his best defense

"Oh my. Hello, loser."

"Excuse me?"

"Stupid on top of retarded, are we? Awesome. Let's try this again: hello, loser."

In the midst of after-school cleanup duty, following that unpromising opening exchange Abe was already looking up from where he'd been sweeping, staring directly into the eyes of... Shimizu.

Really? Shimizu, the Mihashi-insulting asshole? Abe just about sighed right then and there. This was going to be tedious, he knew it straight off.

There had been a note of surprise in Shimizu's voice upon discovering Abe present and alone in the classroom, but already that jerk was smiling as if he'd stumbled right into a field of serendipity and was getting off on the fragrance of all that intoxicating good fortune.

Shimizu was being... amazingly cheeky. The boy seemed to be without fear, and so Abe gave him a good once-over, wondering how this person felt so confident that he thought it was safe to be so rude. Shimizu was wearing athletic gear, and had a bag over his shoulder... he had shin guards, and black shorts, and a pair of cleats was tied by the laces to the bag, so it looked to be a soccer uniform? Height was average, build the same. Probably strong, considering the definition of the other boy's calves. So: an equal? At the very least, a wannabe equal.

After finishing his brief initial assessment, Abe went back to looking at Shimizu eye-to-eye, although now he decided to lean up against the nearest desk, pausing in his work. There was no point in continuing cleaning while this jerk was hanging out, since he'd probably try something juvenile like spit all over the newly cleaned floor. Heck, he might do that shit anyway, but best not to give him any bright ideas. "Can I help you?" he asked, finally.

But Shimizu merely grinned, pulling out his cell and thumbing out some text.

Abe could really live without this. He was already going to be late getting home, because he had gone to team workout before tackling his classroom responsibilities, and dinner was going to be cold even without this annoying detour. Running fingers through his hair, Abe looked away, out the window. Perhaps he could expedite things. "The answer is still no," Abe said, with a small and undoubtedly irritating smile.

As expected, that got a response. Shimizu stopped grinning and flipped his phone closed with a snap. "No, no," he said, and it appeared that without the classroom as audience, the gay-themed hazing wasn't about to faze him. "I know, you've already got your idiot boyfriend, eating up all your... attention."

"Let's leave Mihashi out of this," Abe said, calm. It worked both ways, the lack of an audience... if Shimizu thought Abe's buttons were so easily pushed, he had another thing coming. "What's your problem anyway, for real?"

"For real?" Shimizu held up his hands and shrugged, pretending to be mystified. "Besides how lazy you are? Besides how much you don't give a shit about anyone besides your baseball buddies and your precious Mihashi? Besides how loud you get, and how much you run your mouth? Besides how you order Shinooka-san around like she's your personal slave? Besides how you have to hide behind Hanai and even that dorkwad Mizutani in order to get along with anyone?" Shimizu shook his head slowly. "You know, I don't know. I can't think of a single thing."

Hmm. That was a fairly comprehensive litany. "Lazy?"

"Ha!" Shimizu made himself comfortable, sitting on top of a desk and crossing his legs. "You don't even remember. Typical." He pointed at Abe. "Summer. Sports day. Class sports- soccer. I of course expected you to be useless, but unlike Hanai, you didn't even try."

What a stupid and stupidly specific complaint. Had this asshole been nursing a grudge all year? An entire year, over one meaningless physical fitness challenge? Abe remembered that day well, since losing had enabled he and Hanai to be able to go over with Izumi and Tajima to see Mihashi. That had been the day right after the game with Tosei. "We were in the middle of the Summer Koshien tournament," Abe explained, as patiently as he possibly could. "You remember, our team made it to Top Sixteen for Saitama?"

"How could anyone forget. You wouldn't shut up about it."

So according to this jerk, Abe was a shirker, a big mouth, a bully, and a coward? It would be laughable if it weren't so massively obnoxious and untrue. Now that Abe knew how little substance there was to these complaints, he certainly wasn't going to waste any time trying to shoot them down. People tended to believe what they wanted to believe, and if this guy was so bitter it wasn't like he was going to be open to a re-education campaign or anything. And like hell would Abe apologize: he'd already given this person the one and only apology he would make.

