“Huff... huff...”
Nogami leaned against the hallway wall, gasping for air.
“Three pieces of trash... is that all you’ve got?”
Her hands and face burned with that raw, fiery sting. Before her, three first-years sat in a miserable heap—one bruised and swollen, one clutching her stomach, another sobbing with red-rimmed eyes. For the first time in a long while, Nogami let out a faint smile.
But she knew full well—it wasn’t the smile of a victor.
The moment she threw that punch, surrendering to the violence she hated most, she had already lost.
She’d lost to herself—the self who’d always basked in praise like “clever,” “bright,” “genius.”
And she’d lost to this grotesque “witch hunt”—no, this farce of a “witch trial” that passed for bullying.To strike back with violence was proof that she had no other way left.
And though she’d lashed out wildly, leaving her tormentors in pain, she herself hadn’t escaped unscathed.
Her hair tie had been torn loose in the scuffle, a handful of strands ripped away. The red handprint across her left cheek still throbbed, and several raw, bloody scratches streaked her knuckles.
Pathetic... truly pathetic.
She bit her dry lips and clutched the pink hair tie, still stained with a shoeprint, staggering toward the stairs in a daze.
“You think you can just hit us and run, bitch!?”
“My hair—you ripped out so much of my hair! Are you insane!?”
“Don’t think we’ll let you off easy!”
Nogami didn’t respond. Their shrill curses trailed behind her as she stumbled down a quiet back path toward the school gates, desperate to get away from that place.
She didn’t want anyone else to see her like this—disheveled, humiliated, trembling.
And she absolutely didn’t want Minako or Sae to see her so weak, so small.
Nogami Izumi was supposed to be proud.
Nogami Izumi was supposed to be feared. Nogami Izumi was supposed to never lose.So why was she so powerless now? So fragile?
“Why don’t you ask someone for help?”
That annoying bastard’s voice echoed in her head.
Yeah... why didn’t she?
Was there even anyone who could help her?
Just avoiding dragging Minako and Sae into this mess had already left her isolated, fighting alone... who else could she possibly turn to?
Could it be that everything she’d believed up until now—everything she’d done—was wrong?
The weak should be ruled by the strong.
If you find a weakness, exploit it. That was the law she’d lived by—one she’d tested time and time again and always found true.
There was no way that law was wrong.
No way...
Lost in thought, she turned down a narrow street, too tight for cars, as if drawn there by instinct.
On one side stood a row of uneven, closely packed houses; on the other, a line of cherry blossom trees in full bloom, their petals drifting into the shallow stream below.
At this quiet hour, the place was nearly deserted. The petals danced on the breeze, falling softly into the current and floating away downstream—a scene so beautiful, so fleeting, it felt like a hidden refuge made just for her.
She crouched beside the shallow stream. The water barely reached her shoes, but in its wavering surface, she saw her reflection—swollen cheek, red-rimmed eyes, a face streaked with defeat.
The things I learned from Father... they can’t be wrong.
She stared at her warped reflection, her rose-red eyes glinting faintly with the sunset’s dying gold.
The one who was wrong—was her.
The one who was wrong—was Nogami Izumi.
The mistake wasn’t in the world she believed in, but in her, standing powerless before the mob that claimed righteousness and justice.
But still... why should she be the one at fault?
Why wasn’t it those fools—those dogs who believed every rumor and let themselves be used as weapons—who were wrong?
“I’m not wrong.”
“I’m not wrong...”
“I—”
“You’re not wrong, huh? So what, you're gonna say it’s the world that’s wrong instead?”
That hated voice. That hated tone.
Cherry blossoms crunched softly under approaching footsteps.
Nogami raised her head, and of course—it was that annoying guy.
“Well, what do you know? Didn’t expect to run into you here.”
His words—so familiar, so mocking—sounded just like the start of another round of bullying.
So even running here wasn’t enough...?
Her fingers tightened around the hair tie, crushing it into a wrinkled mess.
The figure before her loomed tall, backlit by the twilight. His silhouette, broad shoulders, steady posture, seemed edged in molten gold by the setting sun.
What, you think you’re so high and mighty now?
Seeing me like this... you must be thrilled, huh?
Those wet wipes he’d handed her during lunch, that casual smile—pity disguised as kindness—stabbed at her heart like a knife, over and over again.
“Get... lost.”
She glared up at him, anger and humiliation churning in her chest, clogging her throat like wet clay. The words barely made it past her lips, weak and trembling.
“Just... leave me alone...”
—
Having just finished answering the set of trick questions Asama-sensei had given him, Harutaki managed to prove his academic prowess. It took quite the struggle to peel himself away from the teacher, who’d been pestering him for study tips, but at last, he escaped and returned to his classroom to pack up.
His route home was the same as always.
Only now, what had once been a scenic detour to admire the cherry blossoms had turned into something else entirely—an excuse to “accidentally” run into Shirasagi-senpai again.
He’d been such an idiot, acting cool, forgetting to even ask for her contact info.
He could only sigh at himself. Guess he really was getting old.
Back in his university days, if he’d seen a cute girl, he wouldn’t have hesitated for a second to ask for her number, and usually, he’d have gotten it too.
(Though, to be fair, he always told himself it was thanks to his looks, not the Audi RS7 his dad had handed down to him.)
Still, whether by coincidence or avoidance, he hadn’t seen Shirasagi-senpai once in over two weeks—not even once, despite walking that same cherry-lined path every single day after school.
As for tracking her down in school? Not a chance.
The iron wall of senior-junior hierarchy, forged by the culture itself, was unbreakable.
Already branded with rumors like “pervert” and “the groper prince,” if he, a second-year, dared approach a third-year beauty like her, he’d only bring her trouble—and attract a storm of resentment from every upperclassman.
“卍 Bless me, God, Buddha, whatever—just let me get her contact today, please... 卍”
Maybe he should throw in a prayer to Amaterasu too, just in case.
Hands pressed together in mock devotion, Harutaki made absolutely no effort to reflect on his shamelessness. Instead, he doubled down, thinking maybe if he prayed enough, he could brute-force his luck.
But when he stepped onto the cherry-blossom path and saw, in the distance, a familiar silhouette seated beneath the trees—his eyes widened in disbelief.
Wait—did that actually work!?