Chapter 6: Bloodhound, Part I
(Notes attached at the end)
Makoto dragged herself through her house door and into a dimly-lit living room reeking with sake. Cheap izakaya sake. She switched on the living room lights to reveal Sae sleeping (barely) on the couch, her work suit unbuttoned to expose a slightly brown-stained office blouse; and various things from the TV stand scattered on the floor.
Again Sis? This is the second time this week. This is not helping your pallor.
She dropped her bag to scurry over to the kitchen to make some green tea. Her bustling in the kitchen had rustled Sae from her resting place.
"Ughh….Makoto?"
Makoto carried two mugs over to Sae. She then tipped the cup in her right. "Green tea." Then her left. "Water." She set both in Sae's hands. "I'll load on eggs so that you don't get a hangover."
"But…..I already ate out…"
"Sushi with coworkers and sake doesn't count as a balanced diet," Makoto responded, glaring at a recipe book while tempestuously mixing egg yolks. "I swear, if your liver dries up, it's entirely your fault. And then you go ahead and collapse on the couch; your sleep schedule won't get better like this." A few minutes later, she pushed onto Sae a huge portion of omelet.
"C'mon Makoto stop….I can make it in...the mornin'..."
"Eat."
The skin under Sae's eyes was flush. "Makoto…pleaz….can I jus-"
Makoto shoved a spoonful of egg into Sae's mouth. "You can go to sleep when you finish this."
"Oh fine! I'll eat the dam omlet!" Sae, as much as she has chided Makoto on manners in the past, gobbled down Makoto's omelet. She walked tipsily to Makoto, motioning her empty plate. "You wan me to eat de crumbs, too?"
"You may freshen up now and go to bed," Makoto said, giving the most self-satisfied look.
Sae dragged herself towards the bathroom. "Fuggin….'koto…brat."
Under the sound of running showers, she looked more at the damage. There was one casualty of importance: a photo of the Nijimas, current and departed. There was now a crack in the frame, a split between the two sisters. On Makoto's side was a man in a white, collared shirt holding a panda dog bear and attempting to smile. On Sae's side was a delicate-looking woman in a long, purple dress, her hands behind her back and her hair in a spiral braid.
Makoto's chest felt heavier suddenly. She set the fallen items back in their correct places…but not before dusting them off first. She then stopped at her intended destination: under the sheets with her panda dog bear plush. A popular destination during times late into the night, where no lights were to be found.
"Buchi-kun….you're too pure for this world," Makoto doted while caressing Buchimaru's silky, well-cleaned polyester coat.
Her eyes dimmed. Buchi-kun….you feel so nice.
With Makoto's eyes closed, she fell into the scene. Makoto now found herself in the presence of a bright, orange light. In front of her was a dark, slender man; she couldn't see the details of this man nor could she put a bead on this man. But she could feel the warmth. Maybe not from him, but from whatever was behind him.
She kept on petting the fur, pushing the plush more into her.
The tingling warmth of the sun hitting her body made her reach out to him. She took slight steps, her right arm outreached and her heartbeat accelerating with each step. She took more steps forward, her tingling now becoming a throbbing. By the time she got within inches of where the man's face would be, her heart kept punching her ribcage. The ripples she saw were forming into jet-black curls.
She reached out to try and touch this mystery man's face. Her fingers made contact. However…
"You've extended yourself too much, dear."
The man uttered those words and then twisted Makoto's wrist around and tossed her over the blurry outlines of his shoulder blades.
The burning pain she started to experience now turned into an intense, dull throbbing, now throughout her body. She couldn't move, too, and this dark figure now stood over her.
Then, their noses were inches apart. Then, from the specter, a bloodcurdling screech:
"GET UP AND DO IT AGAIN!"
Makoto opened her eyes and found herself back under her bed covers. Oh no! The rally! I'm not going to have enough time to study tomorrow!
She tumbled onto the floor to then crawl to her desk. She then slammed the power switch on her desk light and then forced herself to review for Japanese until she could fall asleep again.
4/13
Akira woke up heavier than yesterday, with the sun poking him in the eyelids. He still felt the hooves weighing down on his sternum. Ryuji's Providin DID only so much, Akira lamented.
With his rusty joints, he stepped out of his bed. He then looked down at his knees. Ok….I think I can move fine. He hobbled on the creaky attic floor to the pile of clothes in the opposite corner. Though, in doing so, he had to do a double take at the shrine he hastily made last night.
The hell? Why is the bowl empty? He took a closer look. Licked clean too? Seriously?
He held off further thought to change for school; he remembered the volleyball rally was today.
His legs looser now, he walked down to LeBlanc proper in his Shujin uniform. He, despite his lingering mental fog, noticed that Sojiro was busy in the back.
As expected.
"Hmm….we'll do chocolate today," Sojiro murmured to himself.
"Uhh…Sojiro, did you take a step upstairs when I was asleep?"
Sojiro turned his head around. "No; probably just the wind rattling the wood."
Akira scratched the back of his head with his hands, which felt like they were encased in concrete. Wind…right.
"Now eat up already. And don't scarf it like you did the last time."
Akira looked at his phone. "Sorry, but the train is leaving soon. Going to have to."