He certainly didn't have to stay and listen to any more of this crap. Deciding that the classroom was clean enough, and that anything that happened after he left would not be his responsibility, Abe stood and walked to the back of the room, opening the supply closet in the back and returning the broom and dustpan to their proper place.

"Oh, yes. Big bad Catcher-san, planning on running away so you can go off and cry in the arms of your loser boyfriend?" Shimizu, too, stood, and instead of following Abe, he walked closer to the front of the room... apparently to block the door.

Abe raised an eyebrow, pausing after closing the closet door. He had been about to walk out the room, but Shimizu's movements seemed to indicate that he wasn't getting out of here without a fight.

Well, that was fine too.

Planting his feet firmly on the floor, finding a stable stance, Abe clenched and released his fists once and then took a deep breath. He then smiled, showing off his most crooked shit-eating grin. That was enough; it was against his morals to punch anyone first, for any reason, but fighting for self defense was acceptable. Make the other guy throw the first punch, that was the advice his father had given him a long, long time ago. He, like his father, was basically a pacifist, but that didn't mean he would ever allow himself to be a doormat. Abe knew his smile was provocative; it was intended to be.

But just then, the door opened, and three other boys walked in... boys Abe didn't recognize. Shimizu turned and greeted them happily, triumphantly, high fives and all, and they responded in kind.

Ahhh.

Shimizu had set him up.

What was this, then? It wasn't bullying, because bullying implied an attack on the weak, and Abe was hardly weak. Vengeance, maybe- but nothing in the list of complaints Shimizu had given felt especially personal. Mostly it felt like a power play... crushing a rival, for no other reason than to obtain dominance. Abe had never considered himself especially powerful in terms of their classroom's dynamics, but the evidence was before him, and it seemed that Abe held more sway than he'd thought.

"All right, loser." Shimizu was walking towards him now, one of the friends standing back to remain near the door, with the other two approaching just behind their coalition leader. "Now we can talk, for real." Shimizu punched one hand against the other, looking hungry and filled with anticipation.

Abe didn't drop his grin. He didn't falter, didn't even feel tempted. Shimizu was a walking cliche. "Hilarious," he said. It wasn't yet time to make any move. Wait for it...

"Looks like he doesn't get it," said one of the friends, as if making a clinical notation.

"Well, if he was any less of a moron, we wouldn't need to be doing something like this," said the other.

"True." Shimizu stepped in front of Abe, only a few feet off. "It's sad, really."

Abe crossed his arms. Wait for it...

"Last chance," Shimizu said, coming so close that Abe could feel the other boy's breath on his face. "Are you going to apologize, or are you constitutionally incapable?"

Apologize, so that Shimizu could advertise around the class and school that Abe was a coward who backed down under pressure? Not damn likely. Abe didn't move, didn't change his smile one bit, didn't blink.

Wait...

After a moment, Shimizu nodded, mostly to himself.

And then he belted Abe in the face, using a strong right hook.

There.

One thing could be said in Shimizu's favor, he didn't underestimate Abe. As soon as the fist went flying, the two friends grabbed Abe's arms, preventing him from falling, but also preventing him from escape, or easy retaliation. It was hard to relax under these circumstances, but Abe did his best, knowing that to tense up was to court injury... his head lashed back, and Abe felt a sharp strain in his neck. Normal response would be to struggle, but struggling would just make these assholes' jobs easier. So he went limp instead, using his opponents' strength against them to squirm out of the grip, and avoid another hit to the face.

Sliding down, Abe spun, using his newly freed arms to grab one of the boys by the legs, grappling him to the ground. This meant that the other two were right down there with him, piling on as if that would buy them any advantage- stupid. In a pile up, the major advantage of numbers was lost, and it wasn't all that especially hard to roll out of the way before he could be pinned down. Jumping to a standing crouch, Abe considering his next move.

He knew he was going to lose. That was pre-determined. The question was, how? He intended to lose at a steep price for his attackers, while simultaneously sustaining as little permanent damage to his body as possible. Scrapes were nothing. Bruises were fine. All he needed to do was avoid broken bones, or strained ligaments.

First, buy some space. He danced back further, and then moved up one of the aisles, knocking over one of the desks as he did.. Shimizu, too hasty in pursuit, tripped right over them.

