Author's Notes:
Well hey guys! Long time no see, huh? Sorry I haven't been able to upload for a while, my summer's been pretty crazy. It's not that I don't want to update this story anymore or don't have any ideas, but writing usually exhausts the hell out of me, even though I enjoy it so much. I usually need a breather before I feel inspired again.
Some quick notes before we get to the chapter. First, this chapter is long as FUCK. Actually, what you are seeing right now is actually just Chapter 4: Part 1. Yep, the entirety of Chapter 4 was so long, I just had to split them up into two. I haven't written the second part yet, but I should have that ready faster than it took me to write this one. If you read all of this and feel like it ended sorta abruptly, don't worry, this is not truly where I wanted this chapter to end.
Second, I need to give a warning. I've never really had to do a trigger warning before, and I am not particularly sure if I even need to have to do one now. If you've been reading my story up to this point, you should be very well aware by now that my writing style and choices of plot points are pretty fucked, but I assure you that I never write anything without a reason. So, with that in mind, please note, if you are somebody who would get easily offended, hurt, or triggered by stories that discuss and/or joke about suicide, DO NOT READ THIS CHAPTER. I talk extensively about suicide here, both in a serious way and in a humorous way. If that is something that would make you feel uncomfortable, please think twice before continuing.
Alright, with that out of the way, here's Chapter 4: Part 1!
Akira had no dreams that night. When his alarm rang, his eyes slowly opened, and he stared at his ceiling, not moving, just letting the alarm go off. He didn't want to get out of bed, but at the same time, he didn't want to go back to sleep either. Akira wasn't even sure if he even wanted to still be alive. He felt nothing, thought nothing, and did nothing.
Eventually, a voice broke his stupor.
"You gonna turn that off?"
It was soft, quiet. There was no harshness in the inflection, but there was no life either. Akira slowly turned to his side and turned off the alarm on his phone, which rested on his night stand. He sat up on his bed, and saw Morgana perched on the windowsill, staring out into the rain-soaked alley.
"Morgana?" Akira asked. "What are you doing?"
The cat turned his head and made eye contact with the boy. Akira could see dried splotches of fur under his sockets, his blue, feline eyes discolored by a dark redness made glossy with unshed tears. With that one look, Akira understood everything that Morgana was feeling, and he could tell that his friend understood him as well.
The two stayed like that for a while, staring at each other without saying anything. Akira stood up and walked over to the window.
"Couldn't open it, huh?" He asked the cat, who replied with a sad shake of his head. He pushed the window up with some difficulty, exposing his room to the rain. There were already people outside. Salarymen hustled to work, college students made their morning commutes to Todai, shopkeepers prepared their stores for another day of business. The two friends stared out of the window, basking in the depressing, rain-soaked street of Japan.
"Morgana," Akira finally said. "Please don't kill yourself."
"Why not? Dying would be better than living like this."
Akira sighed. "I know what you're feeling, but we can do this. One month without…" Akira trailed off. He swallowed hard and shuddered. "One month without masturbating will go by quickly. It's not worth dying over."
"Akira, I haven't gone a single day without nutting for the past…" Morgana thought for a while. "Now that I mention it, I think nutting was the earliest memory I ever had. Holy fucking shit dude, I've been jerking off my entire life! I can't do this, man! I can't do this!"
Morgana jumped off the windowsill toward the alley, welcoming death. Akira, luckily, was able to grab him right before he went beyond reach. He pressed the cat's face against his and looked him in the eye.
"One week, Morgana. Just go through one week of this, and I promise you, you'll realize No Nut November isn't so bad."
"Yeah? And what if you're wrong?"
"Then I'll probably kill myself too. Deal?" Akira set Morgana down on the windowsill and stretched out his hand, expecting a shake. Morgana looked apprehensive.
"There's… There's more to it than that, Akira."
"Huh? What do you mean?"
Morgana bit his lip and turned his head to the side.
"It's just…" He trailed off.
Akira checked his phone. "Look, man, I have less than an hour to get ready and go to school. If you wanna say something then say it now, I don't have time for this, dude."
Morgana grimaced and shook his head. "It's nothing. Never mind, forget I said anything."
Akira walked over to the LeBlanc bathroom, preparing himself for the day to come.
The train arrived at Shibuya station. Akira stepped out of the packed car, and as the train left and the crowd cleared up somewhat, he noticed a short patch of blonde hair standing alone by the now empty track. Akira walked over to his friend, who stared intently at the track, even as the black-haired boy stood right next to him. For a few minutes, they said nothing, until Akira finally spoke.
"It's not worth it."
Ryuji clenched his jaw. "You don't know that."
Akira opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He scratched the back of his head. "Yeah, you gotta point."
Ryuji squatted down on the edge of the subway platform, his knee giving a little pop as he went as low as he could go without having his butt touch the ground. He grimaced at the sound. His mouth twisted into an angry snarl, his eyes narrowed, emotions suppressed for too long just barely being prevented from escaping. But like a hopeless old man, he made no outburst as sadness quickly swallowed any passion he might have had at that moment. He hung his head down and grabbed his knee.
"Christ," he said. "It's been like, what, a little over a year since this shit happened?" He slapped his knee and chuckled. "Man. Where does the time go?"
Akira joined his friend's squat. "Kamoshida can't hurt anyone now. Because of you, Ryuji. Because you had the guts to stand up to cruelty, even when it took everything from you."
"And what good does that do me?" Ryuji snapped. "I've only been good at two things in my entire life, Akira: running and jerking off. Now I can't even do that!"
"It's only a month! You're acting like this is the end of the world or something."
Ryuji rubbed his face. "I know! But sometimes I… I just…" The boy trailed off. Akira stared at him intently, waiting to see if his friend would speak again. Ryuji's mouth would occasionally twitch, as if he were trying to say something but couldn't. Akira noticed the light of the oncoming train coming closer from the tunnel.
"Wanna get up before we get hit by the train?" Akira asked.
Ryuji nodded slowly and stood up with his friend.
Akira set his backpack down and unzipped it, pulling out Morgana from its confines. The cat, who usually made it a point to eavesdrop on Akira's conversations so that he would stay updated on Phantom Thief related business, clearly wasn't paying any attention to the two boys' conversation, choosing instead to wallow in a depressed state in the backpack.
"I already spoke with Mona about this," Akira said, "but we're gonna make a deal. I know you guys want to kill yourselves. Shit, I was thinking about it the minute I woke up. But we have to pull through, and we've gotta stick together. We can't let some Metaverse douche ruin our lives like this! After school, we'll meet up with Yusuke and start making a plan for figuring out how to kill that asshole. And once we do, we'll never have to worry about jerking off ever again. Alright?"
Morgana and Ryuji looked at each other, unsure. Eventually though, they nodded in agreement.
Akira breathed a sigh of relief. "C'mon, guys," he said. "We've got class soon."
Akira stepped into his homeroom class. All of his classmates shifted their eyes to him, watching his every move. Akira stopped giving a shit about the countless rumors about him long ago. Admittedly, they definitely left a mark on his psyche for the first few weeks of school. Getting his shit wrecked by Japanese Howie Mandel, getting roasted by both his parents AND the police for protecting a defenseless woman, and then having to deal with a bunch of retarded rumors from kids he was pretty sure still ate glue? Akira was taking so many hard fucking L's since he got to Tokyo, he was positive he would have to start taking antidepressants.
Once the Phantom Thieves were formed and he found his purpose though… All those stupid rumors were like water running off a duck's back. In fact, he often found them to be advantageous. Lines to the vending machines cleared up whenever he showed up. Most of the kids known for being bullies were too chickenshit to start anything with him, so he never had to deal with wedgies or being shoved into lockers or any of the other crap that the losers in the cryptocurrency club had to deal with on a daily basis. But best of all, whenever he went into the bathroom, everyone there stops whatever they were doing and leaves. He could jerk off in peace and everyone will be none the wiser! Yes, thanks to these rumors, Akira felt like the King of Shujin, or, at the very least, the Grand Viceroy of the Royal Nut (that's what he called it).
