To Fill the Time

The ceiling fan spun over my head like a halo. The dull memory of a basketball hitting me throbbed in the skin of my face. The pain is mostly gone, but here I am, dwelling on what happened earlier today.

All week, I’ve been running myself ragged with club tryouts. Of course, my telepathy is what made that possible. I’m just average, after all. To give off the impression that I’m more than average, to show off my ability to cheat my way into victory without revealing my hand, that’s why I’m doing this.

I’m not feeling anything stupid like guilt or regret right now, but I can’t help but think about how much I had to compensate for my lack of ability at all those sports clubs. I could know exactly where a ball would be before it was there, but someone with trained reflexes and a bit of speed could catch up to it regardless. The truly talented might have been able to predict what I did even without a supernatural advantage. I might have seemed like a genius who excels at everything he tries, but by the end of each tryout my lungs and heart were usually heaving in rebellion against their owner.

“Nnggh, so sore,” I complained to the ceiling fan. Surprisingly, it doesn’t hurry to offer any sort of response.

I take a glance at the desk in the corner of my room, piled high with unread textbooks and resources. There’s no point in studying for tests if I’m following my plan for success properly, so my evenings these days are practically overflowing with free time.

I’ve definitely gained something between fame and notoriety from my club crashing if my social media pages are anything to go by. Last year I had maybe 21 followers on average across different sites, and that was mostly extended family. After just a week, I’m up to an average of 343 followers. That’s not exactly staggering, but I’ve never had this many people interested in what I’m up to, okay? Just let me have this.

Despite that, I’ve yet to receive any invitations to hangouts, parties, or the fabled karaoke night. It doesn’t bother me at all. In reality, having to hear people’s true thoughts is exhausting, and I’d rather be here with nothing to do than put up with fakers spouting triple-filtered lies in an attempt to seem interesting. Still, something to fill the time would be welcome.

Mind running adrift, I think of the soreness in my legs earned from desperate kicks into empty space, knowing a ball is going to be there. I think of the pain in my untrained hands each time I deflect Nobu’s sword strikes, knowing which part of my body he’s targeting. I think of the pulled muscles and exhaustion given to me by tennis and volleyball. More than anything, I think of the game of basketball I let end early because of how my body couldn’t keep up with my ability.

…

Minutes later, I’m giving myself a once-over in the mirror after zipping up my tracksuit.

It’s not like I have a problem with my telepathy. I’m getting ahead with it and that won’t change.

I’m in the entryway of my house, securing the laces of my tennis shoes.

This is just to kill time.

I’m seeing my breath come out white in the cool evening air, then jogging through it.

I don’t need to work hard when I can cheat my way through it all. I probably won’t need to do anything super athletic from now on. But maybe the next time I have to use my power to close a gap, that gap will be just a little smaller.

A/N: I know this is only a half-chapter but I’ll be able to make up for it next release day! For now enjoy the new art of Kaori in Showcase <3