The other boy at the front of the class was wavering, Abe could see it as he spared a glance that way... that guy was going to abandon his guard duties any second now in favor of a clutch play, sandwiching him in. Abe wouldn't have a lot of time to establish position, so he dashed to the front of the class while the other boys came following up separate aisles (Shimizu struggling to stand), and in the precious seconds he had before the fourth player formally entered the fray, Abe lunged for the teacher's desk, wanting to get behind it, to grab the chair, to use it as a tool of defense by swinging it around.

This next step would have been just grand, it would have worked beautifully... if Abe hadn't tripped up, nearly falling flat on his face against the cold, unforgiving floor.

It was the worst possible scenario. There was no time to get up, even though he tried, pushing up with all his might. Before he could make it up even a few inches he was slammed back down, hard, feet coming down on his back, from one, maybe two of the boys at once.

After that, he didn't remember much else.

. + .

As with the end of the fight, the journey home also remained a blur.

He'd never blacked out, because they never had kicked him in the head, apparently content to go at his ribs and sides instead. Insults were hurled, and there was laughing, and at least one of them took a picture with a camera phone, which was just great. The remainder of the assault couldn't have lasted more than a few minutes, but it had felt like it lasted a lot longer, and after they finally became bored and left Abe to his misery, he'd laid with his cheek pressed against the cold, hard, and unforgiving floor for some time.

It was true, then. He still hated, and feared, pain.

When he'd finally struggled to sit up, Abe went first for his phone, wanting the time, wanting the sense of human connection it could give him, even though he couldn't for a moment imagine calling anyone while in this state. But when he'd pulled it from his pocket, the glass was cracked, and it wouldn't turn on.

After staring at it for a while, Abe had thrown the phone as hard as he could against the nearest wall.

No phone. Somehow, the loss of his phone seemed the worst part of it all.

Miraculously, or maybe not, Abe truly didn't seem to have any permanent injury. Lots of contusions, he hurt all over, but no broken bones. Nothing to keep him from playing baseball, which probably had been intentional on the part of Shimizu and his friends. They obviously had no problems dealing out humiliation and punishment, but like most petty schoolboy thugs, they drew the line at anything truly criminal, like reportable assault.

Thank the gods for small favors; although, to tell the truth, Abe wasn't much in a mood to thank anyone as he slowly, painfully walked himself out the school and to his bike, which he'd been able to ride, slowly, painfully, all the way home.

Home.

Actually, Abe corrected himself.

Coming home, like this? That was the worst part.

His lips were shaking as he opened the door, so he bit down, clamping down on his jaw as hard as he could. He hated this. Abe removed his shoes, mechanically. He really hated it.

"Taka? Is that you?"

His mom, calling from the kitchen. Abe couldn't answer. He didn't want to open his mouth.

"Taka?" There was a curious edge to his mom's voice, but no worry. The fact that there was no worry kind of hurt. She never worried for him.

She should never have to worry for him.

This was something he had to face, like a man. He couldn't just sit there and wait for her to find him. Abe stood up, and he was shaking a little harder now. His body felt weirdly numb through the throbbing pain, numb at the edges, over the contours, the thin boundary between him and the world. His heart was racing. How could he speak? What could he even say? Using every last scrap of strength, Abe walked himself into the kitchen, awaiting inspection... awaiting scrutiny.

Oh, how he hated this.

"Taka... oh. Oh."

He couldn't stop the quivering of his lips. He couldn't. He just couldn't.

"My baby... oh no..."

And there she was, and he hated it. He breathed through his nose, blinking back tears. He hated it. His mom reached up, placing her hands on the sides of his head, drawing him down, and he hated it.

Why was he crying? He should never have to cry in front of her. Abe couldn't stop her from pulling his face to her shoulder, and he couldn't stop himself from leaning in, and against all his will, he couldn't stop the first sob that came.

He couldn't stop any of them, in the end.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, brokenly. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

How could he do this to her?

How could he do this, and call himself a man?

"Shh..."

He couldn't.

His mom was holding him tight, pulling him close, and she was shaking now too. "Shun. Shun, come here." His mom raised her voice, sharply. "Now."

Why? Why did Shun need to see this too? Why?