Passing by the blackboard, Akira noticed the words "TURN IN YOUR HOMEWORK" sprawled in perfect katakana. Kawakami sat behind her desk, absentmindedly grading homework before class began. A large pile of calculus scrawl accumulated on her desk in a messy pile.
She lifted her tired eyes lazily from the homework, and, finally noticing Akira's presence, straightened her back and met the boy's eyes with her own, giving a knowing, somewhat venomous stare.
"Good morning, Kurusu."
Akira looked away from her, unable to look her in the eye for too long. "Ah, good morning, Kawakami-sensei."
"Well?" she asked. "What are you standing there for? Did you forget how to read?"
Akira quickly nodded his head and set his backpack down. He unzipped it and reached inside, careful to not reveal Morgana's presence to her or the rest of the class. He searched his backpack, looking for the homework in question. After grabbing it and feeling its odd, crinkly texture against his fingers, his eyes widened with a sudden remembrance of last night.
Shibuya. The subway. My backpack. Morgana.
That fucking cat.
He zipped his backpack back up, not producing any paper at all.
"I'm sorry, Kawakami," he said to his teacher. "I don't have my calculus homework."
"And why not?"
"My cat came on it."
"What?"
"My cat ate it."
"Really, Kurusu?" Kawakami shot him her trademark bored expression, piercing straight through his hollow lie. She crossed her arms and took the boy in. "You really expect me to believe that your CAT ate your homework? This is the third day in a row you've forgotten your homework. Maybe a detention will straighten you out, hm?"
Akira felt his pulse quicken. I don't need this shit right now.
"I dunno, why would I lie to you, Becky?"
The teacher's eyes shot up. She looked around, making sure nobody heard him, and then leaned close to him. "What the fuck did you just say?" she whispered with a hiss.
Akira's eyes narrowed as they met hers. "Want me to elaborate?" he hissed back.
Kawakami grit her teeth but averted her eyes from his. "Just sit down, Kurusu." As Akira began to turn away from her, he heard her mumble, "You're lucky that you know things."
Akira turned right around, faced her, and whispered, "And you're lucky you're hot." He spun around and walked to his desk before he could clearly catch her expression, but he knew that a huge, burning blush appeared on his teacher's face.
He took his usual seat behind Ann, who, as usual, tapped on her phone uncaringly and occasionally gazed out the window.
Akira set his backpack on his lap. Morgana's head popped out. "Huh? What's going on, Joker?" He asked the boy.
Akira opened the window next to him, grabbed his backpack with his left hand, and extended his arm out of the window.
"Wait, what are you do-AAAAAAAahhhhhhhhhh…" Once Akira released his backpack completely, he closed the window, cutting off his friend's screams as he fell from the second story.
Ann turned around to face the boy. "Hey," she said. "What was that about?"
"Nothing. Just wanted to get some fresh air."
"No, not that. With Kawakami." She pointed her thumb toward the teacher. "I couldn't tell what you guys were talking about, but it seemed kinda heated."
"Oh, that?" Akira shrugged and looked out the window. "Just Kawacummy trying to fuck with me again, that's all."
Ann broke into a large grin and started giggling, covering her hand with her mouth. "Ah! Fucking Kawacummy!" she said through her chortles.
Akira grinned at the blonde. For whatever reason, Akira never had a great track record when it came to befriending girls. At his old high school, and even his time spent at junior high and elementary school, most of his friends were boys, and he never felt comfortable hanging out with girls by himself. This, obviously, also translated to a distinct lack of sexual experience with women as well. Even the people who he assumed were complete losers who couldn't get laid even if they were bricks at a construction site all ended up getting girlfriends before him, some of them pretty cute, too.
One punched face and a school transfer later, and poof, Ann came into his life. He remembered when he first met her; that horrid, rainy first day of school at Shujin, and out of nowhere came this tall, mysterious, blonde chick, practically brightening up the day with her very presence. What made the meeting even more memorable was the fact that that was the first boner he popped since he entered his new city. He had gone without masturbating for FIFTY FUCKING HOURS by that point, a record he hadn't achieved since he had his first wank, and his starved sex drive forced the poor boy to stare at the bombshell before him, doing everything in his power to not reach his hand down his pants and bust a nice, hot fattie. He was almost glad that Kamoshida showed up in his douchemobile and picked the girl up. Akira refused the gym teacher's offer to ride him to school, primarily because he knew that if he spent any more time close to the girl he would most likely end up cumming in his trousers.
As the car drove away, Akira was a literal microsecond away from sprinting into the nearest bathroom and unleashing his beast before Ryuji showed up, cursing Kamoshida, unknowingly beginning their friendship and this twisted saga of theirs.
Once Akira started to get to know Ann, though, he quickly realized that she wasn't like most girls he'd known. Ann was… Ann was just so fucking cool. Akira's bitter, acerbic outlook on life created an odd, yet at the same time complimentary dichotomy with Ann's optimism. It was almost like Ann served as Akira's anchor to reality, reminding him to pull through even when times got tough, inspiring him to change his outlook on life. In turn, Akira was like a conduit for all of Ann's fucked up and repressed thoughts. It didn't take Akira long to realize that Ann had a pretty fucked up life, the tragedy involving her best friend Shiho putting her past her breaking point. Akira was the kind of friend who could listen to whatever fucked thoughts and frustrations the girl had and never judge her, and his own perspective on his life gave Ann a sense of vindication and catharsis that she never felt before. The two made a silent vow with each other to spend some time talking with each other every day, just as a way to unwind to support each other emotionally. In fact (and Akira would never admit this to anyone), at one point, he was deadass a stone's throw away from fucking sending it and asking the blonde out on a date.
But that was before he met Makoto.
Akira's heart sang and banged its head against a wall at the same time when he thought of Makoto.
One of Ann and Akira's favorite pastimes was silently roasting authority figures or people they sort of knew behind their backs and making up nicknames for them. Kawakami became Kawacummy. Kamoshida became Douchemoshida. That annoying girl in the back of their class went from Ayano to Annoyo. And so on. This all began because of Akira's vivid and twisted imagination, naturally, and Ann was initially disturbed and admonished her friend for his childish behavior, but she eventually came through, and started joining in with equal enthusiasm.
Kawakami stood up, and the din of the class silenced. She quickly introduced the lecture for the day and started passing papers out to everyone. Once she passed Akira's seat, he couldn't stop himself from letting his eyes trail behind her, fixated on that sweet, bobbing badonk. His eye twitched and he started sucking his lip. He turned forward, only to find Ann meeting his gaze. They stared at each other for a while, before the girl squinted her eyes, pursed her lips, and let out a low, quiet, "OOOOOOOOO, what an ass!"
"OOOOOOO," Akira replied, with the same expression. They broke out in laughter again, their efforts to suppress themselves only making them want to laugh more.
"Fucking Kawacummy…" Ann gave a few more chuckles as she turned around and began her work. Akira looked out the window again and sighed. He checked his watch. Two minutes after class started officially.
This is usually around the time I excuse myself to the bathroom and jerk off to Kawakami in her maid outfit. Akira sighed again.
I wonder how the other guys are doing.
Sweat dripped down Ryuji's forehead. It stung his eyes, but it wouldn't stop, no matter how many times he rubbed his face clean.
His eyes darted to the left.
Fumiko Hirata. Sixteen. One hundred and sixty centimeters. Legs: B. Ass: C. Tits: B. Face: A-.
His eyes darted to the right.
Emi Murakami. Seventeen. One hundred and fifty-five centimeters. Legs: C. Ass: A. Tits: B+. Face: B-.
He looked down at his crotch. He didn't have a particularly big dick, but it made sure to make itself known when it was aroused. Right now, it was pressing right up against the zipper of his jeans, as if trying to pop its head out, look Ryuji in the eye with its own, cock its head to the side, and ask him, in a confused, worried tone, why the blond hadn't beat him to Timbuk-fucking-tu yet.
Ryuji checked his watch. Two minutes after class started officially.
This is usually around the time I excuse myself to the bathroom and have my third wank of the day. Ryuji wanted to cry. He knew that he was pretty stupid, but even he was shocked at how long it was taking him to comprehend the situation at hand.
