EDIT 02/24 - I'm currently recovering from being under the weather and a lot of IRL preparations for moving, so I'm extending the deadline to MARCH 13TH 2024.
EDIT 12/20 - PLEASE DO NOT SEND OCS IN REVIEWS, THEY'RE ONLY MEANT FOR REVIEWS. DM ME YOUR OCS, AND PLEASE, I'M BEGGING YOU, ACTUALLY USE MY FORM AND REFER TO MY RULES.
Gah, had to repost this chapter because the formatting didn't save last time. Hey all! Welcome to the Survival rewrite, Existing! I welcome everyone to the fic and hope you enjoy the chapters to come!
I'll be accepting a small cast, as this will follow canon events and try to be more in line with HOTD compared to the old version of the fic. It's been ten years since I started (and finished) Survival, and I'd like to try and improve upon its shortcomings with this version.
Again, thank you to those who give it a read! And thank you to those who submit!
00
Brother,
Today's date is April 11th, 2010. The weather is clear, if a little chilly. I am currently at my father's household. (Tokonosu, M Ward, K District, X-X-X)
Are you well?
"Is this really enough for dinner?"
"This?" Ari held up the shopping basket with her brows raised. "I guess."
The old man standing beside her let out a disapproving hum. Inside the basket, the tray of soba and several triangle onigiri packets stared back at him. Alongside them, there was a bottle of Pocari Sweat that Ari had just pulled from the fridge.
"What's wrong with it?" she asked.
The old man—known to his students as Katagami-sensei, but to his friends as Tsukasa—shook his head and sighed. "This isn't a balanced dinner, Ranbato. Why aren't you eating at home?"
This wasn't the first time Tsukasa had happened upon Ari at the convenience store after his classes at the dojo ended for the evening. He'd happened upon her on the rare moments when he'd stopped by for a bento to take home, especially since his wife had long since passed and the eighty-year-old only had so much experience cooking small meals. At first Tsukasa had assumed his star pupil had opted to treat herself after receiving a good deal of praise that day, but the more he snuck in pre-made bentos, the more Tsukasa noticed her sitting outside with a bowl of chigyu or a large melon pan to call dinner, instead of being at home with her family. Some nights, Tsukasa even saw her father pick her up after work, bags under his eyes and apologising to Ari as Ari brushed him off and told him how classes went.
He tried to tell himself that she ate quickly at home before coming to the FamilyMart for an after-dinner snack, but some days she was still unshowered and wolfing down food without much care for who was watching, almost like she hadn't eaten much that day. And some days, she took small groceries that one could hide home with her.
Tsukasa was right to suspect something was wrong when he followed Ari to the convenience store and watched her buy her own dinner and dessert.
"I'm not a fan of how Satsuki-san cooks her meat," Ari excused. "She said I'm allowed to eat something before coming home."
Tsukasa was willing to bet that was a half-truth. When Yuujiro, Ari's father, had brought her to the dojo at just eleven years old and barely able to understand Japanese outside of the basics, it had been made very clear to Tsukasa that Ari was safer at the dojo than at home. She even brought her school supplies with her some days, studying while Tsukasa hosted his morning classes, before joining in for the afternoon ones. Tsukasa never missed that Ari spent more time at the dojo than at home overall—Yuujiro even insisted on it.
Tsukishima Satsuki was not being so welcoming to her husband's first child; not as much as the father himself was, at least.
He may have been an old man, and he may have begun to go senile—enough that his nephew might have to take over the dojo in his place—but Tsukasa wasn't stupid, nor was he blind. Not entirely, at least. But he supposed even a blind man could tell something was wrong with the family dynamic in the Tsukishima home. For Pete's sake, Ari didn't even share her father's surname.
Tsukasa had thought the silver medal she'd earned last year at the national kenjutsu tournament would be enough to raise her standing in the family. Clearly this was not the case.
"You won't even call her your mother?" Tsukasa asked. Ari froze, almost like she'd been caught in her lie, but Tsukasa wasn't exactly calling out one. He'd heard her call Yuujiro's wife by name rather than as her mother before, but Tsukasa simply hadn't brought it up before.
Ari glanced at him, stormy grey eyes almost searching his face, before she looked past him at the shelf.