Sojiro grunted. "Fine. It's your health, kid."
Akira furiously gobbled his curry within minutes and then took off running, lifting hastily his heavier-feeling book bag. Must be that much fatigue, Akira thought as he exited on the side streets. Akira though was more focused on making it to the line.
A few minutes of strained sprinting later, and Akira inched through the closing doors of his train. Squeezing through the stuffed cabin, he was lucky enough to find an open seat. A good thing so, since I don't think I would be able to stand on the train with my bag on my shoulder. Akira then began to open his bag. I can't be imagining things; my bag feels a LOT heavier. Just what is even in my…
Akira's eyes widened. An uninvited, black, furry guest tagged along. And still sleeping too. A closer look revealed its white muzzle vibrating gently. Suddenly it rustled more, and its eyes opened to reveal blue irises. Its head turned to meet Akira and its long, slender, white-tipped tail was now erect.
"Meow…meow….man what a nap!" it yelled. "Now about that deal. Do you know how…"
Akira frantically shut his bag. He panted heavily. what the….I….can't be….was that talking real?...and…it sounded familiar.
His guest thrashed violently, as a trapped animal would. Akira, now lured in, opened the bag again.
"Hey, you think you can screw me over after saving your ass in Palace and I wouldn't find you!?"
"…Morgana?"
"How dare you leave-"
Akira zipped up his bag and desperately buried it in his torso. "Morgana, you idiot!" Akira said under his breath. "Can't you keep quiet? All these people are going to freak out if they see a talking cat!" He looked up, fear in his eyes, only to see a few perked ears in the stuffed car train.
A kindergarten student, who sat with his father across from Akira, hopped in his seat. "Daddy, I think I saw a cat meow in that kid's bag!"
"Nonsense," the father replied. "He's just a regular normal teenager. Though….I guess I DID hear a meow from somewhere. Oh well…"
"I don't believe it," Akira uttered to himself. "How…"
Morgana poked his snout out slightly. "I can't say how that's possible. But based on how long I've been in this world, then it might be that just those who visit the other world can hear me."
'Other world? You mean the one with the Castles?"
"Right."
"That's so, huh?" Akira replied while slinking back into his seat "Well then, I guess you being a cat…"
Akira's heart sunk. A cat! Shit….I can't bring a cat onto the school premises!
But…I can't just abandon Morgana now on the subway!
He stared down into the hole Morgana made. "Morgana, can you just bear with me for today?"
"What do you mean, 'bear'?! I've had to 'bear' your shi..."
Akira zipped his bag. "Play nice; I have to go to school, but if I'm discovered with a pet, I would definitely be in trouble. And for you, I can't guarantee I'd be able to keep you at home if my guardian knew, either by himself or from the school, that I was keeping a stray cat."
"Who you callin' a stray?" Morgana said while thrashing in the bag. "You rude ass-"
Akira pressed on his bag. "Play. NICE. And I say 'stray' since that's what people are going to conclude when a random cat walks anywhere. Especially without RF tags. Do you know what happens when someone can't keep strays?"
From the bag came a whimper. "For some reason, I do."
Wait, how does he know...Whatever. Back to the conversation at hand. "Well...good. I've going to have to store you away. Probably in my gym locker. If you want to talk about Palaces or whatever that compelled you to come over here, you need to wait until the end of the day. And stay quiet too."
"...Is the locker at least comfortable?"
"Uhhh...it's snug."
The rally was fifteen minutes in, but to Makoto, who sat by the sidelines, it felt like an hour. She stared at the scoreboard. Teachers: 13, Students: 2. She sighed and did her best emulation of the Thinker.
Did I rack my brain planning stuff like this?
Across the way towards the back of the gymnasium were Ryuji and Akira, sitting back. Akira had his phone out. Probably playing a game. I'm somewhat envious. She looked at his curls. I have the sudden urge to pet Buchi-kun now…
Kamoshida jumped up to spike. Another point for the teachers.
Makoto groaned. I'm just ashamed I didn't suggest something better.
Across the way:
Akira had his crosswords app out. "Four words…for administer….'Mete' perhaps?"
Ryuji for some reason thought chewing on a toothpick he found in his gym pockets would alleviate his boredom. "This is boring as hell." He slunk down on the gymnasium wall. "I almost feel sorry for some of the guys on the student team."
"Even that one guy I overheard on the way to school that thought that the rally would be a good way to observe Kamoshida's spiking technique?" Akira said, still staring at his phone.
"Even that dude."
Akira figured he'd at least watch a bit before going back to his phone. On the teacher's side: a bunch of regular school teachers and coaches mixed in, with Kamoshida as the lead spiker. On the student's side: the volleyball team, whose faces spanning from scared to apathetic. The students scrambling all over their side of the field, attempting to meet Kamoshida's attacks. Jeez, they're like a bunch of people stranded in a sea full of sharks. On the sidelines: an assortment of students, mostly female, swooning over Kamoshida carrying the game. Makoto sat on a chair, leaning fully on her hands so that her knuckles covered her mouth. Her furled eyebrows though told him enough. At the corner closest to them was Ann, also seated, eyeing nervously at her blonde, bushy pigtails.
