night excursions.”

“Tch.” Eiji clicked his tongue. He rolled out of bed and slipped into his uniform in a blur of practiced motion. His blonde hair was a mess, but he didn't have time for the full slick-back today.

“Oh, and don’t forget your umbrella, Eiji-dono.”

“What?”

“I saw it on the weather forecast just now.”

Eiji paused, his hand halfway into his blazer sleeve. He looked at the TV. It was on, muted, flickering with the morning news. “I told you not to touch the remote while I’m sleeping.”

Meh didn't have arms or legs, but he was surprisingly heavy when he wanted to be. He just landed on the buttons until the world did what he wanted. Eiji sighed, grabbed a half-finished bottle of orange juice from the counter, and rummaged through the wardrobe for an umbrella.

As he stepped out, he carefully navigated around the black kitten still stationed like a sentry outside his door. The rain was a steady, grey drizzle—not enough to soak him, but enough to keep the bike in the alley.

The bus ride was a blur of damp uniforms and tired faces. Eiji kept his head down, his mind already drifting back to the barrier at the parking lot. He needed to get to class before he ended up on the administration's permanent blacklist, but Shina had other plans for his morning.

Just a block from the school gates, a wall of black-clad students blocked the sidewalk. They were positioned in a formation that suggested they were waiting for a king—or a sacrifice.

“You can’t be serious…” Eiji muttered, tossing his empty juice bottle into a bin.

“B-Boss!” one of the delinquents chirped, his voice cracking. It was one of the guys Eiji had floored the day before.

“It’s him!”

The crowd parted. Stepping through the ranks was a tall, scrawny teenager sporting an old-fashioned Elvis pompadour that simply defied gravity. He wore a smirk that was far too arrogant for a rainy Monday.

“If it isn’t my rival, Kanzaki Eiji!”

“Ugh…” Even Meh sounded disgusted.

“I heard you threw hands with my men yesterday, Kanzaki!” Ishida Mitsuaki, the self-proclaimed teenage king of Shina’s streets, declared. He stood as if he were leading a cavalry charge instead of standing in a muddy puddle.

“Whatever. Just move aside, Ishida,” Eiji sighed, walking forward without slowing down.

“Woah!” Mitsuaki exclaimed, stepping into Eiji's path. “You can’t go yet! We have to settle this! The honor of the gang is at stake, you see.”

“Get out of my way.” Eiji’s eyes narrowed, the obsidian darkening.

“No can do, Kanzaki.” Mitsuaki grinned, staring back.

“Yeah! Now that the Boss is here, you’ve met your match!” a crony shouted, suddenly brave now that he had a human shield.

“I don’t have the time nor the—”

“One on one! Boys, stand back!” Mitsuaki barked. He whipped his blazer off, tossing it directly into a subordinate's face, and dropped into an unorthodox, probably self-taught, fighting stance. “Show me what you’ve got!”

Eiji didn't even take his hands out of his pockets. He just stepped forward.

“Uraaaah!”

Mitsuaki charged, his arm wound up for a haymaker. Eiji side-stepped to the right, a move so fluid it looked like a glitch in reality.

“Uraaaaaah!” Another charge, another effortless slip from Eiji.

Mitsuaki was persistent; Eiji had to give him that, at least. He surged forward a third time, his fist inches from Eiji’s gut, his face twisting with a manic sort of excitement. “I’m not done yet!”

Bang.

Eiji didn't side-step this time. He pivoted on his left heel and unleashed a spinning kick that caught Mitsuaki squarely in the jaw. The "Boss" hit the pavement with a wet thud, his pompadour finally losing its battle with physics.

“I am.”

Eiji continued walking, never looking back. Mitsuaki wasn't actually weak—he was a beast who had fought his way to the top of the district—but Eiji wasn't playing the same game. You don't bring street brawling to an Exorcist.

“Kanzaki-kun… late again?”

The teacher didn't even look up from the attendance book. The scowl was permanent at this point.

“…Apologies,” Eiji said, his voice apathetic.

