Misfortune never comes alone.
Nogami thought her day couldn’t possibly get any worse after being harassed during lunch break. But when she returned to the classroom after eating, her mood—which had just barely recovered thanks to the delicious meal—plummeted straight into the abyss.
Her desk was covered in thick marker graffiti. Words like “Slut,” “Compensated Dating Girl,” and “Serves You Right” sprawled across the surface in black and red.
She tried wetting a tissue to scrub at the marks, but it only smudged them into pale stains. Even from a few steps away, the words were still perfectly legible.
Forget it. I’ll just throw it out. There should be spare desks in the storage room…
Whether she’d already anticipated this or was just too numb to care, Nogami couldn’t tell.
As she emptied her books and personal belongings from the desk, she realized something—
she wasn’t angry.She felt nothing but an eerie calm.
Maybe worse things are still waiting for me down the line.
Thinking back on the cruel tricks she herself had once used on her “toys,” Nogami let out a quiet, bitter laugh at the pathetic sight before her.
How old-fashioned. How boring.
Graffiti on desks, nails or bugs in lockers, names and insults written on the blackboard for everyone to see— these outdated bullying methods, decades old and recycled in cheap movies, were laughably unoriginal.
And yet, just because she didn’t take it seriously didn’t mean she planned to let anyone who wronged her off the hook.
The real pleasure of bullying never came from the act of hurting someone.
It came from seeing how the victim reacted afterward.If you couldn’t see their anger, their despair—half the fun was gone.
So then…
Nogami looked around the classroom.
The quiet loners in the corner didn’t seem the type. Tazaki, that fat pig, didn’t have the guts for something like this either…
But when her eyes passed over to Harutaki —sitting next to Tazaki, smiling as he waved at her—her long-bottled anger suddenly flared to life.
Of course, she knew it wasn’t him.
He’d never do something this tacky and lowbrow.He was just provoking her on purpose.
“…Immature bastard.”
She muttered the words through gritted teeth and turned back to pack the rest of her things.
Her commuting bag bulged with books and supplies by the time she finished. Gripping the sides of her desk, she tested the weight.
Just one trip would be exhausting enough to kill her arms— and the thought of all the eyes that would follow her down the hallway made her expression sour even more.
“Hey, Nogami-san, are you really planning to throw this desk away? Isn’t that a bit wasteful?”
The familiar voice made her freeze. She turned around, almost forgetting for a second that this wasn’t a dream.
Of course—it was him.
Harutaki.
Smiling, carefree, with that infuriatingly unreadable look that could only mean trouble.
She knew the writing on the desk wasn’t his doing, and yet…
She wanted—needed—him to admit it anyway. To mock her. To humiliate her.Because then she could blame all of this—all the hatred, all the pain—on him alone.
If you didn’t make the post, if you didn’t do the bullying—then why are you here? What are you laughing at?
“You really want to laugh at me right now, don’t you?”
Go on, say it. Admit it.
“You’re thinking I deserve this, that I brought it on myself, right?”
Don’t pretend you’re any better than me.
“‘Slut.’ ‘Compensated Dating Girl.’ ‘Easy Trash.’ If there’s anything else you want to say, go ahead. I’m listening. If you’re hoping to see me crying, eyes red and nose running—sorry to disappoint you. That’s never going to happen.”
Come on, do it.
Mock me the way I used to mock others. Doesn’t destroying something beautiful feel good?“You seem to have the wrong idea about me, Nogami-san.”
Harutaki reached into his pocket and pulled out a white packet—it looked like something from an instant bread wrapper.
“Judging by the school crest, the culprits are probably third-years. You really do have a lot of enemies, huh?”
“Mind your own damn business.”
“It’s just marker ink. Comes right off with an alcohol wipe.”
He unfolded one of the wipes and calmly rubbed it across the surface.
In an instant, the desk—once full of ugly slurs—began to clear, leaving faint traces of its original color.
“…So what?”
“Haha. You’re totally thinking, ‘This guy’s just here to mock me. What an idiot—doesn’t even know I already tried wiping it with a normal tissue and failed.’ Right?”
“That’s exactly what you’re thinking.”
Nogami slammed the desk back into place, her face flushed red.
“For your information, I do know about solvent cleaning. I just don’t have alcohol wipes, okay?”