"Still sticks out…Hasn't changed a bit," Ryuji commented.
"You know Takamaki-san?" Akira replied.
"Eh…we went to the same middle school."
"Same middle school? Were you two close?"
"Close enough, I guess?"
"You guess?" Akira chortled.
Ryuji then combed his dirty blonde hair his fingers, and then looked at back at Ann, still nervously preoccupied with her twin pigtails. "Yeah. Close enough."
Everyone has their secrets, I suppose….Akira mused. His eyes then darted to Makoto, still ruminating on her chair. Though, not for long, for she broke her pose to dart her eyes towards her distant observer.
Kurusu-kun, stop taunting me with your curly hair…
The ball was on Kamoshida's side. One of the regular teachers set up the shot; Kamoshida took the kill. He jumped up readily and sent down the ball with lightning speed. A boy with black hair and an unassuming presence attempted to block it, but got knocked onto the ground.
Makoto, seeing him knocked down, now felt springy, ready to launch off her seat and drag him to the sideline. The boy though got back up.
On the teacher's side, the coaches were laughing. "Nice toss," Kamoshida chimed while giving a high-five to the first-year Biology teacher, Mr. Tanimura. "You still got it coach!" Tanimura said.
"Thanks! Let's go for one more!" Kamoshida responded, high as a kite. Akira saw him take another glance at Takamaki, only for her to turn away, grasping one of her buns. He then noticed a scowl and flaring nostrils for a brief moment before his game face came back.
Everyone readied for another round. The black-haired boy though didn't bother, still wanting to remain in the back. He then took a few steps back more, his head noticeably down.
What is that kid trying to do? Akira wondered. Get a ball to the face?
Another chain of setups on the teacher's side.
Akira then remembered the incident with Morgana. "Hey, Ryuji, we probably meet up after the search and talk about something. Something...weird happened today. With Mor-"
Then, another of Kamoshida's attacks, and as a result, another set of starry-eyed girls on the side, cheering at Kamoshida's raw power. The ball whizzed through the air to meet that acquiescent kid's face. After the sound of the rebound, the boy fell back, oddly with an eased expression.
Kamoshida then went under the volleyball net and rushed over to meet the boy. "Hey, are you alright, Mishima? Somebody take him to the nurse's!"
Makoto rushed over. "I can take him, Kamoshida-sensei. He seems to be able to stand up." Barely; though now, this allows me to confirm something, now that I think about it. A shame it must be at a student's expense. Without any help, she dragged the disoriented Mishima out of the gym door.
"This, unfortunately, might be our time to exit and start our search," Akira commented. "I mean, while everyone is distracted that is. Don't want to draw too much attention on leaving."
"Yeah, I guess you're right. Man, what an abusive d-bag, pretending to care about Mishima like that."
The two then walked quietly to the gymnasium door to exit out through the space Makoto made. Turning opposite from Makoto's attention, Akira took another look back at the net to see Takamaki staring at him, only to turn away.
Dragging Mishima into the infirmary wasn't too much for Makoto. Heading into the window-lit, sterile room, Makoto laid a now-alert Mishima onto a spare bed. The nurse was not in yet, though Makoto expected her to be in at any moment.
"Are you alright, Mishima-kun? That volleyball hit seemed quite hard."
"Yeah...I'm fine," Mishima replied, still having a circular, red imprint on his face. "My face is a bit tingly, but...I feel alright."
As much as I am ashamed of this, I'm relieved the nurse isn't here yet. "Hold on, Mishima-kun; I can get some ice in the meantime." The fridge was obvious enough, though, the record storage wasn't. Unfortunately (or fortunately, to some) the school was reluctant about digitizing records; for what reason, Makoto couldn't tell from the council-faculty exchanges. But, they were probably here somewhere. She had to try.
Makoto walked back from the fridge with an ice-pack. "Here, Mishima-kun. It will ward off the swelling."
"...T-thanks."
"Now, you probably should keep it on your face for at least 15 minutes." At least, until I'm done.
"15? That's not necess-" Mishima then noticed Makoto's overwhelming, stern expression. She then motioned towards the ice-pack. "...F..Fine," Mishima then said, as he placed the ice-pack on his face.
Perfect. "Remember to keep it on your face." She then walked silently to the cabinets, which were back on the other side of the room. Four shelves in total. She then slowly opened the shelves, from left to right, to see how they were ordered. Her eyes turned to Mishima's file. Let's see your history then. A lift of the file with the tips of her fingers. Then, slow and deliberate scrolling reveals the gruesome details: fractures in his hands; sprains, severe swelling. Then a note: "Suppressing; orders from superior." Suppressing? It can't be-
"Uh, Nijima-san?"
Makoto, in a panic, shoved Mishima's file back in, turned around and closed the cabinet. Luckily, Mishima still had the ice-pack over his face.
"Uh, what was that noise?"
Makoto relaxed herself. "Nothing. Just me knocking into something by accident."
"Ok...well, should I keep this thing on? I think I feel better already."
"I insist."
"But-"
"I, INSIST."
"Alright! Ok!"