"Ooh, sakura daifuku," she said, feigning excitement. "You think they have strawberry puree in them?"
She reached past Tsukasa to grab a packet of daifuku. Tsukasa reached out to grab her arm, to turn it over in his hand and look at her skin.
Ari, reflexes sharp as he'd trained them to be, flung back her hand before Tsukasa could grab it.
"Let's not get too carried away, sensei," Ari joked. Her smile was strained as she hid her arm behind her back. "Too much daifuku isn't good for us."
Deflecting, like always. Tsukasa sighed and reached up to pinch his brow, removing his glasses from his nose as he did so. Honestly, this girl was going to send him to an early grave. He may not have been her guardian, but it was times like these that he felt like he was more her guardian than her own father was. His friend was well-meaning, to be sure, and there was no doubt in Tsukasa's mind that the guilt of what happened to Ari's mother was what pushed Yuujiro to keep Ari close by; but the man was overworked and left Ari in Tsukasa's care more than his own wife's, and even if Ari did go home, there was a low chance of her being around anyone. Her sister had her own hard work, and despite being a mere housewife, Tsukishima Satsuki presented herself as her daughter, Yomi's, exclusive manager.
If the woman was so set on continuing her talent scouting and management role, why did she even bother to become a housewife in the first place?
"I swear, girl…" Tsukasa muttered.
Ari innocently tilted her head. When it was apparent he wouldn't reach for her again, she grabbed a packet of sakura and strawberry daifuku and dropped it into her basket.
Tsukasa followed Ari, grabbing his own bento from the fridge as he did so, and he watched her pile sandwiches into her basket alongside her dinner. It was too much to eat tonight, but it was enough food for Ari to take to school with her and snack on at home when she finished training. As well-made as a FamilyMart fruit sandwich was, they were only good for a couple of days before it began to make the bread soggy and the cream sour.
The clerk working the register didn't seem bothered to see the duo. He clearly recognised Ari, greeting her with a chipper, "Good evening, Ranbato-san!" as he scanned her items.
The clerk looked at Tsukasa, though, and let out a surprised sound. Even though he was getting older, Tsukasa was well-known in this part of town as being the nearby kenjutsu dojo's master.
"Katagami-sensei, you too!" the clerk said, stunned. Tsukasa didn't miss the way the clerk paused to ask Ari if she wanted her soba warmed up. Ari politely declined and pointed to a potato mochi on display in the bain marie beside him. The clerk continued to talk as he bagged two for her. "It's rare to see master and student together. Are you preparing for another tournament?"
"Not this time," Ari said smoothly. "Sometimes it's nice to have dinner together. Katagami-sensei is basically my uncle, but we never see each other outside of the dojo. I'd be a terrible niece if I never spoke to him outside of business."
"How nice," the clerk cooed. He totalled Ari's items and accepted her money graciously, handing back the coins in change. He was even quicker with Tsukasa's items, clearly not wanting to keep them waiting for their dinner. As soon as Tsukasa got his bento and drink back, the clerk waved to them both. "I'll keep the light outside on while you eat. Enjoy your meals!"
They ate in silence for a while. Tsukasa watched as Ari dug into one of the potato mochis, offering the other to him, and he didn't say anything while he ate. Truly, he was at a loss for what to do. It was obvious that Ari wasn't flourishing like she could in her current environment. Tsukasa respected his old friend, but even he had to admit when something was too much. Children these days were exposed to far more than his and Yuujiro's generations were. The internet opened them up to a whole new slew of pressure—it wasn't just their families putting pressure on them, but anonymous onlookers with access to their lives who could weigh in as well.
Tsukasa firmly believed that, if Ari wasn't in her current living situation, she'd have won the gold medal at the last tournament. If only she didn't have to hide her treatment for her mental health. If only she wasn't backed into a corner so thoroughly and so often that she lashed out at herself in self-defence. If only someone actually gave her the attention and nurturing she needed.
Tsukasa wiped at his mouth with a napkin and, as he opened his bento, pondered aloud to himself, "Maybe I should become your guardian."
Ari paused, chopsticks loaded with soba and halfway to her mouth. She stared at him, eyes wide and jaw dropped.
"Come again?" she asked.
