I do not own SNAFU. One-shot.
"I can sense a great burden in your heart." The black-robed figure claims as he stands over a middle-schooler, down on his hands and knees in anger and distraught. "I can feel them: your anger, your frustration, but more importantly… your loneliness." He hisses as a malevolent grin curls into existence. The middle-schooler remains on the floor, endeavoring his best to not let his emotions spew out uncontrollably.
Gross… creep… loser… don't talk to me… don't touch me…
These are just some of the insults hurled at the young middle-schooler as his peers continue their tireless onslaught of ridicule. What the boy doesn't understand is why. He knows his physical appearance—especially his eyes—may be off-putting, but that does not explain why his peers mercilessly assault him with words, and sometimes, with fist. Regardless, he still attempted to foster a relationship with them: joining in on conversations, eating together with them, and exchanging phone numbers. But all his endeavors were met with the same malicious response.
However, his final straw was with the girl; the only one who would treat him with any respect. He mistook those actions of humane kindness and fooled himself into believing it was something more, something worthwhile, something genuine. He tried to make it work, establish a relationship with the girl in hopes he can be closer to her. Little deed he know his greatest mistake would come to fruition on that faithful day. His naivety got the better of him as his stomach churned and contorted, almost physically making him sick. Even after all that time, those venomous words still echo throughout his heart.
Sorry… I don't like you in that way.
It was from then there his persecution intensified. His peers avoiding him, making snide remarks so he can hear them, trashing his belongings, and threatening physical violence. All because he mustered up the courage and express his true, albeit misguided, feelings towards the only individual that treated him with respect. His teeth grind harder as those painful memories of foolishness and embarrassment resurface, finger digging into the concreate as his skin grinded away.
He was a fool, but he will never make that mistake again. The world had played a cruel joke, and he wasn't laughing.
"Embrace those feelings." The black-robed figure advises, stepping closer to the grieving middle schooler. "Your solitude breeds hatred, your hatred conceives anger, and your anger gifts you power." The middle-schooler finally looks up at the robed individual, tears formulating at the corner of his eyes, trying to stop himself from expressing those feelings.
"If I do, will I never be hurt like that again?" The robed figure takes another step forward, standing over the middle schooler. He knows this person wishes to protect himself; he can feel his fear that it makes his hair stand on edge. That fear is what will grant this young boy great power only if there is someone to teach him to harness those fears and feelings and transform them into power.
"Only if you can accept them, you will never experience such pain again. That is, if there someone who can teach you." He finishes.
"Teach me what?" the boy questions, allowing for an unstoppable grin to exist on the robed figure.
"The Dark Side of the Force." He answers. "The Force is strong with you, and it would be a waist if you didn't have a master to teach you how to use it. You will be a powerful Sith one day." The middle schooler has no idea what he was talking about, but if learning this Force will prevent such pain in the future, he has no reservations. Slowly, the middle-schooler closed his knees, reoriented his arms to prevent him from falling on the ground, and slowly touched his forehead into the pavement, back parallel to the ground.
"Master…" he calls out. "Please teach me how to use the Dark Side of the Force." His voice trembled for the fear of possibility this mysterious individual would deny him.
"He, he, he, he, he, he, he, he…." The figure chuckles. "Good…. Rise and get on one knee." He commands. The middle-schooler acquiesces, finding himself on his left knee with his hands resting on his right leg.
"Hachiman Hikigaya… From this day forth, you shall be known as… Darth… Sol-malice." At that exact moment, the individual formally known as Hachiman Hikigaya is overcome with a sense satisfaction. "Rise, my apprentice."
"Yes, my master." Darth Sol-malice rises to his hands and knees as he faces his new master. Looking back on it, he never really did ask for his master's name.
The high-schooler formally known as Hachiman Hikigaya stood in the middle of the miniature bamboo forest, heavy feelings of embarrassment and self-loathing overcoming him. He fabricated the event that transpired, and yet he still experiences such loathsome feelings, despite his training in the ways of the Dark Side of the Force.
I hate how you do things. I can't explain it very well and its irritating, but I really hate how you do things.
Would it kill you to spare a thought for how someone else feels?! I never wanted to see that!
The Sith apprentice was trained on how to use the current feelings he is experiences by his master to his advantage. The feelings of anger, distraught, and disappointment on his clubmates is supposed to empower him—he preyed upon such raw emotions. He has seen such emotions expressed in other before, and he relished in it. Yet, he cannot relish in such emotions betrayed by his two clubmates, the two he has been with the most since entering high school. Something is clearly wrong as the only thing he can feel with himself is disgust. Eventually, the Sith apprentice leaves the bamboo forest and makes his way towards his temporary quarters.
That night…
"Lord Sol-malice…" His master begins. "Its rare for you to reach out to me." His master is always the one reaching out towards his apprentice because he learned very quickly his young apprentice values his loneliness. Good, that will only make him a more powerful Sith someday. So the fact his apprentice is reaching out to him does peak the Sith lord's interest, but his interest is also accompanied with some concern. "What is it that you need?"
"My master," he begins, already on one knee with this head bowed before the hologram of his robed master. "I have carried out the request by Ebina Hina and achieved satisfactory results."
"I know. I can feel the hate and pain all the way from here." Lord Sol-malice remains silent. "But that is not why you contacted me, is it?"
"No… I have done many things as you requested, and with each experience, I felt myself growing more powerful, all thanks to your teachings. However, after today's results, all I can feel is disgust."
"Disgust? Why, what makes this situation different from the other situations?"
"I… don't know." He did know, but he would prefer not to mention Yukinoshita or Yuigahama to his master. This also disturbs him because he is a monster of logic, yet there can be no logic found as to why he does not mention his two clubmates' reactions. His master is aware of the two Service Club members, but his apprentice reassured him they will be nothing more than pawns for him in the future. That was when he first joined them, but now, he is not sure of himself about those two. All he knows is their negative reactions do matter to the Sith apprentice.
"If it is disgust you are feeling, then why not harness those negative emotions? Your solitude is what always gives you strength. It is why I made you my apprentice. Embrace it and use it to your advantage." If only it was that easy. He can't, or rather, he won't. Something is happening to the high schooler, and it frightens him. What exactly do Yukino Yukinoshita and Yui Yuigahama mean to the Sith apprentice?
"Yes, my master." He lies.
"Good. Remember what I taught you, Lord Sol-malice. Your feelings is what gives you strength. The more you feel, the more powerful you will become. If you do, you will never experience such pain as you did in your younger days." The hologram disappears, leaving the Sith apprentice in a dark room, still kneeling. Unbeknownst to him, an black, long-haired individual just outside the door listened to the entire conversation, unsure as to what exactly she listened to.