Makoto then turned back to the drawers to scan once more. She then remembered she brought her phone on her today. Good thing so, since I need some form of evidence. If I remember how to operate the phone camera here first... A few snaps later, she turned to the file for "Shiho Suzui." Finding it only revealed the same conditions listed, and more: Swelling and lacerations in the upper thighs and torso. And once again, the same note: "Suppressing; orders from superior."
Another volleyball member: Suppressing.
Another: Suppressing.
Ten files later, and Makoto felt her heart sunk. She sat on the nearest hospital bed. This is turning nasty. I would never imagine there'd be a conspiracy at play here...Though, now, it's making more sense. And to think, what the nurse meant by "superior"? Is Kobayakawa involved? A superintendent?
She turned to find Mishima still holding the ice-pack on his face. "Mishima-kun, might I see your face for a minute?"
Mishima then feebly moved the bag to show the swelling from before mitigated, the redness from before gone from his cheeks, even though he had some small cuts around his cheek.
"You seem ok," Makoto commented. "I would still wait for the nurse to come...but it's not going to send you home for today."
Mishima seemed to get worse after she said that. "O-oh...I see."
"Mishima-kun...something tells me you wanted to go home today."
"I'm tired. Just...really tired. Unwell." He paused, his voice cracking. "I'm...I don't feel so good."
You're scared. And now, I understand why. " Perhaps you should go home today."
Mishima's eyes lit up a bit. "Yeah...perhaps I should. But-"
"Just leave right when school ends. Don't talk to anyone."
"Yeah." Mishima smiled weakly. "I guess I'll do that."
"Well, I should get back. I am the President after all."
"I suppose so."
She headed towards the door, grimacing. Yes...what a fine president you are, when you can't do anything useful.
"Nijima-san, take care of yourself. Everyone's anxious about nationals." He paused. "Kamoshida included. I hope you won't cause a disruption."
Makoto stopped at the door to turn around. "Just focus on recuperating. The nurse should come soon." She then opened the door and headed back into the hallway.
The duo found themselves back in Akira's classroom, Class D, to check off one potential confession based on what Ryuji remembered from the Castle. In the corner of the room was a volleyball player, wrapped up in a heavy amount of arm bandages and staring at a roster posted on the chalkboard.
Akira still had a creeping sense of futility regarding their endeavors, but he had promised Ryuji after all. Akira poked the player's back to draw his attention. That, however, startled him more than expected.
"W-What?" the timid player replied.
"Excuse me, might I ask how you got those injuries?" Akira replied.
"Wait a minute, you're that transfer student. No surprise you're skipping out," he replied, with a noticeable unease. The player then noticed Sakamoto. "Y-you too, Sakamoto? What do you guys want?"
"Well, I guess I was trying to be polite, but I'll be more direct," Akira answered. "If Kamoshida is abusing you, say so now. We won't tell anyone."
"T-that's ridiculous! What are you talking about?"
"Dude you should take him on his word!" Ryuji yelled. "Those injuries aren't normal! Kamoshida did that to you, didn't he?"
"This is ridiculous! Just...leave me alone!"
Crap, that didn't turn out so well. Akira then dragged Ryuji, who seemed intent on badgering this second-year, out of his homeroom. "Ryuji, I don't think he's our guy."
"I'm still surprised he's still covering for that asshole despite that screwed up arm of his!" Ryuji then looked at the time on his phone. "Damnit, we only have so much time before the game ends and everyone leaves."
"We can split up," Akira replied. "You have my number; just keep me updated on where to go."
"Sounds like a plan," Ryuji said while nodding. "Your next best bet is a third year on 3-C. Takahashi is his last name."
"Got it."
Akira had then walked up to the third floor. More students were creeping into the hallways, as other rally activities wrapped up.
Right when Akira walked up the stairs, though, Makoto crept in, just missing Akira by a few seconds. I suppose what I CAN do at this point is virtually plead and hope that for some person, their pain and suffering outweighs their fear. I'll just try to do the same thing before to keep things discreet. I'll need to do this carefully since the threshold for whistleblowing to an authority figure outside the school will be higher. She went to the timid volleyball player at the chalkboard, now panting heavily after his "interrogation."
"Kitano-kun, may I-"
"Miss President!"
A polite pause. The bandages are thicker today than previous days I've seen him. "Kitano-kun, may I ask how practice is going? I hope it's not too-"
"Nope! Everything's fine! J-just tell Kobayakawa that I won't disappoint him!"
"Kobayakawa? But why would I do-"
"I'm sorry Miss President, but I have to prepare for practice soon!" He bowed quickly and walked briskly out of the classroom.
Somehow, he's more evasive today. Just what triggered him to act so weird-
Makoto then heard the whispers around her:
"Why is the Student Council President here?"
"Probably just to butt in like she usually does."
"No kidding; though, to be fair, Kobayakawa probably is nervous and wants Kamoshida to win. Makes sense for him to send her to keep tabs on everyone."
"Yeah, I just wish though she didn't have to be a Goody Two-Shoes about it."
She snarled. Goody Two-Shoes?! And do these students know how loud they're be-
"Oh well. Better her butting in than the transfer student. Seriously, why is HE asking about if Kitano's abused instead of, I dunno, holding someone up. I just want Shujin to win already!"