“Congratulations. You guessed one-third of it right—specifically, the ‘you’re an idiot’ part.”
He placed three more packs of alcohol wipes on the desk, speaking in that infuriatingly slow, calm tone.
“Tell me, Nogami-san—why didn’t you just ask someone if they had any to lend you?”
If I had anyone I could ask, I wouldn’t need your fake pity!
“The fact you think someone would lend me anything just shows who the real idiot is.”
“If you don’t stop to ask why no one would lend you something, and instead blame me for it, then yes—giving them to you makes me an idiot.”
“…People who talk to themselves like that are idiots.”
Nogami glared daggers at him, refusing to admit defeat even though she knew she was being unreasonable.
She turned away, grabbed the wipes, and began furiously scrubbing at the graffiti, as if he didn’t even exist.
“Didn’t your parents ever teach you to thank someone when they help you?”
So annoying…
A moment passed. Just as Harutaki turned to leave, a whisper as faint as a mosquito reached his ears.
“…Tha…thank you…”
“You’re welcome. I should be the one thanking you, though—for the lunch the other day.”
He paused, still facing away, then added casually:
“By the way, your thighs are really soft and springy. Great texture. Much appreciated.”
“Go to hell, you bastard!”
A crumpled wet wipe hit the back of his head with a wet smack.
———
Back at his seat, Tazaki glanced over. Harutaki was watching Nogami quietly as she scrubbed, the corners of his lips barely lifting into a faint curve.
“...Why did you—”
“Help Nogami-san, right?”
Seeing Tazaki struggle to finish his question, Harutaki simply helped him out.
“Don’t tell me… you’ve actually fallen for her?”
What’s with that look, like I just confessed to being an alien?
“I just can’t stand bullying. Doesn’t matter who the victim is.”
What a hypocrite.
He said it to himself, inwardly sneering.
In truth, the hatred between him and Nogami had long since become mutual—an exchange of favors, so to speak.
At first, back when Tazaki was the one being bullied, Harutaki was the victim, and Nogami was the tormentor.
Later, when he orchestrated his revenge, it flipped—
she became the outcast, and he was the silent hand behind it all.He might not have done the bullying himself, but his manipulations, his rumors, his traps—those were what started it.
Only, revenge wasn’t really his goal.
It was just one part of a much bigger plan.
A step along the path to something more.“Just like back when you were getting bullied, Tazaki. I didn’t stand by and watch then, either.”
He spoke evenly.
“It’s the same thing. The disgust of someone who’s seen that kind of cruelty firsthand.”
“No wonder you’re like this now, Harutaki…”
Tazaki clearly misunderstood, but Harutaki didn’t bother correcting him. Explaining it would only raise more questions—especially ones tied to his previous life.
After a moment, Tazaki finally asked, hesitant:
“So there’s… not even a little bit of sympathy? Or friendship?”
“If I didn’t still need your help selling merch, I’d have already reported you to the teachers for sneaking into the girls’ locker room.”
He glanced coldly at his embarrassed, shrinking otaku friend.
“If you don’t want to change—don’t want to improve—then fine. You’ll just spend the rest of your life with silicone dolls and brothel girls for company.”
“T-that’s too cruel!”
“Sorry. I just can’t imagine any other kind of creature—other than a brainless object or a woman who works for cash—who’d willingly stay near you.”
“Guh…”
Tazaki froze for a moment, then groaned, collapsing onto his desk in agony.
———
Social Hierarchies – A Quick Breakdown
In the school’s pecking order, the castes were simple: First Tier, Second Tier, and Third Tier.
The First Tier consisted mostly of delinquents, jocks—especially members of the baseball club—and a few sociable, high-achieving types. (Athletes dominated this level.)
The 1.5 and Second Tiers were filled with standout cultural club members, less popular athletes, and proactive, outspoken students. They served as the “followers” and “supporting cast,” making up the bulk of the population.
Then there was the Third Tier—the non-populars.
The bottom layer.Bookworms (grades alone didn’t save them), introverts, oddballs, tone-deaf kids, anyone bad at sports—collectively known as “nerds,” “weirdos,” or “dead air.”
And below even them—the true bottom—were the outcasts so isolated they ate lunch alone in a bathroom stall.
(TL: I’ll be using Tazaki instead of Akihisa from now on, comes out more smoothly)