I can't… I can't masturbate. For an entire month.
He started doing some simple calculations with his fingers.
This month is November. There are thirty days in November. That's… three tens. A week is seven days. So November will be over in… more than four weeks.
He stared at his desk. He had no idea what to make of this information.
Ugh, I'll think about it some more after I jerk off.
Wait. No. If I jerk off then I lose my cock. That's what that white dude said.
But when can I jerk off again? 'Cause I really really want to right now.
Uhhhhh…
He counted with his fingers again.
When November is over.
When is that?
In thirty days.
When?
November will be over in thirty days. That's three tens, right? A little over four weeks.
Oh, okay. That's cool. November will be over in thirty days, huh?
Yeah, thirty days.
Cool. Yeah.
He sneezed. He looked at the classroom's wall, the teacher's lecture being completely mute to his ears.
Five seconds later, and he suddenly became extremely bored.
UUUGGGGHHHH, I don't wanna be here! I'm gonna go jerk off real quick.
WAIT!
He scratched his head.
Who should I jerk off to?
Good question. He looked around some more.
Yumi Hanata. Sixteen. One hundred and sixty-six centimeters. Legs: B. Ass: C+. Tits: A. Face: B+.
'Kay. That'll do.
He raised his hand.
"Yo, teach. Can I use the bathroom?"
The teacher sighed. "Sakamoto, were you listening at all?"
"Yeah!"
"Because I literally just said that I won't let any of you off on bathroom breaks until we've gone over last week's quiz scores."
"Oh." Ryuji slowly lowered his hand with apprehension and slight confusion. He scratched his head again. "Uh, so when can I use the bathroom?"
"Just sit your ass down."
Jeez, what a jerk.
He kept staring at the wall.
This sucks! Why won't he let me jerk off?
He groaned and started thinking about Mementos.
Boy, I can't wait to go back to the Metaverse and fuck some shadows up. God, I hope I don't have to meet THAT asshole again, though.
Wait…
His eyes widened in re-realization.
I can't jerk off because that guy put a curse on us! And I can't jerk off again until November ends! November is thirty days long! That's three tens! That's a little over four weeks! One week is seven days! One week, but four times! One day, but thirty times! That's how long I can't jerk off!
Once, when Ryuji was a child, his mother took him to a planetarium. The guide there showed the children a wondrous map of the universe and asked them to try to imagine what infinite space, an infinite number of planets and suns could possibly look like. Ryuji couldn't even begin to wrap his mind around the vastness of the cosmos, it was a concept far beyond his understanding of reality.
That was how he felt about not jerking off for a month.
Akira should have just let me kill myself, he groaned to himself. Ryuji had heard that, sometimes, people encounter such horrible emotional trauma, that they end up having a hard time coming to grips with reality, and the traumatic event in question constantly slips their minds, sort of like a defense mechanism. The more traumatic the event was, the more likely that the person would forget it or deny its existence, sometimes multiple times a month, if it was really bad.
Since he woke up, Ryuji had forgotten all about, and then remembered, No Nut November a total of three times, not including his recent realization.
"Aaaand here's Sakamato's," the teacher said. He handed Ryuji's quiz from last week. "Another F. I think you would get better grades if you just spent even five minutes studying, Ryuji."
"I can't help that I'm dumb!"
"You…! You are not dumb! Nobody is dumb! Everybody is good at something, and everybody needs to work harder on things they don't have a knack for. Which means, you just need to work harder in class, Sakamoto!"
Ryuji scratched his head. "Can I use the bathroom?"
The teacher stared at him for a few seconds. Realizing that Ryuji was dead serious, he returned to passing out the quizzes to the other students without another word.
Jeez, what a jerk.
He propped his head against his fist, stared at the wall, and sighed.
Wonder how Yusuke's doing…
With all things considered, Yusuke was taking the first day of No Nut November rather well: he only cried in the shower for ten minutes, and only considered swallowing his entire bottle of antidepressants twice before he got to school.
He propped up his easel, prepared his canvas, and started arranging his paints for class. He usually liked to have a nice, solid wank right before he started painting, just to clear his mind for twenty minutes until he inevitably got uncontrollably horny again, but it was fine. Painting was one of the few pleasures he had in life. Masturbating was more like a drug at this point, something that he needed to do, but didn't necessarily feel good anymore. Sure, he would occasionally get lucky and bust a pretty fat nut that made his eyes roll to the back of his head, but even that couldn't compare to the joy of artistic expression. Nothing felt better that working on a piece for hours on end, letting your emotions and skills blend together to create a finished, beautiful product.
Yusuke always took art seriously, even as a child. He loved to paint and experiment with colors, and always did the best in his art classes. However, the idea of making art as a career never truly struck Yusuke until he got the chance to visit the Tretyakovskaya Gallerija in Moscow, Russia at the age of 10. To this day, some of Yusuke's favorite works of art have been stored in that gallery, which, on the surface, looked little more than some ancient piece of Slavic architecture, an obscure anomaly on the face of modern Europe. Beyond the humble walls, however, resides the accumulation of centuries' worth of Russian art, whose skill and precision rival even those of the French masters in the Louver. This was the first gallery Yusuke had been to outside of Asia, and he always remembered how breathless he felt when he first went, how overwhelming and unfair it was that he, a child barely more than a decade old, should be bombarded with such gorgeous masterpieces at every corner. To this day, Yusuke made it a point to visit Tretyakovskaya once every few years, making it his most visited gallery outside of Tokyo.
Beyond its collection of art, Tretyakovskaya was also home to the single most important moment of Yusuke's life. Toward the end of the gallery hangs a large painting of a woman, dressed in black. She sits on a carriage, travelling through the snowy streets of Moscow, clad in black fur, leather gloves, and a feathery, expensive hat in the aristocratic style. Her eyes, behind two well-mascaraed sets of lashes, stares out from the carriage, out from the painting itself, into the very soul of the viewer.
Yusuke had never seen a more beautiful woman in his life, nor had he seen a painting so masterfully depict the delightful beauty of womanhood since he first laid eyes on the Sayuri. In fact, this painting often rivaled the Sayuri in his thoughts, and he often debated with himself which one he preferred. Once he discovered the truth behind the Sayuri, however, and truly understood its significance, the painting obviously became his undisputed favorite, but that unknown woman, or the Neizvestnaya, as the guard at the Tretyakovskaya had called her when a mesmerized, 10-year old Yusuke had asked him the title, was still incredibly close to his heart.
Upon seeing that painting, and after staring at it for God knows how long, it was then that young Yusuke knew that the path his life must take was set. He wanted to become an artist because, after visiting Tretyakovskaya, he needed to become an artist, he needed to make a masterpiece like the one he saw in Moscow. His life had literally no other destiny.
Destiny.
Yusuke smiled to himself as he completed his preparations for class. Yusuke was a firm believer in destiny, but even more so, a destiny that was combined with the undying human spirit. He wasn't particularly vocal about this, but Yusuke visited Shinto shrines at least once a day, giving offerings to the regional gods of Japan, or paying homage to his ancestors or the legendary heroes of the nation. Yusuke absolutely believed in the soul; he believed in the innate value that every human being possessed, that nothing was made without a purpose, that the soul of the Earth had a place for every man, woman, and child lucky enough to be born into it.
Yusuke knew that his destiny was art. He knew that he was placed on this world to create, to imagine, to have his work admired, to inspire others through his work as the giants of whose shoulders Yusuke stood upon inspired him. Yusuke knew that without art, his life truly would have been meaningless, and as a result, the spirit of the world would surely have never given him life, he surely would never have been allowed to be born. And this applied to all: Yusuke knew that there were evil people, some perhaps that were beyond redemption, but even the lowest of human scum had a place here, even those who committed unspeakable atrocities had a destiny to complete, a purpose to fulfill. If they refused their destinies and chose instead to live their lives ignorant of their calling, if they chose instead to destroy rather than create, if they chose instead to harm the soul of the Earth rather than honor it, then that was their choice. But no person's life was inherently meaningless to Yusuke, no matter where they came from, how much money they had, or what they looked like.