Abe heard the rough intake of breath from his brother across the room, after he entered. "Wh- "

And now his brother was scared too. Scared for him. "Shun, call your father. Have him come home."

This was the most horrible he'd felt in his entire life.

. + .

Later.

Neither of his parents asked him what had happened. Abe could tell they wanted to, but he could also tell they were holding back, not wanting to say anything to make him think they doubted him. And even worse than anything else, neither of them did. The didn't doubt him at all. He had their faith, all of it.

And he'd let them down.

In his bedroom now, locked away in the darkness, Abe held an ice pack over his left eye.

He already had a black eye, there was no helping it since it had taken him so long to get home. His mom had fussed over him, giving him an ice pack as soon as she was able to get him to sit down, finally, after his crying had finally stopped- but by then it was simply too late. Shun had made his call, and then sat down opposite him, and cried too, which kind of bordered on ridiculous except it made Abe feel even more shitty than ever. And when his dad finally made it home, Abe got his manly hug, and A Talk.

The talk had been painful, in how non-judgmental it was. Abe had pretended to listen, but he couldn't, really, since hearing it would... hearing it would...

Abe pressed the ice pack tighter against his face. Shit.

His heart was still racing. It felt like it would never stop. Abe had to do something. He had to do something, or he'd go crazy.

Since he was sitting down at his desk in the darkness, Abe reached out and turned on the computer monitor, finding the on-button by feel. It flickered to life.

He had to do something.

Shimizu.

Yes. He could do that.

Taking a deep breath, Abe sought to calm himself. In a pinch, he was best advised to return to fundamentals. Research- information. He needed it.

Unlike most of his friends, he'd never seen the point of setting up a Mixi account, since social networking had never been his thing. It wasn't easy to get one, anyway, since people needed to be invited, and in theory they needed to be adults too, although as far as he could tell this didn't stop your average high school socialite. But Abe was well aware of the website, because Mizutani was always gabbing about the stupid stuff he was doing online. Mizutani had an account. And Mizutani would be his in, since Abe knew that Mizutani used the same password everywhere he went, like a total moron.

Abe took another deep breath. He found Mizutani's profile, and logged in: I-Z-U-M-I.

Normally he wouldn't dream of hacking anyone's account, it just wasn't especially ethical. But in the case of Mizutani, Abe was pretty sure that his friend wouldn't mind, and there wasn't anything terrible that he planned to do with it. Mizutani was the type to blindly friend everyone he knew, and the probability was high that he had everyone from their class mutually friended- those who had accounts, anyway. All Abe wanted was Shimizu's profile, and access to his public blog postings. Nothing nefarious.

Most people assumed that information gathering was an occult skill, something that required specialized hacking abilities. Abe knew that most people were mistaken in this regard.

As expected, there was Shimizu, Shimizu Koichi, his smug face popping out from the list of profile pictures of Mizutani's "friends." Abe clicked, scanning the pertinent data. Everything was pertinent, from the things Abe already knew (Shimizu Koichi listing Nishiura as his high school's name, for example), to little things Abe normally just didn't care to know (such as his favorite band- T.M. Revolution, really?) . He looked to see who Shimizu Koichi listed as friends, separating out those who were mutually friended from those who weren't.

Ah, he should probably be taking notes. Abe turned on his desk lamp, and pulled out a pad of paper and a pen.

Abe then went through, and read each and every one of Shimizu Koichi's blog posts, going back three years to when he'd set up the account. There was nothing in these posts to hint at Shimizu Koichi's inexplicable hatred of him, but that made sense, since documenting that kind of thing for people to read would be amazingly stupid, and Abe suspected that Shimizu Koichi was nothing of the sort. Abe made note of the things Shimizu Koichi did see fit to mention, however: Abe took down information about the grades he reported for his tests, making note of the blog posts where Shimizu Koichi discussed all the different schools he intended to apply to, and charted out each mention of every important fact along a timeline, which he was building.