"Oh, nothing." Tsukasa waved a hand dismissively. But then, he thought, maybe this was a step needed to give her what she required. The only one who seemed to care about her in the Tsukishima household wasn't even home half of the time. Maybe, if she lived with Tsukasa full-time, she might improve. She wouldn't even need to change schools—Tsukasa lived close enough to Fujimi Academy that Ari's walk would be shortened by ten minutes. "Actually, Ranbato—"
"I respectfully decline."
Tsukasa glared at her. Such a rambunctious girl, cutting off an old man before he could even say anything.
Ari let out a heavy sigh, her shoulders sagging. She resumed eating, finally munching on the large amount of soba, and seemed to contemplate what to say. She didn't speak again until she was dipping the next lot of soba into the sauce.
"I mean, think about it logically," she told Tsukasa. "I'm already eighteen. Next year I can attend university, and I'll probably pursue a career in kenjutsu. Hiromi-san already offered a position to be an instructor once I graduate university."
Tsukasa's nephew did? The old man almost wanted to strangle him. Not even retired yet, and already Hiromi was planning on who to hire when he took over Tsukasa's place as the master of the dojo.
"Not only that," Ari went on, "but, sensei, you're already eighty this year. I'd get, at best, another ten years with you. Then what? I move closer to my dad again? Rather than stressing you out with having to deal with my issues, I'd prefer to work hard and try to win a gold medal before you retire. So you can focus on the dojo more."
"Maybe I'd look for someone who can take care of you when I'm gone," Tsukasa said airily. "You don't know what this old man's capable of."
"I'll be twenty-eight. Short of getting married, I don't have much going for me once you're gone. And who would want to babysit someone who's almost thirty, huh?"
Good grief, this girl… Did she think so little of her capabilities that she believed herself to be dead weight? Tsukasa picked at his food with a frown.
"It feels wrong to sit around and do nothing," Tsukasa sulked. Imagine that—him, an eighty-year-old master of the sword, sulking! If his wife were still around, she'd have laughed at him.
Ari sipped her drink between bites of soba. "You're not doing nothing," she reasoned. "You're keeping me busy. Not to mention all the unpaid hours you babysat me."
"And taught you," he sighed. Ari hummed in agreement. He swore, those tutors were useless at times. Ari couldn't even understand the basics of Japanese when Tsukasa was told to watch her. How many years down the line would it have taken for her to learn how to ask for something to be heated up if Tsukasa hadn't taught her during a food run?
Tsukasa frowned some more. He ate quietly for a while, and by the time he spoke up again, Ari was done with her soba. She'd moved on to the triangle onigiri, unwrapping them delicately as she licked her lips. Always a big appetite, he thought. It made sense, given how active she was, but he wondered if Satsuki even let her eat enough to make up for the calories she'd burn while training.
Absently, he asked her, "What dish do you wish you could have for dinner?"
Ari bit into her onigiri and thought about it for a moment. She hummed as she chewed, glaring a hole into the tuna filling inside the rice.
"Omurice with curry," she said eventually. "Satsuki-san made it for me the first week I arrived. Since Dad was around all the time, she was trying to make it look like she was happy to have me in her home. I liked a lot of the food she made, but the omurice and curry for lunch was my favourite." Ari glanced up at him. "What about you, sensei?"
That was an easy one. "I miss my wife's shiogama-yaki," he said. "I never could get the salt mixture right."
"I bet I could make it," Ari mumbled.
He didn't doubt she could, after a few tries.
Tsukasa sniffed and sipped his drink. He watched Ari demolish the rest of the onigiri. As they sat patiently and waited for the usual sight of Yuujiro's car to approach, Tsukasa folded his hands over his lap and leaned back in his chair.
"Maybe you should try to cook it for me," he proposed.
Ari blinked, confused.
"Cook what?" she asked.
"Shiogama-yaki. My wife wrote down the recipe towards the end of her life. She wanted Hiromi's girlfriend to try her hand at it, but the poor woman has no talent for cooking." Tsukasa shrugged. "I've seen the inside of Yuujiro-san's kitchen. You'd have better facilities in my wife's kitchen instead."
The redhead blinked again. She seemed bewildered, guarded. It was always a guarded reaction when someone tried to offer something to her.
"I said you shouldn't bother trying to—" she started.