This was part of the reason why Yusuke was so fascinated by Christianity, and especially with the figure of Christ, despite not being a Christian himself. In Christ, he saw a man who truly understood the nature of the Earth soul, who honored completely and without hesitation the inherent meaning behind every human life. In Christ, he saw a man of undying love and compassion, a man devoted to bringing people to their destinies and kindling their souls with that of the Earth. In Christ, Yusuke saw an artist, an artist so great, that he could inspire without drawings, change hearts without sculpting, and better the world without painting. It has always been Yusuke's dream to depict Christ like the Irish masters of the Book of Kells or Andrei Rublev. Once he could honor Christ like the figures before him did, then that was when he would know that he truly became a master. Until then, he would train, do his best to create, and strive to fulfill his destiny of art.
Almost all the students in Yusuke's art class were present, save for a few stragglers. Class would not officially start for another few minutes, but Yusuke liked to be prepared well beforehand. He took a deep, long breath, and prepared himself mentally for the world of art.
Suddenly, the door swung open, and Ayoto stepped in.
Oh, FUCK!
Despite the fact that Yusuke was about as thin as a twig, he liked his girls THICK. The Kosei High School uniform did nothing to hide her thighs, which practically spilled over her knee-high stockings, or those delicious, swinging hips of hers, or those wonderful, twin boobs that liked to bob up and down, up and down…
Yusuke quickly averted his eyes from her and wiped away the drool from his mouth, but that did not stop the girl from noticing him and giving him a big wave.
"Heyyyy Yusuke!" She sauntered over to him and took the empty seat next to his. "How's it going?"
Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no. Yusuke swallowed hard and nervously ran his hand through his hair. Why now? Why did she have to sit next to me NOW, of all days? I could very well survive this torment after I get used to it, but this is the first day of No Nut November for God's sake! What am I supposed to do, NOT run to the bathroom and masturbate?
"H-hello, Ayoto-san," Yusuke said, doing his best not to look in her direction. "How are you today?"
She sighed lightly. "I'm good, just tired I guess, haha!" She bent to the side to open her backpack and take out her supplies. While he knew she wasn't looking, Yusuke's bloodshot eyes darted over to her thighs, which, as she bent down, rubbed together ever so slightly, the driplets of sweat running down that delicious skin.
Ayoto arranged her supplies on her little station, getting ready for class. "OOooohhh, we're going to be painting from a model today, right?" she asked Yusuke. "Have you ever done that before?"
"I tried pretty damn hard to…" Yusuke muttered to himself, remembering the time he tried to get Ann to model for him in the nude.
"What was that?"
"Oh! Er, yes, I have indeed. It's one of my preferred ways of painting, in fact. Have you never used one yourself, Ayoto-san?"
She giggled somewhat, making her chest bounce, almost giving Yusuke a heart attack. "Come on Yusuke! You can drop the honorifics. Just call me Ayoto! Gosh, you're so formal all the time. I think it's pretty cute."
"W-what?" Yusuke couldn't comprehend what he was hearing. No girl had ever called him cute before, especially not a prime cut like this one.
Ayoto just giggled again. "Remember when I saw you yesterday at the train station? You kept calling me and other students from our class "san." I was gonna ask why, but you said that you had a stomach problem and needed to use the bathroom? I hope you're better now, by the way, you were there for so long I had to leave."
"Y-yes. Yes, I am indeed feeling b-better now, Ayoto-sa… Ayoto."
"You know, Yusuke…" Ayoto started blushing. Yusuke had never seen her blush. "I think you're really cool."
What.
"I uh… I was wondering if maybe… You and I could spend some time together alone outside of class. And work on our art."
WHAT.
"It's… it's okay if you don't want to…" She nervously fixed her hair behind her ear, covering her blushing face. "But… I'd love to have you over."
WHAT.
Yusuke was about to open his mouth to say something. What that thing was he wasn't particularly sure. But then the door burst open.
"Ah! And here is our model for today!" The teacher said, lifting his head up from his work to face the newcomer.
He was very tall, very muscular, and very good looking. His jaw looked like it was cut from granite, coming down at a perfect 90-degree angle strong enough to break rocks, then coming to an impasse with a perfectly formed, dimpled chin. His perfect hair was styled in a testosterone-fueled, wavy point. He wore a loud, obnoxious, neon green shirt and hot pink sweatpants, which, if worn by literally any other human on the planet, would get them beaten up on the street, but, on him, looked extremely good. His shoes were more like clogs than actual shoes, making incredibly bombastic clops with every step he took. Literally every single inch of this man was carefully designed to make sure that he was the center of attention at literally all times. Everybody in class stared at him, equally fascinated and terrified in his presence.
He took off his sunglasses to reveal a pair mesmerizing, gorgeous eyes, the kind that could make somebody fall in love with him with a single smolder. He gave the teacher a curt, masculine nod of the head.
"Yo wuzzup, teach," he said, his voice sounding like a chorus of angels were singing. His eyes almost immediately spotted Yusuke, and he gave a big, wide grin, revealing a set of flawless, pearly white teeth. "Ay! Yusuke, that you?"
Yusuke could not believe what he was seeing. He could not believe what he was hearing. He could not believe that this was his life right now. That this is what things had come to.
He jolted up from his seat the moment the guy took off his sunglasses. His voice was choking in his throat, he constantly stuttered. Finally, he managed to get his words out.
"Ch-Chadusuke! Wh… What are YOU doing here!?"
Still smiling, Chadusuke walked, no, strode over to Yusuke, his long legs allowing him to traverse the rather large art room in a matter of just a few steps.
"It really is you!" Chadusuke said, as he approached the artist.
Oh lord, please God, no.
Before Yusuke could retaliate, Chadusuke wrapped his large, powerful arm around Yusuke's throat, pulled him so close to his body that the artist nearly cracked his jaw against the guy's rock-hard pec, and then brought a fist to Yusuke's dark-haired head, giving him a noogie so powerful, smoke began to arise from the kinetic friction.
"What's up, KitFAGawa? You still jerkin' off in the bathroom like in middle school, LOSER? Haw haw!"
Yusuke tried to get out of his grip, but he was too weak to do anything. Memories of middle school flashed before his eyes like a PTSD fever dream. Chadusuke dunking Yusuke's head down the toilet and flushing. Chadusuke and his friends stuffing him into his own locker, trapping him inside until school opened the next day. Chadusuke and the entire football team putting him in a port-a-potty, then kicking it down a large hill so that all the shit and piss and cum that accumulated covered the artist from head to toe.
"Now now, boys, settle down," the teacher said. "We have a big day ahead of us, and our model is on a very busy schedule, so we must get started. Everyone, this is Chadusuke Thundercockamato."
The model in question released Yusuke from his hold, causing the artist to start gagging and gasping for air.
"You…!" he sputtered. "You almost killed me!"
"Aw, c'mon FAGusuke, don't be such a pussy. We're just having a little fun like old times, right? Haw haw!"
"Yusuke… Is this a friend of yours?" Ayoto asked.
"No! Absolutely not! This, this… This barbarian made my life a living hell! I hate him with every fiber of my bei-"
"Why don't you introduce me?" She asked. Ayoto bit her lip and stared at Chadusuke's godlike profile.
"H-huh?"
Chadusuke turned to look at the girl, his eyes only barely acknowledging her existence. Her face became the hottest shade of red Yusuke had ever seen.
"Sup?" Chadusuke asked in a bored voice.
"M-my name is Ayoto. It's nice to meet you, Chadusu-"
"Yeah, whatever." Chadusuke walked over to the center of the art room, where Yusuke's teacher had already prepared the area for the model to sit.
Ayoto sat back down at her seat, but her eyes were glued to the model. She unbuttoned the first button of her shirt, and began fanning herself, as she looked hungrily at him.
Yusuke's mind was in a complete scramble. He was usually pretty good at processing information, but today was a big, BIG exception. He twitched and quickly turned to the girl.
"Yes!" he almost shouted.
Ayoto didn't respond and kept staring at the model.