Her eyes widened. Transfer student? Why is Kurusu-kun asking about this? How much does he know about this? She then reached out to the nearest student. "Where did the transfer student go, by chance?"
"Up the stairs to the third floor it looks like. Did he stab someone?"
She grinned. "No. I just need to talk to him, that's all." ...For a long while.
For Akira, 3-C didn't seem promising either. His next target, Takahashi, seemed like a stereotypical jock, talking to another third year with a volleyball near his waist and his chest puffed like a quail. Walking towards him, Akira could hear the conversation he was having:
"...Cleaning up after the rally is going to be such a pain." Takahashi then noticed Akira was now right next to him, arms in his sweatpants pockets. "You got something to say, transfer student?" He then said, in a haughtier, more assertive tone.
Overcompensation…yawn.
"I do in fact. I'm wondering why you're trying to cosplay as a pirate during school hours."
"Huh?"
Akira took off his glasses to rub his eyes. "The injuries. Why your right eye is wrapped up in multiple layers of gauze."
"...It's from practice."
"Hey, I know this dude," the other third-year interjected, glaring intensely at Akira. "He's that transfer student that hangs out with Sakamoto."
"Great," the Quail replied. "Another snoop? Look kid, nationals are coming up. The stakes are high; of course Kamoshida has to train us hard. It's just his dedication at work here."
Akira adjusted his glasses. "That's corporal punishment; is your worldview so warped from the head injuries you've received during practice?"
"S-Shuddup! Like you'd know what corporal punishment even means!" the Quail squawked.
"Dude, be careful," his friend chimed. "He might just set off and attack us. I even heard he carries a knife around."
Akira's eyes dimmed. "No, you just probably hover around internet forums too much."
"Now, now Kurusu-kun, I hope you're not causing trouble." It was a familiar, dignified...and slightly overbearing voice coming from his left.
Akira turned to meet his de facto observer with a soft grin. "Not at all, Prez. I was just asking why Takahashi-senpai looks like he just went through a war zone."
"We're just going to exit, Miss President," Takahashi replied, now with a sense of urgency. "We won't let Kobayakawa and the others down." He then exited down the hallway with his friend. Something Akira took notice of.
"Well Prez, now we're alone. What do you want?"
"Student Council Room. Third Floor. Now," Makoto replied.
Akira sighed. "Is it that important? I need to-"
"Yes. Please come at this moment," she replied earnestly and with a fixed glare.
Akira didn't forget about Ryuji, particularly since the rally was going to end soon. But her earnestness was another, bigger can of worms. I rather not force her to use the "Student Council President" card. "Fine. Make it quick."
"We should come separately. I can guess what you're trying to do. Which is why you don't need any more attention on top of being the 'infamous transfer student."
"Fine. I'll circle around quick."
The two separated, taking separate paths through the school until both arrived separately at the Student Council Room on the third floor, just a few minutes apart. Akira appeared last in the room, not forgetting to lock the door or to leave the lights off.
"Shoot," Akira uttered.
"What do you know about the volleyball team and their injuries?" Makoto said, laying back by the trophy rack.
Shit, straight to the point. These stupid ass rumors don't help me one bit! What do I say?; I can't just mention to her about the Castle. No way in hell. And I can't bring Ryuji into this. This whole business needs to be kept as contained as possible. I should, unfortunately, humor her slightly. She might insist anyway, however. I have to try. "That they, on average, looked screwed up near beyond recognition. That they cover up for potential abuse, most likely from their coach, Kamoshida."
Makoto cocked her head to the side. Just in a couple days. I would commend him openly if he did it subtly. "What else?"
Sexual harassment? Possible, but I would be giving too much already. "That's it. Everyone else seems to ignore them. It made me curious."
Makoto sighed and paused. "Is it just you asking around?"
"I'm doing this for a friend. I'm not telling who. But to answer this question, yes. He's too scared to ask."
"Fine. I won't ask you to name your 'friend.'" Makoto replied.
Akira looked bemused. "So what, Miss President? Are you going to tell me all of this is a waste of time and ask me to stop?"
Her face softened. "I just don't want you to get hurt. You might end up in a worse position than you are."
"You know my record. Can't really imagine anything worse that could happen," Akira replied.
Makoto eyes scrunched as she walked towards Akira. "Akira-kun, don't give me that lazy attempt at indifference. Kamoshida already has you in his crosshairs. I saw that spiel of yours with him the other day when you were running late. As much as I was...amused by it, such shows of insolence only paint a bigger target on your back. And a teacher like Kamoshida could make it impossible for you to have any future." She wrung her hands. "Especially with faculty support."
Akira raised an eyebrow. "Faculty support? Don't tell me faculty members are actually supporting this abuse."
"Sadly, it's very likely that is the case."
Akira continued, his hands on his waist and his head off to the side. "Prez, who's covering for him?"
She stared off to the side, her arms crossed. "I probably shouldn't say it, but I do know in the most reduced case, it's someone higher than a teacher...maybe Kobayakawa. I'd hedge my bets on him at the very least."
Notwithstanding her openness, she still makes me uneasy in more ways than one. "And him being the one you answer to, that raises possibilities. You could be trying to keep your personal investigation hush-hush." I hope you are. "Or you're trying to contain this as best as you can. On his orders."