As he wove through the desks toward the back, he felt a familiar, burning gaze. He glanced toward the front row. Hatsue was staring at him, her eyes narrowed into two disapproving slits.

Eiji rolled his eyes and slumped into his seat. Lunch was going to be a lecture. He could feel it.

⌁◉⌁

“…Class dismissed.”

The room erupted. The end of the final period was like a starting pistol. Eiji, who had surprisingly managed to stay awake through the afternoon, started heading for the door. He was halfway across the threshold when a hand grabbed his shoulder.

“…Where do you think you’re going?” Hatsue asked, her voice dangerously sweet.

“Why do you care?” Eiji looked back, already knowing the answer.

“Hold your horses there, bozo. We have cleaning duty together, remember?”

“Urgh…” Eiji let out a sound of pure, unadulterated disappointment.

“‘Urgh’ my ass! Get back here and get to work.”

Despite the attitude, Eiji obeyed. He rolled up his sleeves, exposing the lean muscle of his forearms. Cleaning duty was a mandatory tradition, a pair-based ritual that even a delinquent couldn't escape without a trip to the principal’s office.

“Fine, I’ll take the board and—”

“No way,” Hatsue cut him off, planting herself in front of the chalkboard. “I’m doing the board. You do the physical labor stuff. Get those muscles to work!”

Eiji glared at her. “No way.”

“I’m not budging, Kanzaki.”

They stood there for thirty seconds, locked in a silent standoff. Eiji eventually realized that arguing with Hatsue was more exhausting than fighting a bear with a spoon.

“Fine.”

“Yatta!” Hatsue pumped a fist in triumph before skipping toward the board. “Cleaning supplies are in the back closet!”

Eiji walked to the back of the room with a resigned slump to his shoulders. He grabbed a broom, a cloth, and a spray bottle. He handed the supplies to Hatsue, and the two of them fell into the rhythmic, quiet work of tidying the room.

A long, heavy silence hung in the classroom, broken only by the rhythmic swish-swish of Eiji’s broom and the screech of Hatsue’s chalk eraser. Eiji never minded the quiet. In fact, Hatsue only made him uncomfortable when she was talking; when she was focused, she was almost tolerable.

“Say…”

And there it was, Eiji thought, not even looking up.

“…Do you, like, work a night shift or something?”

“Where did that come from?”

“I mean, you’re always so sluggish. You look like you’re hauling invisible bricks all day.”

“I don’t,” Eiji replied flatly, sweeping a pile of dust into a neat mound.

“You sure you’re not involved in any shady business?”

Eiji paused for a fraction of a second. Does hunting rotting spirits for a living count as shady?

“…Who knows?”

“Oi what’s that cryptic answer?!” Hatsue hissed, wiping the board with such vigor it looked like she was trying to scrub the wood underneath.

“Who knows?”

Eiji repeated, a ghost of a smirk pulling at his lips.

“Haaah…” Hatsue slumped her shoulders, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “How are you supposed to make friends with an attitude like that, dude?”

Eiji’s broom paused.

“I don’t… need any.”

To him the answer was simple. But saying it out loud was… another story.

“Heh, every loner says the exact same thing.” Hatsue rolled her eyes and turned back to him, pointing the eraser like a weapon. “Well, too bad! Because YOU already have one!”

Eiji’s broom stopped again.

“What?”

“I’m talking about me, you dork!” She puffed out her chest, grinning triumphantly.

“No, thanks.”

“Heh. Whenever a tsundere says no, it usually means yes.”

“Oi, I’m not a—”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m almost done, so go take the trash out, ‘kay?”

Eiji simply glared.

“Good boy.”

He bristled at being ignored, but the prospect of escaping Hatsue was too tempting. He snapped on a pair of plastic gloves, hauled the bag out of the bin, and headed for the exit.

“See you tomorrow!” Hatsue winked, waving a chalk-stained hand. “And don’t oversleep!”

“Mhm…”

The rain had slowed to a light mist. Eiji rounded the corner of the building and tossed the bag into the large industrial bins.

“Eiji-dono!”

“What now?” Eiji muttered, dusting off his palms.

“There’s more of it! The malevolence from yesterday!”