"Ayoto, yes, I would love to spend some time with you after class," Yusuke said in a hurried, panicked voice. "When are you free?"
"Hm?" The girl turned to somewhat regard the boy trying to get her attention. "What was that?"
"You said you wanted to hang out earlier! So, erm, yes!"
She gave him a somewhat confused, somewhat irritated look. "What are you talking about?"
Yusuke became even more nervous than he was before. He gulped hard.
"You… you were just inviting me to spend time with you before Chadusuke walked in, Ayoto. R-remember?"
Ayoto still looked confused, but her face then showed a mild sign of remembrance.
"Oh, yeah. Uh, sure, we can hang out sometime if you want."
"Great!" Yusuke hurriedly grabbed a pencil and his sketchbook. "Does tomorrow work for you?"
"Yeah."
"Great!" He quickly sprawled it down, his normally unique and pristine handwriting transforming into an incomprehensible mishmash of chicken scratch thanks to his sweaty, shaking hand. "A-and what time?"
"Hm?"
"I said, what time?"
"Oh. I dunno."
"Does 4 o'clock work for you?"
"Sure."
"Great!" He scribbled the time down, the calligraphy looking even worse that it did previously. "Shall we meet outside of class then?"
"Yeah."
"Great! Tomorrow, 4 o'clock, outside of class?"
"Uh huh."
"Great! See you then!" Yusuke sat down on his chair and tried to stop his frantic heart from exploding. Yusuke was not entirely sure why, but he had the sudden impression that he needed to act quickly, lest Ayoto disappear from his life forever. But now, Yusuke believed, he could rest easy. Ayoto asked him out, he had accepted, and all was good.
He looked at his blank canvass and smirked as his anxiety slowly began to wash away.
That Chadusuke thinks he is so great, Yusuke thought to himself. My time in middle school was tormenting because of his arrogance. He always thought of himself as a god who was better than everyone else, just because he was captain of the soccer team, captain of the baseball team, captain of the basketball team, captain of the aikido club, and was voted the most handsome and most popular and most likely to succeed in our class for three years in a row, and lost his virginity at the age of 13 after having a threesome with two cheerleaders, and had trillions of yen in inheritance because of his parents, and was selected as valedictorian. But that brute will soon realize that life won't be so easy for him in high school! The Yusuke that he so easily pushed around, that was so quick to succumb to his abuse, who masturbated in the school bathroom on an hourly basis is no more! I am a Phantom Thief, a defender of the weak, and enemy to the corrupt and powerful! Chadusuke cannot push me around like he used to, I will make sure of it! And Ayoto is a wonderful, intelligent young woman. Who does that brute think he is, believing that a woman of class such as herself would possibly want to associate herself with him? Preposterous!
"Okay, class!" the teacher announced. "Our model is ready for you to paint him. Remember what we have learned these past weeks and do your best!"
Yusuke looked up from his easel, and gasped. Standing there, in perfect, pristine form, was Chadusuke, completely naked, every inch of his rock-hard, swollen, deliciously sculpted muscles gleaming under the warm light of the studio. He stood there, posing like an ancient Greek statue, his tanned abdominals jutting out of his otherwise flat stomach and incredibly narrow waist, coming up with perfectly flared latissimi dorsi, accentuated by his fat deltoids and gigantic, round trapezius muscles. His buttocks were smooth, muscular, plump, and connected to a pair of powerful, thick legs that ended with two of the largest calf muscles Yusuke had ever seen.
Yusuke realized how long he was staring at the model, shook his head and began painting.
Focus, Yusuke! He screamed to himself. Chadusuke is nothing but a model. YOU are the artist, YOU are the master, and he is nothing more than your subject! With this painting, you will show the world who Chadusuke truly is inside: a horrible, disrespectful psychopath!
However, try as he might, Yusuke could not accomplish his goal. The more he painted Chadusuke, the more intimately he realized that his physical form truly was perfection. Not a single flaw could be found on his godlike body. Chadusuke's physical form, Yusuke realized, truly was the Form, the Form that the ancient Greeks spoke so much about. Chadusuke was the measure that every other human body must compare themselves to, the absolute pinnacle of human potential and achievement. Yusuke could not help but compare his own scrawny, delicate, unappealing and imperfect body to Chadusuke's own, which was the literal opposite of everything Yusuke's body was. A deep, nauseating sense of inadequacy began to bubble up in the pit of Yusuke's stomach, but he suppressed it and continued to work on his painting.
Finally, Yusuke finished his painting and evaluated his work, as he always did. Yusuke failed in his goal of using the medium of painting to depict Chadusuke like a monster, like how Goya, the Spanish master, managed to convey his utter contempt for the rich and powerful in Charles IV of Spain and His Family in 1801. The Spaniard, while delicately and masterfully depicting the royal family's outward virtue, i.e. their wealth and royalty, at the same time mocks them at their faces, exposing them as shallow, ugly creatures that care only for themselves and their coffers. Yusuke chastised himself for believing that he could replicate what Goya did more than two centuries ago. This painting, like so many others in his life, was a complete and abject failure.
"Ah, and now we have Kitagawa's painting!" Yusuke turned around and saw his teacher examining his painting behind the artist's back, the entire class apparently having finished. He examined it carefully, rubbing his jaw like he always did. "Your technical skills are superb, Yusuke, but that is to be expected from an artist of such high caliber as yourself."
"Oh please, do not patronize me, sensei," a dejected Yusuke sighed. "You and I both know this painting was a failure. I was trying to invoke-"
"You were trying to invoke Goya's La Familia de Carlos IV, yes?" his teacher said, interrupting him.
Yusuke was shocked. "You could tell? That easily?"
His teacher merely chuckled. "You are one of those passionate youths who love to wear their influences on their sleeves. Do you think I hadn't noticed your little doodles of Kramskoi's Unknown Woman on your art history papers? Or how you keep trying to distinguish some of your more abstract work from Rothko's Black on Grey, but always fail to make your painting your own?"
Yusuke's cheeks flared. A wave of shame and embarrassment hit him, and he hung his head dejectedly. "You are right, sensei. So much of what I produce is a copy. I am a fraud!"
"No, don't say that. You are so dramatic, Yusuke! Do you truly believe that your quirks and faults are so much different from other artists your age? I have trained more artists than you could possibly imagine, and I see the same things over and over again. You are no different, but that does not mean that you are not special or worthy of becoming a great artist. You have a wonderful, passionate voice. I know this, because every now and again, you will present something to me that contains slivers of who you are as a person, like small beams of light shining through a boarded-up window. Your heart is caged by your neuroticism and insecurity. You hate yourself. I can tell, because every time you approach the verge of letting your heart and true form dominate the piece, you immediately constrict it, terrified at the prospect of what would happen if the world saw you for who you truly were on the inside. It's like a mask that is attached to your face, but only you can remove. You are skilled, Yusuke, and you are incredibly talented, and may very well become a great artist someday. But until you understand how your self-hatred and fear of revealing your true form distorts your perception of the world, you will never be satisfied with yourself, and you will never be able to join the ranks of the masters you admire so much."
Yusuke was rendered speechless. His teacher was known for giving long-winded, rambling monologues to his students, but they were always substantive and deep, and this analysis of Yusuke's character was so spot-on, he felt like he was being spoken to by somebody who knew him his entire life, even though he had only been going to school at Kosei for two years. How could his teacher know so much about him just by analyzing his paintings?
Everything the old man said was true: he indeed hated himself. One of the few good things Madarame had ever done for him was getting him to see a psychiatrist and getting him prescribed antidepressants. For no reason that was discernible to even Yusuke himself, the young artist would spend hours crying by himself in his room on an almost daily basis. Sometimes, when he felt particularly horrible, Yusuke would lock himself in a bathroom and punch his face until large, hard lumps appeared on his cheeks and below his eyes. This brutal act of self-harm was oddly relieving to the boy. Despite the long-held optimism he felt of the human soul and his belief that all humans have a purpose on Earth, Yusuke felt utterly worthless during this period. The pain from battering his face in was like a long overdue punishment. It hurt, but deep down, Yusuke knew that he deserved it. He deserved it because a wretch like him had no place on this Earth. He deserved it because he was an ugly, worthless, stupid ant. He deserved it because he blamed himself when Madarame got mad at him, blamed himself when his art could never meet his own ridiculously high standards, blamed himself when a girl he had a crush on rejected him, blamed himself for his mother's death.