Tsukasa waved her off with a scowl. "Good grief, girl, I'm offering you my wife's kitchen to try making shiogama-yaki, not trying to convince you to emancipate yourself so I can adopt you. It's rude to make an old man repeat himself, you know."
Despite Tsukasa's annoyed tone, Ari huffed a laugh and smiled. "Sure, sensei. Just don't expect perfect sea bream, okay?"
Even if it wasn't perfect, the nostalgia would work its magic. Tsukasa could say that much with complete certainty.
I've been thinking of taking a vacation overseas lately. It's my last year of high school, and while it's not expected of me, I know I should look into a good university to apply to. It's very difficult to pick between them all, though. I could always apply for a scholarship, but there's a lot of other people my age who are thinking the same thing. I don't think I'm smart or talented enough to make the cut for the scholarships. But I'll be scolded if I aim too low and just settle for a university with a poor education plan.
Did you have this kind of pressure when you graduated? Did you even go to university? It's stupid, but some days I forget the age difference between us. I can't remember if you were still in high school when I left. I'm a pretty terrible sibling, right?
Yomi was pleased when her father walked through the door.
For once, she was pleased he'd brought the leech home with him.
This was months in the making, her mother constantly digging through the stupid foreign girl's things whenever she was out of the house, and it was only a matter of time before Satsuki found something she deemed a reason to kick the leech out of the house. This kind of thing couldn't be done out in the open, lest the neighbours pin the blame on Satsuki for her husband's wandering gaze, and with Yuujiro being the main breadwinner, it wasn't like Satsuki could do much to put her foot down.
Tonight, though, things were going to get juicy. Yomi had made sure to tip off the gossip magazines that wrote articles about her group that something was going to happen at the Tsukishima household—anonymously, of course—and now that Yuujiro and the leech had made it home, it was Satsuki's turn to shine.
Yomi sat in the living room, practically lounging on the couch, as she filed her nails and listened to Satsuki scream at her husband. Satsuki wasn't the only one to do some snooping, no sir, but the evidence Satsuki had against the leech certainly came from Yomi's own digging as well. She saw, in her peripheral, her parents walk through the house as the leech hid behind Yuujiro. She saw, through the doorway leading to the dining room, Satsuki throw empty pill bottles at the leech as she screamed bloody murder.
"Do you want Yomi dead!?" Satsuki screeched at Yuujiro. Her father vehemently denied the accusation, but Satsuki was relentless. "Why are you letting her anywhere near our baby!?"
She could see the red-headed thing try to run past, but Satsuki just started slapping her as she cowered in the hallway. Yomi wasn't disappointed to see her father defend the outsider—if anything, it was just exhausting how he kept trying to jump to her defence. What was so great about some hāfu girl, anyway? Was her mother really all that better than Satsuki? Yomi doubted it. Otherwise, why wouldn't her father divorce her mother sooner?
Why even stay together at all?
The leech yelped and finally pushed away from Satsuki, and Satsuki tumbled to the floor with an exaggerated howl as the leech ran towards the bathroom. Satsuki hollered that she'd been attacked—probably aware that Yomi had tipped off reporters and making a scene, or perhaps she wanted the neighbours on her side if they investigated and knocked on the door—and Yomi just listened as Yuujiro finally blew up at Satsuki and started yelling back.
"She's just as much our daughter as Yomi is!" he shouted.
"I didn't give birth to that thing!" Satsuki screeched. "You made that on your own!"
And on their honeymoon, no less. Men were shameless.
Yomi peeled herself off of the couch and snuck through the house, slinking through the kitchen in order to reach the bathroom without having to pass her parents. They shouted and bickered, screaming about semantics—Ari's my oldest child and deserves that respect, Yuujiro insisted, all while Satsuki screeched, And Yomi is mine, but you don't care about her, do you?—while Yomi crept towards the bathroom door. Over the sounds of her parents arguing and stomping about, Yomi approached the bathroom door and nudged it open. The leech hadn't even locked it properly on her way in.
She stood in the doorway and stared down at the floor, unimpressed at the sight in front of her. Despite how much she tried to play her shitty life off as something that couldn't be helped, there was no way for the freak to deny how close to losing her mind she really was.