Eiji went still. He could hear it now—faint, harsh voices drifting from behind the club wing. He followed the sound, his footsteps silent on the damp pavement.

He found them near the bike racks: three older students, brawny and rough-faced, looming over a familiar, petite figure. These weren't Mitsuaki’s wannabe punks. These were the kind of guys who looked like they’d already been held back twice.

Do people never get tired of harassing others? Eiji pondered. It was clear by now that the girl had gotten herself mixed up in something she wasn’t going to easily get out of.

“You think messing with Chisa-chan was a good idea, huh?” the tallest one barked.

“But I didn’t do anything—” The girl’s voice was small, trembling.

“Shut it! I heard you got your own little ‘occult club’ now. Pathetic. A first-year playing ghost-hunter?”

“Maybe it’s because she thinks that blonde upperclassman is her personal bodyguard,” another sneered. “You think you can do whatever you want now because he growled at some girls?”

Eiji’s jaw tightened. It seemed his "help" yesterday just turned her into a bigger target.

“Eiji-dono! We must—”

“I know.”

Eiji stepped out from the shadow of the wall. He didn't charge; he just walked, one hand on his bag strap, the other stuffed deep in his pocket.

“Oi.”

The three seniors spun around. The meanest-looking one stepped forward, pointing a thick finger.

“What the hell do you want, punk?!”

“Me?” Eiji didn't stop until he was three feet away. “Just taking out the trash.”

Thud.

Eiji didn't give them a chance to square up. He launched a straight right that sank into the leader’s jaw. The guy staggered, his eyes glazing over instantly.

Bang.

Before the leader could even find his footing, Eiji followed up with a left hook that sent him spiraling into the gravel.

“You… bastard!” The second one lunged, throwing a wild punch.

Eiji didn't even blink. He’d tracked faster movements before more than once. He slipped the punch with a subtle tilt of his head, drove a left elbow into the guy’s chin, and finished with a crisp straight to the nose.

Two down in under five seconds.

The third delinquent panicked. He reached into his pocket and flicked open something with a wave of his wrist. It was a pocket knife.

“AAAAAH!” He charged, a desperate, clumsy lunge.

Naomi let out a sharp gasp, but Eiji remained eerily calm. Compared to a Specter’s claws, a piece of sharpened steel felt like a toy. He waited for the attacker to enter his guard, then grabbed the knife-arm by the wrist, using the guy's own momentum to pivot and slam him into the ground.

With a quick, painful twist, Eiji pried the knife from the guy's fingers and let him scramble back to his feet.

“No, wait! Stop!” the guy cried, holding up his hands.

Eiji didn't stop. He stepped in, grabbed the guy by the collar, and delivered a sharp, resonant headbutt.

“Take your friends,” Eiji growled, his voice dropping an octave as he looked at the three of them. “And get lost before I change my mind. If I see you pull that trick again, I'll make you swallow that knife.”

“Y-yes!” The wincing delinquent grabbed his groaning friends and scurried away like ants fleeing a fire.

Eiji exhaled, swiping his blonde strands back into their shape. He turned to rhe girl.

“Uhm…” she stuttered, her honey-colored eyes wide with shock. “Thank… you.”

She was trembling. Was she afraid of him too? Or was she just in shock?

Eiji didn't say anything. He didn't even smile. He just reached into his bag and pulled out a clean and dry sketchbook.

“You dropped this yesterday.”

Naomi froze. She took the book, her fingers brushing against the cover. It wasn’t perfect, sure… but it was hers.

Her face transformed—the scowl vanished, replaced by a shy, radiant smile that caught Eiji off guard.

“My… sketchbook!” she whispered.

Eiji watched her for a second longer than he intended to. She looked better like that. Less like a victim, more like the artist he’d seen in those pages.

“Well then, I’ve got work…” he muttered, turning on his heel.

As he walked away, he felt the heavy, oily pulse of the curse still lingering around her. His interference had solved the human problem, but the "Specter" problem was only getting hungrier.

Was getting into fights his calling perhaps? Or was he just that eager to jump into a brawl?