Suicide was a common thought. It began as a passing, almost whimsical fantasy that would pop up every now and again. It came, it disappeared, it was forgotten. As time went by, however, his fantasies became more detailed, more complicated. He started thinking about what he would leave as a suicide note, what the best method of doing it would be, if it would be in a public or private space, who would miss him if he were gone, and so on. Eventually, thoughts of suicide took up the majority of his thinking, and occupied his thoughts even more than art.
Yusuke did nothing to stop his extreme depression. He believed, in fact, that his depression was a gift, a sign from the Earth soul that he was indeed meant to become an artist, that his destiny was to become like a Japanese van Gogh, a master whose damaged mental state served as a most pristine inspiration. Until he started taking medication, and until he started to feel happy again, Yusuke did not have the slightest iota of how ignorant and idiotic his thinking was. He believed that he was worthless, and that his birth had been a mistake; this caused him to have extreme depression. But at the same time, he believed that his depression and sense of worthlessness meant that he was destined to become a great artist, meaning that he wasn't worthless. And, in his ill-conceived mode of thinking, Yusuke thought that in order to make the kind of art he believed he was destined to make, he had to wallow in his worthlessness, nurture it, let it fester and envelope him, while also believing that this enabled him to not be worthless.
And through it all, Yusuke never seemed to notice that his legitimate, crippling mental illness was the exact thing that was holding him back from art. How can someone make art when nearly every waking moment of his life was pain? When your mind felt constantly exhausted, when doing even the most trivial tasks required a disproportionate amount of energy? Yusuke did not realize that art no longer gave him any pleasure. Yusuke did not realize that the thing he believed he was destined to do was as tiring and as hellish as everything else in his life, that art no longer served as a creative escape from reality. Yusuke did not realize that his depression, rather than being some martyristic virtue, rendered him nearly incapable of functioning like a normal human being.
It was Madarame who first noticed that Yusuke spent hours on the internet, seemingly researching different methods of suicide. This, along with the almost constant crying fits Yusuke had and the swelling lumps on his face, put Madarame over the edge. He screamed at Yusuke, and immediately called a doctor. The next day, Madarame literally dragged Yusuke into the psychiatrist's office, and forced him to get medical care. After a short talk with the doctor, Yusuke was hospitalized, having been deemed a threat to his own life.
At the time, Yusuke hated Madarame with a burning passion for this. He viewed him as an enemy, just another person who didn't understand his genius and wanted to stifle his creativity with drugs. Indeed, he hated all his teachers at school, because they all begged Yusuke to seek help, identifying the symptoms of depression so commonly found in students from the past. Yusuke did not listen, and he did not care. In his youthful, prideful arrogance, Yusuke believed only the fantasies and paradoxes that he invented in his head, cared only about what he believed to be true, and not what those wiser and more experienced knew to be true. Yusuke refused to take his pills, sometimes reacting violently when medical staff kept trying to convince him to take them. It wasn't until Madarame himself appeared before Yusuke that progress finally manifested. Without speaking a word to his pupil, the old man slapped Yusuke so hard across the face, the slight and frail boy toppled over his chair and fell to the ground. His surprisingly strong hands around his jaw and neck, Madarame grabbed a pill and literally shoved it down Yusuke's throat, not even bothering to give the boy water to help it go down. This continued for a few days afterward. Nothing Yusuke did could stop his teacher from force-feeding him the pills on a daily basis, his weak and pathetic kicks and punches only serving to make Madarame angrier than he already was. Eventually, Yusuke gave up the struggle and started taking his pills himself whenever he was commanded to. Madarame was present for it each time, making sure that his pupil was doing what he was told.
The effects of the pills were almost immediate. The first major change Yusuke experienced was how his clothes felt against his skin. He remembered vividly how good the cotton of his garments felt as he rubbed it up against his body, almost as if soft ribbons of velvet were gently tracing along his skin. Such was the curse of depression: even the simplest, most basic aspects of the human condition became lost to the victim, to the point where even a sensation as universally taken for granted as having clothes on your back becomes a sheer blessing once the curse is lifted. Food tasted good again, or, rather, food even had taste for the first time in what felt like an eternity. Even the bland oatmeal he was given in the hospital made his taste buds sing.
Music that he once loved awakened something in his heart that he had not felt in far too long, like a sweaty, scorching body finally stripping out of layers upon layers of clothing, only to be greeted by the cool, refreshing wind that delighted the skin. Beethoven was an artist Yusuke particularly enjoyed in his earlier youth, but recently became as joyless as anything else in his life. Yusuke had vague memories of a violent art film that he once watched when he was younger. He could not remember the title, nor could he remember the plot, let alone the name of its protagonist. But in that moment, when he turned on Beethoven for the first time in forever, memories of that odd, terrifying film flickered in his brain like an old projector running a film reel long forgotten and badly damaged from neglect. The only thing he remembered from the movie was how the protagonist was forced to endure pain and torment when listening to Beethoven, and how, after the film's climax, he was finally cured of his horrible hypnosis, allowing him to enjoy the beloved virtuoso once again. Once Yusuke listened to Beethoven again, he felt like that man, and understood fully the happiness and relief he felt.
It should not be hard to imagine, however, what the true gift of Yusuke's medication was. Art became a joy in Yusuke's life yet again. Not just a joy, but the joy, the destiny that he was compelled to fulfil. He was able to paint without having a mental breakdown halfway through, he became truly inspired again, he laughed at his little mistakes instead of harming himself for them. Yusuke was taught long ago that the artist is a servant to the art, that it is an artist's duty to make his inspiration into something for the whole world to see. That may be true, but on that day, Yusuke also realized that as the artist serves the art, one must not forget that art serves all, that art exists to please the senses, to inspire the mind, to change the heart. Before taking his medication, Yusuke closed his heart off from art, refusing to let it do its God-given purpose. When Yusuke rediscovered the joy of painting, he realized that an artist serves the art like a man serves his wife, or like a great leader serves his country. He does not serve because he must, he serves because he loves, and because he knows that what he loves also loves him back.
Yusuke was unbelievably happy that he was prescribed this wonderful medication. He finally understood what the doctors and teachers had been telling him all along, that depression was a disease, not a personality trait. That it was an anchor pulling somebody down, down, down into the depths of the ocean until they could no longer breathe, not a cross to bear. And because of this, his loyalty and love for Madarame was sealed. He realized that his teacher, despite his brutal methods, was simply doing what was best for Yusuke. Yusuke never questioned the old master ever again, and carefully, quietly, unobtrusively, continued to live under the man's large, enveloping wing.
At least, that was what Yusuke thought before he understood the older man's true nature. When the Phantom Thieves exposed Madarame for the fraud that he was, Yusuke was not left without a few scars. In many ways, everything he once knew about life was called into question. After obtaining his persona, joining the Thieves, and creating powerful, unbreakable bonds with his newfound comrades, Yusuke was able, piece by piece, to set his life back together, to rebuild and repair the hole that his teacher once left in his heart.
But amongst the unresolved questions that he still had were this: what was Madarame's true intention with getting the boy to seek help? At the time, he of course believed that the master was genuinely concerned for Yusuke's health, and wanted to see him get better because he loved the boy like a son. But now, he was not so sure. It was clear that Madarame really viewed all of pupils like investments, using them and then just throwing them away when they became liabilities, or once their ability to serve him were exhausted. So does that mean that Madarame saw how Yusuke suffered, and saw taking him to the hospital as a mere security on his investment? Did he only potentially save Yusuke's life because he still saw use in him, and he would serve no benefit if he had committed suicide? This thought was consistent with much of what Yusuke understood of Madarame's true nature.