She sighed. "It's reasonable that you're suspicious of me. But, at the very least, if I'm telling you to stop, it's because I'm doing it not to protect the school's name, but to look out for you."
Akira took a minute to process. And here I thought what I saw before between Kamoshida and Kobayakawa in the hallway was brown-nosing. Maybe at worse complicity. But an active cover-up? Damn. And now...it seems like she's going to be caught up in the middle. He then gritted his molars. No, she, the 'nosy ass braided Class President' already is. Akira's mind drifted to his last time in the Castle. He then spoke, while hard time looking Makoto in the eye. This might not work, but I have to lead her away gently. And fast. "There's always something I can go back to." His mind for a moment drifted to the garage at home, full of parts, and that brought him a little glimmer of self-delusion. "I'm just the transfer student on probation, and you're the Student Council President that's going to take entrance exams. You have a lot on your plate. There's no point in worrying-"
"Be quiet. You may tell yourself that, but I believe that anyone can be more than just a delinquent transfer student, including you." She closed the distance. "Do you also want me to talk about your national exams from last year?"
"...No, Nijima-san." Akira felt her presence squeezing his throat. "You don't need to. But that's just the past."
"A past that can be your present again."
I...cant.
"But at this rate, you won't be in a position to reach that," Makoto added. "That would be most unfortunate."
His mind drifted back to times past, locked deep in the back of his mind; of dark fields, impromptu cattle prods, and kilowatts of self-gratification; and of cop cars, cold, concrete cells, and the face of a wrinkly, haggard man talking to him on the other side of a plexiglass window. And, in the end, it made him disgusted in places and excited in others."
I...shouldn't.
His glasses started to feel heavy, so he took them off. "That's the past you just want to see. I can't be the virtuous, obedient student like you imagine me, because I never was that. And I never will be. If it makes you any better, I'm not going to try to administer vigilante justice or just try and ruin Kamoshida's day since I don't like him. I'm just doing a favor for a friend. Nothing special. Anything good that comes from it, fine. But I'm not going to search for it." He then paused, somewhat taken aback. That should have been a simple response. Why does it feel...personal?
Futhermore...why do I feel a bit like a wimpy cunt when I say it?
Makoto resigned herself, pulling her head down so that her head was only a few inches from his breastbone. Then, she smiled weakly. "Mind if you hear me out?"
"Sure."
"You remind me of someone that I knew. He was a terrible liar."
Akira's heart stopped.
The intercom then announced the end of the day, and the students were forming in mass outside.
My chance. "I should go." Akira unlocked the door hastily to leave.
"I wasn't finished!" Makoto cried out. She was too late though. When she opened the door to give chase, he disappeared into the river of students outside.
Akira walked as fast as he could out of the building and to the courtyard, the courtyard being the only place where he could get a drink on late notice.
"Why not give her a detailed itinerary while you're at it, Ren-ren," he muttered to himself between exasperated breaths. "It'll be slightly better than what you just did back there.'
He took a deep breath and sipped the Dr. Salt Neo dispensed. "Damn her. Ryuji and I are kind of screwed already. She doesn't have to join the club."
He then remembered Ryuji and opened his phone:
Akira: "Courtyard. We can talk there before we head off."
"Besides, what does she want me to be? Someone that can just will things to be whatever I want? I already tried that, and I'm not going back to that arrogant, destructive mindset."
The malaise in his chest and the flashes of THAT bald, sunglasses-wearing asshole in the suit said otherwise. He figured he needed another sip.
"Can I talk to you for a second?"
Akira turned around to see Ann from his class walking up to him. "What is it?"
"It'll be quick. I need to know what's up with you. You know, with you lying about why you were late and all."
"Just Kawakami trying to make me look good. I'm...not good with subways," Akira replied, laughing it off.
"Rrright...and let's also add too that weird rumor about you."
Akira groaned. 'Which one? I don't have all day, but I can say it's probably not true."
"Hey!" Ryuji cried, coming into scene. "What do you even want with him anyway, Ann?"
Ann's neutral outlook quickly turned into a furled gaze directed at Ryuji. "Right back at you. You're not even in the same class."
"...We just got to know each other, that's all," Ryuji replied.
Expertly handled, Akira voiced in his head.
Ann resumed. "Now, what are you guys going to do to Mr. Kamoshida?"
"What? Oh...I see. Gotcha. You're all buddy-buddy with him after all."
"What the hell does that even mean?" Ann replied, her head more forward towards Ryuji.
"I mean that you'd dump his ass if you knew what he's doing behind your back!" Ryuji cried back.
Akira couldn't help but smile at the proceedings. Ryuji, you idiot. You obviously weren't paying attention enough to her.
Ryuji sighed. "You wouldn't get it anyway."
Ann recomposed herself. "Anyways, this is a fair warning. Nobody's going to help you."
"I noticed," Akira retorted. "Rumors do that. Besides, we aren't planning anything."
Her voice now was drained of any life in it. "...Couldn't help but try, just in case. That's all." Ann then walked off.
"Why she gotta be so aggressive?" Ryuji complained.
"She seems annoyed," Akira replied. "And hey, don't ask me, you're her old middle school friend."