The leech that called itself Ranbato Ari was crumpled into a heap on the bathroom tiles, hiccuping and cradling her arm close to her chest like a precious belonging. Her sleeve was rolled up, the bandages around the arm loose and sliding off ever so slowly, and Yomi could see blood seeping through the gauze underneath the bandages—fresh wounds that had only just stopped bleeding, only to be agitated again by Satsuki's rampage. And the freak was scratching at the gauze like it was the most unbearable itch ever known to man.
"You wanna be like us so much," Yomi said quietly, and the leech startled before looking at her with wide, horrified eyes. Try as she might to play the part of the perfect Japanese daughter, she was still the filthy shame that resulted from a night of Yuujiro straying from his wife overseas. "Why don't you use that sword of yours properly and stop with the weak shit on your arms."
The thing just hiccuped even more and started crying harder. She patted down her pockets, clambering for something, and Yomi just scowled down at her. She pulled the last remaining bottle of pills from her skirt pocket—the bottle the little freak had hidden from Satsuki so she and Yuujiro could lie about her instability to their faces—and threw it harshly down at the girl. The redhead flinched, cowered under her hands, and only realised what'd been thrown at her when she opened her eyes to peek at Yomi's movements. She didn't hesitate to dry-swallow the pills, and Yomi just slammed the door behind her as she left the bathroom.
Really, all those flaws had to belong to her whore of a mother. If any of them were even hidden in Yomi's genes, she'd off herself too. Who'd want to live life like that?
The sooner Ranbato Ari gave up and rid the world of herself, the sooner Yomi could go back to a proper life like before. Back to a nice life.
So Yomi didn't hesitate to scream down the hallway, horrified, "There's blood all over the bathroom!"
Yuujiro clearly shoved his wife aside as he barrelled down the hallway, towards the bathroom. He even shoved Yomi aside, though gentler than he did to his wife, it seemed, and he skidded into the bathroom with a cry for his mistake.
Not for the first time, nor the last time, Satsuki and Yomi left the house to stay at Satsuki's sister's house nearby. And Yomi was satisfied as she saw flickers of camera flashes from the garden, putting up the front of a heartbroken and sobbing daughter. No one would be able to say Yomi and Satsuki were in the wrong for this. People knew Tsukishima Yomi of KowaiKawaii had a red-headed sister, and the leech had been posted a couple of times to message boards for tips on how to tell her and Yomi apart if Yomi left the house in a red wig. Who cared if she won a silver medal in a kenjutsu tournament? Who cared if she was on national TV thanks to it? If anything, people would make the connection faster and Yomi would have the house to herself—her own parents to herself—even quicker.
Speaking of siblings, how's our little sister doing? She should be about eight now, right? Time really flies. I wish I could've sent a present over these past few years, but I wasn't sure exactly where to send it. Or if, y'know, it'd even be accepted. I figured stuff from me isn't exactly welcomed in the household.
It can't hurt to try, though. What kind of things does she like? I'll keep an eye open for something for her. What did I like at that age? I think I still liked dolls and junk. Maybe.
You have to tell me if she doesn't like dolls. I have to be halfway decent to someone in both these families, and the last thing I want is to disappoint another younger sister.
"Gosh," Shizuka sighed. "What are we going to do with you, Ranbato?"
The redhead in front of her looked away with a blank stare, same as usual. It wasn't the first time she'd come into Shizuka's office with an injury that needed treatment, and something told her it wouldn't be the last, either. The injuries were always in the worst spots, too. How did someone like Ranbato Ari get so many cuts on her arms and thighs each day?
Ah, no, Shizuka supposed she knew why. The real question was why someone so cute felt the need to do it in the first place.
Ari mumbled a quiet apology as Shizuka cleaned her wrist with some antiseptic, and she barely even flinched as Shizuka dabbed the cotton ball against it to clean any residual blood. It looked like the injury wasn't recent, just irritated, and something had prevented it from healing. Nothing a little glue couldn't fix!
"Do you want to lay down in here until the glue dries?" Shizuka asked as she pinched the more tender cuts together and applied the glue. Ari only flinched at the pinches, and Shizuka held back a giggle at her attempt at a brave face. Gosh, these kids sure did try to do a lot of growing up nowadays! She remembered being that age, even if it wasn't all that long ago, and thinking she was a total grownup who could do whatever she wanted. "I'll give you a note to hand to your teacher. We'll say you sprained your wrist and that's why it's all bandaged up."