It wasn't like Abe had any aspirations to find a goldmine of blackmail material. That sort of thing just never happened, except in stories. He knew that it wasn't likely that he'd be able to piece together Shimizu Koichi's porn interests, or find out some secret otaku alter-ego outlining Shimizu Koichi's probable overwhelming love of all things Gundam (considering the musical influences, anyway). Since Abe knew that Shimizu Koichi was a sports person, it wasn't hard ginning up a basic profile, as well as knowing what sorts of things he shouldn't bother looking for. Sports people for the most part tended to avoid the dark underbelly of the internet, not getting deeply involved in questionable activities such as secretly sharing girls' panty shots, or hanging out in places where their politics would be intimately discussed.

This was not to suggest that sports people couldn't be perverts (hello, Tajima) or close-minded ideologues. It simply meant that they tended to prefer to mouth off about that stuff IRL, without using the internet as a crutch.

Profiling had always been one of Abe's special skills. He knew the two basic rules, two rules which most people just didn't want to believe were true. One was that all secrets are obvious, if you know how to look. The other was that most people's secret truths were ultimately mundane, of interest only to themselves, and the only reason that their secrets ended up hurting them was because they would go to any length to hide them. The cover-up was always worse than the crime.

Well. Almost always.

Once upon a time, in the days before Haruna, Abe used to pay attention to these details in regards to the people he knew personally. But his interest was always unwelcome, rebuffed.

That was when he'd learned the third rule of people. Everyone wanted to control their image, was under the delusion that this was something in their power to control.

But the fact was, this was only ever true for people who were not particularly concerned with hiding things.

From Mixi, Abe went directly to Google.

Abe stayed up for most of the night, taking notes.

. + .

The next day, Abe purposefully stayed home from the morning session of school. He wanted to lull Shimizu Koichi into a sense of complacency, even triumph... he wanted Shimizu Koichi to believe that he'd crushed Abe's spirit, humiliated him so thoroughly that he couldn't bear to be seen.

He was a little worried, because without a working phone there was no way to contact Mihashi, the way he normally did every day... it wasn't like he'd ever bothered to memorize Mihashi's phone number, and besides, calling him instead of sending a text would have tipped Mihashi off that something was wrong. Abe simply had to accept that Mihashi would be worried, would have checked with either Hanai or Mizutani, would have found out that Abe was absent from school.

It was another thing he'd need to make up to Mihashi.

Timing his arrival for lunchtime, when the homeroom teacher would be out of the classroom, Abe strode through the halls, projecting an air of casual menace as he made a precise beeline for his prey. Every time someone looked at his face, looking at his black eye, Abe stared right back at them, and it wasn't a look anyone could withstand for long... crowds parted for him, people cringed when he glared. Instead of his usual workout kit, he carried a smaller bag over his shoulder, one he'd borrowed from Shun (without Shun's knowing it), in which he'd collected his tools of war.

It was important to make a spectacle of his arrival, without seeming affected by what people saw, or thought.

This wasn't hard to do, since right now he really didn't care what anyone saw, or thought.

He'd even seen Nishihiro along the way, and Nishihiro hadn't said one word upon seeing him... hell, Nishihiro had fled, which was unfortunate since Abe had nothing but kind feelings towards him, but fixing that sort of misunderstanding wasn't his priority at the moment, and so Abe didn't spare a second glance for his friend who ran away.

Class 7 was alight with activity upon his arrival, just the normal rambunctious behavior of teens at school, since word of his coming hadn't any time to precede him. The usual boys who stood guard at the door took one look at Abe coming and stepped aside, and it didn't take long for the room to grow still as he entered.

The quiet served his purposes nicely.

There had been a smile on Shimizu Koichi's face the moment Abe's eyes turned towards him, but the smile was dropped almost as quickly as it had formed.

For a moment, Abe paused. Mihashi would not like what he was about to do.

Hell, no one would. But Mihashi's opinion was the one that mattered most, and at the last moment, Abe almost changed his mind.

It wasn't enough, though. Some things were more important, even than his feelings.

"Shimizu Koichi." Abe addressed his adversary warmly, as if touched, or moved, to find him here, waiting.

Wary, Shimizu Koichi didn't say a word, and didn't move at all from where he had been sitting next to some friends, at his desk.

Abe repeated himself. "Shimizu Koichi." And he reached down into his bag, and pulled out his first instrument of destruction, a manila envelope which contained five pages of single-spaced type, outlining each conclusion Abe had drawn from the data he'd collected, along with the associated proofs. As he'd expected, there had been no great revelations, but putting together the smaller secrets had been a quite simple task. The most pertinent conclusion was that Shimizu Koichi was in love with Shinooka Chiya, a detail almost laughable in its ordinariness, in its absolute, pedestrian mundanity.