But some part of Yusuke believed that that couldn't be true. The trust Yusuke placed in the undying power of the human spirit refused to let him accept this theory entirely. Some people are monsters. Yes, he saw them firsthand, he fought them until they changed their ways. He read about some of them in his history books, heard about them in passing conversation. But who was Yusuke to say that the Hitlers and Stalins and Charles Mansons of the world are completely devoid of human feeling and love? His zealous love of the fraud no longer blocked his vision, no longer prevented him from seeing the truth, but he knew that no matter what, Madarame was still only human. Could it be that somewhere, deep down in Madarame's greedy, proud heart, he saw that Yusuke, a fellow human and an innocent soul, was suffering greatly? Could it be that the Madarame who caused so much pain and destruction, who ruined so many lives, who was the sole and undisputed reason why Yusuke's mother had died, was moved by his God-given compassion for his fellow man? Could it be possible that the only reason Yusuke had not killed himself was because once upon a time, a fellow human showed love and sympathy towards him?
Yusuke knew that if it was not possible that Madarame had a motivation more virtuous than simple greed in saving the boy's life, then that would mean Yusuke's life was nothing more than a byproduct of a filthy man's ambition. The air he breathed, the food he ate, the music he listened to, the paintings he made, all of these gifts of life would become nothing more than a result of Madarame's evil, meaning, in turn, that Yusuke's life was a creature born from evil. If this were true, then evil would be embedded into Yusuke's soul. Evil would stay with the artist forever. No matter what he did, no matter what he could do to fight Madarame's legacy and honor the Earth soul, Yusuke would always remain a creature of evil.
This thought did not appear too often, but Yusuke would be lying if he said that he hadn't lost sleep over it every now and again. It was, after all, just one thing on a long list of Yusuke's problems, and as a young professional, he knew that focusing on his art was paramount to his success. It was thanks to his medication and therapy (that gradually decreased in frequency over time) that Yusuke was able to focus so much on what was important in his life.
Still, the medication wasn't magic. Yusuke was still depressed, and the thoughts and feelings of inadequacy and worthlessness occasionally bubbled up inside of him, only rarely spilling out. He did, on occasion, forget to take his daily dose, which would lead to odd bouts of sadness that struck him at a random time the next day like a lightning bolt of depression. And even when he remembered to take his pills consistently, that did not mean that he was immune from his old habits. He would, once in a while, cry himself to sleep. If he was frustrated after a long day, he might be tempted to thrash his face again, although he so far managed to keep himself from doing so. And, once in a blue moon, he thought about killing himself. But overall, his condition was so much better than it was before, to the point where Yusuke had a hard time even believing that he was the same person.
But what the old teacher said… Yusuke knew was true. He hated himself. He wasn't nearly as depressed before, and he believed that his life had meaning. But the self-hatred, the constant wishing that he were somebody else, never left him. Self-love was somewhat of a foreign concept to Yusuke. He never truly understood what it meant. Perhaps, Yusuke supposed, self-contempt was a constant staple of his life, having been with him since he was born. He had grown used to it at this point, if he ever even had a problem with it in the first place. He never thought of his self-hatred as anything more than a natural reality of his life, something that must be accepted rather than questioned. But even then, he never would have thought that his self-hatred could affect his art. What did the teacher mean when he said that it was like Yusuke was wearing a mask that only he could remove? Could it be that his mask was his self-loathing? Was it something that no amount of therapy or medication could fix? The teacher's analysis of his latest painting, though insightful and profound, left the young artist with more questions than answers.
He was about to ask his teacher to clarify what he meant, until he heard the old man suddenly gasp.
"By… by God," he stuttered. "Who… who made this painting?"
The teacher rushed over to a lone painting, which rested against an easel a few seats away from Yusuke. The old man sat before it, stared at it, and hung his mouth open in amazement.
He looked up from the painting, and called out, "Who is responsible for this work? Who painted it? Who!?"
"That was me, teach." All of the students, having had their attentions grabbed by their teacher's outburst, all turned their faces to the source of the voice. It was Chadusuke, who was right in the middle of getting the phone numbers of three girls all at once. He walked over to where the teacher sat. "Yeah, I painted that thing after I was done modelin', bro."
"You!?" the old man shouted. "YOU drew this? But you aren't even an artist!"
Chadusuke shrugged. "I dunno, brah."
The teacher went back to staring at the painting. A single tear shed from him eye. "This… this is perhaps the greatest work I have seen from this class. This is a masterpiece, my boy."
"WHAT!?" Yusuke stood up from his chair. "That is absolutely preposterous! How could that troglodyte possibly have painted that thing if he was modeling the whole time? How would he have any time at all?"
Chadusuke yawned and stretched his arms out. "I dunno, brah, took me, like, twenty minutes to paint it? Wasn't that hard."
"WHAT?!" The teacher's eyes were like saucers.
"That's…! That's…!" Yusuke was not the kind of person to anger easily. It took a sick cunt like Kaneshiro or that asshole Okumara (Not Haru, Haru's splendid) to get him legitimately pissed. Even Futaba's pranks and constant shenanigans only barely got a rise out of him, and even then, he was more than capable of dishing out the torment on her just as easily, finding new and creative ways to wreck her shit. But having to deal with his middle school tormenter coming to his class, invading his space, trying to swoop-in on his girl, and then claiming to make a painting in twenty fucking minutes when the rest of class was working for two goddamn hours? Yusuke felt his blood boil and his face redden. He didn't care how big or strong Chadusuke was. He wanted to punch that fucker in the face, he wanted to pay him back for all the trouble he caused the young artist.
"That is preposterous, you stupid, talentless oaf!" Yusuke stormed over to where Chadusuke and the teacher (who was still staring at the painting) stood. "I have had it with you and your arrogance! Kosei High School does not need you coming here and ruining everything we have worked so hard to achieve with your antics! I demand that you leave right now, right this instance, or I'll, I'll…!"
Yusuke was not able to finish his sentence. His voice trailed off as the painting caught the corner of his eye, and he slowly turned to take it in. There, resting on the easel, stood a remarkable, masterfully crafted painting of Chadusuke. Everything, literally everything about this piece, from the lighting, to the anatomy, to the passion and form put into it, to the colors and brush strokes, was world-class, something that could easily have been mistaken for something found at the Louver. Chadusuke's painting was far and beyond above the talent of a typical art school student, let alone some layman.
Yusuke was floored. He fell backwards, and if it weren't for the fact that there happened to be a chair behind him at the time, he would have surely fallen right to the ground. He placed his hands against his head, and tugged on his hair, a signal of stress and despair that he often saw Akira perform. Yusuke had no idea where to go from here. His mind was completely blank, his thought processes absolutely annihilated.
"Which high school do you go to, my boy?" Yusuke heard the old teacher ask.
"Don't go to school."
"What? How can that be?"
"Yeah, I spend all day helping my dad run his companies. It's super tough too, I gotta take all these daughters of his business associates out on dates and then fuck 'em so he can build some clout. Brah, some of them aren't even super models!"
"Stay right here. I'll be back in a minute. Do not move a muscle!"
Yusuke heard the teacher rush out of the room and the door close.
Chadusuke yawned, plopped down next to the young artist, and smacked his arm. "Yo, you still wear tighty whities like in middle school, FAGusuke?"
Slowly, and with his hands shaking ever so slightly, Yusuke raised his head up, turned, and looked Chadusuke right in his face. His eyes were completely full of bitter, passionate hatred.
"I don't wear underwear anymore, Chadusuke," Yusuke deliberately said, pure venom injected into every single syllable of his voice. "Every time I wear underwear, I am reminded of how you used to give me wedgies and then hang me up from the school's flagpole by them. My doctor says that I am at risk of having a mental breakdown if I so much as even touch a pair of underwear ever again. Because of you, Chadusuke."
"HAW HAW, what a fuckin' loser!" Chadusuke laughed.
Yusuke resigned to his former position, letting his anger and frustration steep as he continued to pull on his hair. He heard the classroom's door open again, and two pairs of footsteps followed.
"Right here, Principal-san!" the old teacher said. "This is the painting I was telling you about!"
"By God!" the principal said. "This is remarkable. Who is responsible for this?"
"Yo," Yusuke heard Chadusuke say.