Ari glanced at her. Stormy grey eyes gauged Shizuka's face, her stance, and Shizuka just beamed at her as she waved a hand over the glue to dry it quicker. Thanks to her teenage years not being too long ago, too, Shizuka also knew how relentless some girls were when they saw someone struggling. The least she could do was let Ari take a nap and compose herself before her first class—what good was a nurse if she couldn't prescribe much-needed bed rest, after all?
When Ari looked away again, she mumbled a soft, "Thank you, Marikawa-sensei."
"Why don't we look at your thighs, too, hm?" Shizuka made a grabbing motion to Ari's skirt, the shorts underneath blocking her view, but Ari was quick to push herself away on the small stool she was seated on. As she did, the shorts hiked up a little—faded white cut lines exposed just for a fraction of a second, and the outside of a purple bruise that Shizuka almost clocked instantly from her own weekends out with Rika.
They were silent for a second, Shizuka staring at the spot as Ari hurriedly covered it, and when she looked up at Ari again, Ari was finally breaking her stony expression. Now she looked more ashamed, frustrated, and she hid her face behind one hand as the other fixed her skirt.
Right. It wasn't just mental health issues that teenage girls bullied each other for, was it?
Shizuka reached over to her desk and opened some drawers. She searched for a moment, certain she had one of those dastardly things hidden somewhere—and then she let out a soft, "Aha!" as she found what she was looking for.
She slid the rubber across the desk, beaming at Ari, and chirped, "It may not be my place to say, but just make sure you're being safe, Ranbato!"
The enthusiastic reassurance wasn't what Ari needed, it seemed. The girl's expression seemed almost crestfallen, her eyes dropping to the rubber in horror, but one hesitant hand eventually reached out to take it. Ari tucked it into the pocket of her skirt, lips pursed, and her voice sounded hollow as she said, "Thanks, sensei…"
She didn't wait for Shizuka to dress the wounds. Ari just tested to see if they were dry, to see if the glue itself was dry, and she wasted no time re-wrapping her wrist with the old bandage she'd come into school with. Shizuka was surprised as Ari bowed her head in thanks, watching the redhead leave the infirmary without so much as a pause to ask for her note, and not long after the door slid shut, the bell for homeroom rang over the speaker.
Shizuka leaned back in her chair and let out a low hum.
How interesting, she thought. Most girls got bashful and gushed over the nurse noticing a hickey, and it wasn't like Shizuka was going to shame them for anything. But Ranbato Ari… What a depressed enigma. Never spoke up about things, only ever came to the nurse's office because Shizuka happened to notice the cuts one day after an accident during her home economics class—treatment for a minor burn had turned into an exhaustive check for cuts all over her body, just to make sure Ari didn't get any infections—and she always avoided talking about topics brought up to her. Maybe Shizuka should've asked if Ari had a boyfriend—or girlfriend, she didn't judge—and worked up from there.
Shizuka frowned and spun around in her chair. No, she probably wouldn't talk much about it. Maybe Shizuka ought to go over her head and ask some of the teachers about what they noticed. She was allowed to do that as the nurse, right? It wasn't like she was outright calling child protective services on Ari and her family—that could wait until later. For all they knew, something outside of the family's home was causing this much stress in Ari. But what…
The first teacher she met was the club advisor for the kendo club. He was packing away supplies that he'd brought in that morning to use for the club's afternoon activities, and Shizuka waved him down with a giggle and a chirp. He was always soft on her, that, ah… She wanted to say his name was Ushiromiya? Gosh, all these men in the school blended together like smoothies some days!
"Ah, Ranbato? I've tried to have Busujima recruit her for the club," Ushiromiya recounted. He wiped some sweat from his brow and looked back into the storage room. "Can you imagine the recognition that would get the school? A star kendoka whose dad ran several successful dojos and a silver-medalist kenjutsuka? Maybe the club would get more members next year if she joined, too!"