"Pfft. She's been like this since middle school."
An idea then fizzled Akira's mind. "So, has that unrequited love of yours been like that since middle school as well?"
"That's not what we've been talking about!" Ryuji replied, turning away momentarily. "Look, about Kamoshida. Any luck?"
"Take a wild guess," Akira deadpanned.
"Well, you're in luck. Guy by the name Mishima. I found another first year on the team who spilled the beans. He just joined, and he's receiving a lot of 'special coaching'. Now that I think about it, the bruises every day give him anyway."
"So you think if he's new, he's-"
"-Our best chance to rat out our favorite gym teacher."
Akira closed his eyes and bobbed his head to the side, arms crossed. "We can give it a shot. You probably are onto something; a new guy like him might not be so hopelessly complicit. It's a stretch but...let's check him out."
Ryuji suddenly went alert. "Wait, I think I see him walking away from the gym. Guess he's not going to practice today after the rally."
"Probably a good time to ask him then."
"Oy, Sakamoto! I'm talking to your nosy ass!"
The duo turned to see a group of marginally athletic, overtly displeased students walking towards them.
"Shit!" Sakamoto said through his teeth. "They're pissed again, are they?"
"Ryuji, what did you do while I was gone?" Akira wondered.
"They're...the old track team. Seems like word of me looking for dirt on Kamoshida spread already."
"Why the hell would they care?"
Ryuji continued to whisper. "It's my fault. That whole mess I had before with Kamoshida took away their shot at competing in the championships. They...don't like me shitting on any chance Shujin has at sports."
Akira looked back at the approaching crowd of several athletes to see them scowling still.
"Yo, Akira, get going after Mishima. I'll be fine."
"Wait are you sure?" Akira said wide-eyed.
"They're not gonna hit me. They're just going to chew me out. Just go already! I'll see if I can't give it another shot somewhere else, ok?"
Damnit. "Ok then. I'll try to see what I can get out of Mishima then. Take care then."
Akira left Ryuji behind; he caught up with Mishima in the main hallway. "Mishima-kun? Spare a second?"
Mishima swiveled around. Upon seeing his face, Akira had to do a double take. The volleyball marks were weeping, only held back with some dinky band-aids. "I...don't feel too well. I'm heading home early. What do you need?" he answered, his shoulders getting noticeably heavier.
For Akira, the blood pooling on the blades of Mishima's cheek was distracting. "I'm sorry, are you alright?" Akira replied. "Is that from the volleyball rally?"
"...Yeah...I'm just...not good."
I should be on task. But...that bruising..."You're a first year. I'm guessing you just joined; Kamoshida shouldn't be abusing you during practice."
"Abuse...I…."
Down the hallway:
Makoto, giving up for today on shooing away the "infamous transfer student," walked towards the front of the school, lost in thought. No meetings on my agenda. I need to do some Kanji exercises at home, and the library, unfortunately, lacks an in-depth text on ancient kanji and dialects. I suppose I'll consult the internet on this one.
Passing the main hallway to head on towards the lockers to change, she saw a familiar sight. Something told her to listen and observe for a minute.
"Just be honest with me. Is he covering up? I need you to tell me? Please?" she heard from the transfer student.
"...It's no use. You should give up. Proving that he's abusing us is meaningless."
Akira held his hand in front of him. "Wait, hold on a min-"
"Mishima!"
The cry to Akira's left was from Kamoshida, who walked jauntily towards them. "Practice is the other way."
"I feel sick, sir," Mishima replied.
"Sick? Maybe you're better off quitting then. That type of attitude is not going to help your crappy form unless you show up to practice."
"I'm pretty sure you don't improve anything if you feel sick," Akira retorted.
Kamoshida snorted. "How would you know? You don't look athletic at all. Probably never ran in your life."
Akira smiled, thinking back to the marathon runs his dad forced him to run along. "You'd be surprised."
That grin again, Makoto mused. Why does Akira have to be so smug at the flick of a switch? Still, Kamoshida shaming Mishima like that is inappropriate. She then turned around the corner to step into the fray. "Excuse me, Kamoshida-sensei. Not to be rude, but as the student who dragged Mishima to the infirmary, I would side with Mishima here. He shouldn't go to practice today."
"Ah, Nijima-san. Ultra-careful as always, I see. But you ARE the Student Council President. Not the mom to everyone on the volleyball team who gets a little bruise, and especially not to Mishima here."
This is concerning, Makoto lamented. And here I thought I kept things discreet enough with the room method. I'll need to rethink my overall approach. But first...
"At the very least with Mishima here, being incoherent constitutes a trip to a hospital as soon as possible to rule out a concussion. I hope you would show the same amount of understanding you had on the court this morning with the suggestion for the nurse as you would with a doctor's examination."
"Tch. Nijima-san, do you see him stumbling now? Mishima, you having trouble walking around?"
"...N-no..."
"Then it's settled. And as for you-" He stared at Akira. "Didn't the principal tell you to get into line? Any more trouble from you and you'll be gone from this school for sure. Now Mishima, you coming or not?"
Mishima didn't bother to keep his head up. "-I'll go."