"I am the principal of Kosei Academy. Chadusuke Thundercockamato, how would you like to have a full-ride scholarship (with benefits) to study at our school?"
Chadusuke yawned again. "Yeah, okay I guess."
"Fantastic! Your first day starts tomorrow!"
Without warning, Yusuke jolted up from his seat, gave a loud, blood-curdling scream, and then ran out of the classroom.
Okay, Yusuke. Calm down. Calm down, Yusuke, calm down.
Yusuke's class ended about thirty minutes ago. He wandered through the halls, his arms wrapped around his torso. His face was pale and sweaty.
Alright, Kitagawa. Alright. Just settle down. That's right. Just calm down. Relax. Breathe. Just settle down and breathe.
Yusuke squatted down and rested his back against the hall. His breaths were deep.
Now, what are some things I can do to calm myself down? What do I usually do when I feel stressed and helpless?
Masturbate.
Yusuke groaned. When he realized that he would have to go through No Nut November, Yusuke was rather confident that, at least on his first day, he would be able to hold it in. But it was only until now that Yusuke realized how foolish and arrogant he was. No Nut November was a gauntlet unlike anything else he had experienced before, and he'd only gone barely a day without jerking off! The taste of that sweet, sweet nut was already driving him insane, his desire to feel that release overwhelming his ability to think properly. Water, water, everywhere, and all the boards did shrink. Water, water, everywhere, nor any drop to drink.
Suddenly, a thought came to Yusuke's mind.
That shadow. He said that I can't masturbate, and I can't have sex with any women. But he never said anything about jerking off… and not cumming.
Feeling his hand run up and down his shaft was often a soothing experience for the young artist. Even before he would reach orgasm, Yusuke always managed to calm his nerves by massaging his dick. Maybe, if he did it just enough, but stopped before nutting, he would be able to calm himself down before he tried to jump out of a window.
But Yusuke knew that this was a dangerous game. Edging while trying to not cum was like playing with fire. First you think that you're just relieving some stress, and the next thing you know, your eyes are crossed because you just busted five nuts in rapid succession.
But Yusuke's thoughts quickly turned to Ayoto. Ayoto and her delicious, beautiful, THICK hips. Just thinking about her made his heart beat. Did the events in class really happen? Did Ayoto actually ask him out on a date? Sure, she didn't say specifically that it was a date, but even the most ignorant and boneheaded person could tell that Ayoto's blushing and nervousness could only mean one thing: she wanted the D, and she wanted it BAD.
Yusuke drooled and hardened at the thought of a girl that hot wanting his cock. Was this the moment he was waiting for? Will he finally be able to have his dreams come true and get a cute girlfriend? Yusuke was giddy at the thought. Hitting puberty sooner than the other kids his grade came with a slew of negative consequences, not the least of which involved him being uncontrollably horny and pathetically pussyless for many long, lonely years. At this point, Yusuke was scared that his dick was so acquainted his hand that once he finally got it in, the death grips would prevent him from experiencing any pleasure at all.
Yusuke steeled himself. With a look of cocky determination, he briskly walked to the nearest bathroom. He knew that he was taking a huge risk by doing this, but it was something that he would have to do if he wanted to prevent himself from going completely insane. This entire day was so fucked, he needed something, anything, to pull him back to reality, to help him compose himself, and that might as well be masturbating, right? Even without finishing, it would be better than going through the rest of the day without it.
With Ayoto and her big, JOOSY ass in his thoughts, Yusuke made his way to the door of one of Kosei's many bathrooms. He took a deep, long breath, his hand right on the door and ready to push. He smirked.
Despite No Nut November, and despite that devil Chadusuke invading my life… At least I have Ayoto. Tomorrow, at 4 o'clock outside of school, I, Yusuke Kitagawa, will change my life forever, and get the girl of my dreams!
His happiness at its highest level since the day began, Yusuke confidently pushed the bathroom door open, ready to pleasure himself.
He saw Chadusuke fucking Ayoto from behind right in the middle of the bathroom. They didn't even go into a stall or anything: her hands were against the sink as she bent over, a look of sheer pleasure on her face as Chadusuke kept ramming her with his sizable anaconda.
For the second time that day, Yusuke gave a loud, blood curdling scream. They didn't seem to notice.
"That's it! I'm shooting up my school!"
Akira sighed. He often found himself doing that whenever he spoke to Yusuke during one of his many episodes of excitement.
"Yusuke, you are not going to shoot up your school."
"I am out of options, Akira! This is the only way! I cannot go on living with fucking Chadusuke in my school, I refuse!"
"The fuck's a Chadusuke?"
"I will have my revenge Akira, I will! I don't care how many people I need to take down with me, I will do it!"
When Akira suddenly got a call from Yusuke in the middle of class, he was expecting it to be something related to No Nut November. However, he never thought that the gauntlet would be so difficult for the artist to go through that he would resort to committing mass murder. In fact, Akira expected Yusuke to be the last person to go ballistic like this. Sure, the guy jerked off a lot, but unlike Akira, Ryuji, and Morgana, Yusuke had art to keep him company, whereas the other boys just resorted to playing with their dicks whenever they weren't doing anything important. Yusuke also had the added benefit of being the smartest person out the four of them, by far. He would probably get lost trying to find his way out of a paper bag and had the common sense of Crayon Shin-Chan, but he had an uncanny amount of mental fortitude and creative energy. Shouldn't Yusuke, of all people, be able to find a way to defeat his urges during No Nut November?
"I'm going to be running some errands after class today, and then you, me, Morgana, and Ryuji are all gonna meet up at LeBlanc and find a way to sort all this out. We're gonna find a way to beat No Nut November once and for all, and when we do, you're gonna be able to jerk off again. Would like you that, Yusuke? Will that calm you down?"
Akira tried to speak in as soothing a voice he could, but he couldn't manage to hide a bit of an edge in his inflection. Like Morgana and Ryuji, Akira really didn't have the time to deal with his friends' bullshit right now, especially since he was already spending most of his mental energy trying to stop himself from nutting.
"I… I…" Yusuke stammered. The boy sighed through the phone. "I suppose it would."
"Good, glad to hear it. Swing by at like 6?"
Yusuke didn't reply.
"Yusuke, buddy, c'mon, I'm missing class here."
"Akira. Have you ever felt… Like you were worthless?"
"What?" Akira knew that he probably shouldn't brush his friend off, but he didn't have the energy to deal with Yusuke's cryptic nonsense. "Uh, no, not really. I'm a Phantom Thief after all. And I have a bunch of great friends who love me, you included."
"Ah." If Akira's answer made Yusuke feel any better, he certainly didn't show it. "Thank you, Joker. Of course. You're right. My friends."
"Yeah."
Silence.
"Okayyyy, so I'm gonna head to class now," Akira said. "See you at six."
"See you."
"And no shooting up the school."
"Of course."
Akira hung up and shook his head.
Yusuke Kitagawa. Sheesh, you think you know a guy. I guess a man's true colors only make themselves apparent after he stops jerking off.
Stuffing his phone back into his pocket, Akira trudged back to class, casting a wistful glance at the bathroom.
Author's Notes:
See? I told you guys it was pretty fucked.
Some of you might be kind of frustrated by how slow this story is going. There are a lot of things that I want to cover and establish before I speed things along. I promise you, things will go by much quicker once I get the second part of this chapter out. I'm not planning on having every single day of No Nut November take multiple chapters, haha.
What did you guys think? Has the quality of writing gone down? Do you not like the direction the story is taking? Please, by all means, I want you guys to roast my shit if you have things to roast. Don't worry about hurting my feelings, I assure you that I have none, all I care about is improving my writing skills and making this story the best it can possibly be.
As a side note, I'll be taking questions! Leave a review or PM me, and ask me any question you like, and I'll answer it either in the author's notes of the next chapter or in a PM. Seriously, ask me anything you guys want, I will answer literally anything (aside from things that would make me give info that's too personal, of course). Ask, and you shall receive!
Thanks for reading this far, thanks to all the wonderful support you guys have been giving me, and thanks for being great! See you next time!
I really need a girlfriend.
-Kiril