A silver-medalist? Well, Shizuka didn't know that. But she did recall Rika watching something on TV this past weekend that had a redhead on it. Perhaps it was the tournament Ari participated in. Shizuka would have to save the information for later, and maybe it would serve as a reason for why Ari had so many cuts on her arms and thighs.
Maybe.
The next teacher she came across was the home economics teacher, Hori. Hori seemed melancholic when hearing Ari's name, though Shizuka quickly learned it was because of how clumsy Ari supposedly was in her classes.
"The other students laugh and say she's a masochist," Hori lamented. She brushed her greying hair behind her ear. "It's such a shame. Her meals are excellent, like she's already learned how to cook most things we learn for the first time, and her sense of smell is top-tier. You know she got uneasy when we cooked chicken thighs to make omurice last week? They were improperly labelled and expired the day before, but no one else picked up the smell since it'd been frozen prior. How does a girl that attentive keep burning and cutting herself with simple dishes?"
A little chef, huh? Not unusual. Some students brought their own lunches and took responsibility with cooking in the house, but Shizuka had never seen Ari eat before. Not that anyone ever brought food into the infirmary, but it was the principle of it!
She found the teacher for class 3A as he headed for the staff room, cleaning his glasses with a sigh. Homeroom must've ended, Shizuka thought with budding hope, and she recalled that class was the one Ari belonged to. Wasn't he also the track team coach? What was his name again… Ah! Shido!
Unlike the other two, though, Shido's praise for Ari ended at her consistently average grades and attendance record. Shizuka felt almost uneasy as Shido changed the subject to Ari's reputation, and Shizuka almost wanted to slap herself for not noticing. Darn it, what good was she as a nurse and a protector of her students' wellbeings if she couldn't even pay attention to rumours about her regulars?
"The boys in the track club sometimes skip to fool around with her," Shido recounted. "I've never caught them in the act, so I can't punish them myself, but they brag about it quite a bit. I worry for them. It's one thing if Ranbato wants to squander her reputation as a kenjutsuka by shirking her responsibilities, but dragging others into it? Reprehensible, if you ask me."
Across Shido's desk, on the other side, another teacher raised his head with an interested sound. Shizuka couldn't even begin to try and recall his name.
"Ah, you're talking about Ranbato?" he chimed in. "One of the girls in my class is her sister. Apparently it's a spat between sisters—Tsukishima was the more successful one with her idol career, and Ranbato got jealous that Tsukishima has all the fame. I don't know how much is true, but if it's a disagreement between sisters and a way to get back at Tsukishima, then I suppose it makes sense. I hear the boys on your track team all fancied Tsukishima at one point."
"Did they, now?" Shido perched his glasses back on his nose. "I never pried."
"Did Ranbato get into trouble, Marikawa-san?" the other teacher asked. Shizuka looked at him with an innocent smile, feigning ignorance.
"Oh, no, I was just treating some cuts—"
"She's always been clumsy like that," the teacher cut her off. "Ask Hori-san. I don't know how the girl can do kenjutsu to the degree she can. Can you even cheat at kenjutsu?"
And then the discussion turned into speculation about how someone so clumsy and thoughtless like Ari could win a silver medal on national TV. Shizuka excused herself quickly, telling the men she'd left the infirmary vacant for too long, and she almost felt suffocated as she shut the door behind her.
Jealousy? Promiscuity? Clumsiness? Something didn't add up, especially when Shizuka took into account how reserved Ari was. Did she even have any friends? No one ever came to the infirmary with her, so maybe that was a no. But then again, Ari seemed like the type to tell her friends to stay in class, even if she sprained her ankle. Was it pride? No, Ari didn't seem very proud of the hickey on her thigh. Shame? Maybe.
Shizuka was confident earlier that a call to child protective services wasn't necessary, but now? Now she wasn't so sure. Not to mention, Ari was eighteen now. What was the point of removing her from her home so close to graduation? What foster family would take in a teenager who was basically aged out of the system? Not to mention, a hāfu girl?
Child protective services might not be the best idea, Shizuka reasoned. And then Shizuka might get in trouble when they deemed Ari perfectly safe with her family. Shizuka would've wasted resources and time, and then she'd be quietly let go from her job—away from any chances of helping her students quietly.
Something just didn't add up. And Shizuka felt too stupid to figure out what it was.
How am I doing?
As always, I am existing.