In fact. The previous night, or rather earlier that morning, around three, once Abe had learned (or rather, realized) this truth, he couldn't resist breaking into a laugh.

Because he, himself? Abe Takaya? Had no interest in girls, and never had.

Gently, Abe placed the manila folder down on the desk in front of Shimizu Koichi. "For you," he said.

"What...?"

Puzzled, clearly a bit annoyed but also apprehensive, Shimizu Koichi looked down at the gift he'd been given, placing a hand on top of it, looking to open it right away.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Abe said. "Not where people can see."

It wouldn't do for Shimizu to learn too quickly all that Abe did, and did not, know of him. Abe was certain that Shimizu, like almost everyone, had secrets beyond those he'd been able to unearth, darker secrets that no one probably would ever know. It wouldn't do for Shimizu to learn yet that Abe didn't know those secrets either. Anticipation of the unknown was always worse than anything real.

Well. Almost always.

And now Shimizu was glaring up at him, outrage and memory of his previous night's triumph taking over his apprehension. Before the outrage could find root in words, Abe reached into his bag, and took out his second instrument of destruction.

"Here, let me help you."

His favorite part of the plan involved power tools. Before leaving home earlier, Abe went into his father's garage workshop, and collected the things he needed. His dad was a builder-slash-architect, so had tons of stuff along these lines, but all he really needed was what he took out: a battery-operated staple gun, and a fresh line of industrial-strength staples, already loaded. Perfect for pinning things down.

"Abe-" It was Hanai, from somewhere off in the distance, in their usual corner. Abe knew that Hanai wasn't a threat here, though, that Hanai would be just as scared of him at this moment as everyone else, and so it didn't matter that Hanai was speaking up, since Abe intended to thoroughly ignore him.

Abe held up the staple gun, hefting it with a sense of true delight, before point it off towards the ceiling and firing off a single staple, which fell harmlessly to the floor with a little tinkling noise.

Why didn't people ever understand? Abe was good at scaring people.

Not scaring people, that was what was truly difficult.

Shimizu Koichi was frozen in place, not having moved from the moment Abe pulled out the staple gun.

"See?" Abe gently took Shimizu Koichi's hand, and moved it away from the envelope. With loving precision, Abe stapled down one of the four corners of the envelope, the staple easily cutting into the wood desktop. "You should look later, when no one else is around."

Shimizu Koichi paled.

Who knew what tiresome nonsense was running through Shimizu Koichi's head at this very moment, what particular fears this indirect threat was touching off? Abe didn't, and he didn't much care.

"Mmm," Abe said, as he slowly and precisely stapled down the second corner. "You know, I wonder. Do you think this could cut through skin just as easily? I bet it can."

Of course, anyone who knew Abe at all would understand that this was an unrealizable threat. Abe could never put a staple through someone else's flesh, it simply wasn't right. But he could think about it, and he didn't see any moral issue in letting people know the scope of the ideas that ran through his mind.

The room was dead silent as Abe stapled down the remaining corners. He stepped back, admiring his work. It truly looked perfect. Absolutely symmetrical, a staple for each of the four corners.

Time for his master stroke of genius. Abe held up one hand, curling his fingers as he examined the palm. Casually, as if it weren't worth making a big deal of, Abe held the staple gun against the heel of his hand, and let one staple snap directly into his body. He flinched, but only a little.

Once it was done, Abe held out his hand, palm out, directly in Shimizu Koichi's line of sight. "Look at that," he marveled. "It does."

And that was that. Abe turned his back on Shimizu Koichi, and unlike the first time he'd done so, this time he knew, without needing to hope, that he'd never have to bother himself with this person ever again.

Abe went to take his seat.

He thought back to his report, the words he had for Shimizu Koichi, words he now knew without a doubt would be read only when the other boy was alone. Words he sincerely hoped that Shimizu Koichi would take to heart.

In conclusion, you would be best advised to involve yourself in more wholesome activities in the future.

Baseball would be ideal.

It was sound advice.