"Mishima-kun, this would a big mistake," Makoto commented. "I would advise-"
"-You to come to practice," Kamoshida interrupted. "Nijima-san, more from you and I'll file a complaint to Kobayakawa myself. Everyone's anxious, especially with these stupid rumors roaming around. You're better off focusing instead of babying others. Shujin Academy is a place where people aspire to learn. To improve. Unworthy students like Mophead and Mama's Boy next to you don't have any right to be here. Get with the program!"
"...Aspire, eh?" Akira uttered.
"...Huh?" Kamoshida quipped.
"What does it say about aspirations when an Olympic gold medalist like yourself ends up in a school instead of a professional training position or a competitor with a sponsorship?" Akira then took off his glasses to clean them, his dead black eyes staring directly at Kamoshida's beady ones. "A simple search can tell you your volleyball contemporaries make triple digit salaries. Some of them are high profile enough to be married to celebrities in the States."
Makoto reflexively kicked Akira in the shins and whispered through the edges of her mouth, "Akira, don't."
Akira didn't budge. "YOU on the other hand, are content with showing off your 'nice' spike on volleyball students like Mishima here." He began to step forward, the image of Shadow Kamoshida with Ann and the comment and his delusion about Makoto flaring in his mind. "And the girls-"
"What he's saying is that we'll be letting you go now," Makoto said, still maintaining her neutral expression while twisting Akira's wrist behind his back to hold him back. I can't believe you've forced me to use my Aikido training to get you to stop. Sensei would be ashamed.
"Just don't get in the way of my practice." Kamoshida began to walk before staring back at Mishima. "Now, Mishima, are you coming?"
"Yes, sir. A minute." As Kamoshida walked away in the direction of the gym, he pivoted to Akira, his head somehow drooping even further than before. "Don't be a pain. You don't know what I'm going through. What the others are going through. All of our parents are in on it too." He rubbed his eyes, accidentally smearing the congealed blood on his cheek. "I don't even care about the nationals anymore. But my parents do. And I can't speak back." The tears were pooling in the cracks of his eyes. "That guy, Sakamoto, from last year, tried that, and look where it got him." He then ran off, still rubbing at his eyes.
For a while, Akira and Makoto stood speechless. Akira then looked at his left hand, which was red as a beet. "You could have gone easier on my hand, Miss President."
Makoto now looked down. "Fragile, hypermasculine egos like Kamoshida's are occupational hazards."
"Much as that is true," Akira replied, still trying to loosen his hand up, "Subtlety isn't my thing. People like Kamoshida deserve the head-to-head approach."
Makoto smiled weakly. "Like I said before, Akira-kun, you remind me of someone who was a terrible liar. You really aren't doing this for a friend. It's quite obvious."
"Nijima-san, can you just let it go al-"
Makoto had a creeping smile. "That person I'm talking about, he always wanted to be the hero. He also didn't believe in subtlety. Preferred to rush blindly into situations, and to lie to others as a way to brush it off. He thought it was nobler that way. I bet you're sort of like that, even though you say otherwise."
Akira's voice got softer. "Well, what about this guy? Why bring him up?"
Her eyes were fixed on his. With a closed hand on her chest and mounting somberness in her voice, she answered: "You REALLY do remind me of him."
"Makoto...I...what..."
"He's also not around anymore. I just don't want that to be the case again." She turned away to hide her rosiness. "Also, I'll let that attempt at first-name basis slide for now. See you later. "
Akira figured he'd at least not pry. Then, he remembered: Shit, Morgana. I should let him...her out. But first...I'm tired of curry. Some quick bread loaves for both of us before we go. He then walked upstairs to get some of the leftover plain rolls from lunch hour. He walked over to the food stall, though, only to find Morgana in the back rummaging through the bread.
"MORGANA! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?"
"Getting food; better than being locked into a sweaty gym locker. Besides I wanted to explore."
"How are you even-It's locked for a reason!"
"A thief's handbook, scrub." Morgana then leaped onto Akira's side of the stall with a plain roll in its mouth. "When you're ready to be serious about my proposition instead of forgetting about me in a cramped, musky locker, I'll be there. Don't worry: I can find where you are. The scent of coffee in your hair is a dead giveaway." He then scurried off.
Akira grunted. "You asshole. Wait...my locker!" Akira then dashed to his gym locker. Somehow, Morgana picked the lock to his locker from the inside; the door was open, and Akira was just lucky no one other than the cat was snooping inside his bag.
After a few minutes, he was changed and ready to go, his gym clothes padding his plastic and metal mementos so that he couldn't see them. And yet, as he hoisted his bag on his back, he still felt ashamed, frightened even. He was fixated by his left hand, which still tender from Makoto's manhandling. She wants more of me, but all I think of now after looking at Mishima are all of the ways I can combine the junk in my bag to create things to main others with. She shouldn't want more of me.
Notes: Apologies for the delay. I haven't been able to work on this chapter as much as expected. Also, my initial draft here was WAY longer, so I had to cut down quite a bit. So now, instead of having one rather long chapter, it's been cut into two. Hopefully the second part will come next week, as now I am not satisfied with the remaining parts of my long draft chapter.
As always, I hope you enjoyed that chapter. Happy 4th of July!