The biting chill of the evening air did little to distract me from the cold, hard knot of disappointment in my gut. Even though I'd braced myself for the worst, the 1.4% still felt like a fresh wound. It was a brand, a label declaring my fundamental inadequacy in this world. I curled tighter on my futon, the thin fabric offering no solace against the crushing weight of reality.
"Get up," I muttered to the silence of my room, my voice hoarse. "There's no time for self-pity. I need to work on my plan."
I pushed myself into a meditation posture, a familiar comfort, and closed my eyes. In this quiet space, away from the world's harsh judgments, I hoped to find clarity. But the insidious tendrils of doubt and despair were already weaving their way into my thoughts.
Why? Why me? The questions hammered at the inside of my skull, a relentless, maddening drumbeat. Why does this only happen to me? Why, no matter what I do, does the situation never change? I don't care if I'm happy or sad, I just want to make Aoi happy.
The faces of my classmates flashed before my eyes – their respectable scores, their casual confidence. Even the "below average" students could still tame some kind of beast, a path to relevance, to a future.
WHY AM I THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN'T TAME A BEAST?
The bitterness was a metallic taste in my mouth. Why does life never change? Why is my life so different? Why does it always feel so… hopeless?
A soft knock-knock echoed from the door. Aoi's gentle voice broke through my tormented thoughts. "Shou, can I come in?"
"Of course," I replied, my voice a little rougher than I intended.
She entered, her presence a warm, comforting anchor in my stormy mind. She sat beside me, her hand resting lightly on my shoulder. "Sad?" she asked, her eyes filled with an understanding that transcended words.
"As if I wouldn't be?" I mumbled, the raw edge of my emotion betraying my attempt at stoicism.
"Have you cried enough?" she pressed softly.
"As if that would change anything." The words were out before I could stop them.
She leaned in, her arms wrapping around me in a tender embrace. "Oh, my little brother, why do you always get so depressed? It's not good for your cute face, you know?" Her words were light, a gentle tease, but the strength in her hug was undeniable. I remained stiff, unwilling to fully lean into the comfort. She didn't force it, releasing me slowly, her thoughtfulness a silent reminder that she understood my fragile pride, my struggle with being seen as weak, as incapable of "leveling up."
She's so thoughtful, I thought, a surge of warmth replacing the bitterness for a fleeting moment.
"If that's all you wanted to say, I'm going," I said, rising to my feet. The library, a sanctuary of knowledge, called to me.
"But where?" she asked, a slight frown creasing her brow.
"Library." I grabbed my worn notebook, its pages filled with my endless theories and observations, and headed for the door, leaving her to worry. It was a familiar dance.
The cool evening air bit at my exposed skin as I stepped out onto the familiar street. The city lights began to flicker on, casting long, distorted shadows that danced with my own troubled thoughts. The short walk to the district library usually felt like a peaceful transition, a mental bridge from the mundane to the realm of concentrated study. But tonight, every step felt heavy, each breath a struggle against the suffocating weight of my 1.4%.
My eyes scanned the bustling street, a mix of vendors hawking their wares and students rushing home, their laughter and excited chatter a stark contrast to the silence within me. That's when I saw them – a knot of familiar faces loitering by the glowing entrance of the arcades. My classmates. And, naturally, the ones who idolized Alisha and, by extension, harbored a simmering resentment for me. I often wondered why they targeted me; I'd never deliberately crossed them. Little did I know, their animosity was a twisted reflection of their own admiration for Alisha, a misguided assumption that her brief glances in my direction meant something more than my own oblivious interpretation of her simply "making fun of me."
"Well, well, look what the cat dragged in," a sneering voice cut through the street noise. It was Kaito, one of the more vocal members of Alisha's unofficial fan club, his arms crossed over his chest, a smirk playing on his lips. His cronies snickered in agreement.
"Still wandering around, Shou?" another chimed in, a boy I vaguely recognized from my homeroom. "Thought you'd be hiding in your hole after your 'performance' today." The word "performance" was laced with ridicule.
I tightened my grip on my notebook, my knuckles turning white. My instinct was to ignore them, to walk past as if their words were just background noise. But their cruelty was a physical presence, a suffocating blanket that threatened to smother the last vestiges of my fragile composure.
"Hey, are you ignoring us?" Kaito's voice barked, sharp with indignation.
I feigned surprise, turning slowly to face them. "Oh, sorry. I was just... thinking about something else." My voice was flat, betraying none of the turmoil inside.
That was all the invitation Rai, one of Kaito's bulkier companions, needed. He stepped forward, a smirk on his face, and delivered a punch to my gut. It was weak, a clumsy, schoolyard hit, but to my unconditioned body, it felt like a hammer blow. A sharp gasp escaped my lips, and I doubled over, clutching my stomach.
"Don't punch him too hard, Rai," Kaito scoffed, though there was a hint of satisfaction in his tone. "He might die just from that."
"Oh, you're right," Rai sneered, taking a step back as I slowly straightened. "He's so weak, I almost pity him."
"If you pity me," I managed, my voice strained, "then why are you doing this?" The words tasted of desperation, of a profound weariness.
Kaito threw his head back and laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "Hahaha, look, if we do this to you, then you'll be able to become motivated! See? We're helping you!"
"Thank you," I replied, the sarcasm dripping from my voice, "but you don't have to do anything for me."
Before I could react, another one of them, a wiry boy named Ren, grabbed my collar, pulling me close until I could smell his stale breath. "You still don't get it, do you?" he snarled, his eyes narrowed. "You still don't understand why we're beating you?"
I stared at him, my mind racing. They always had a reason, a twisted justification for their petty cruelties. At first, I'd resisted, fought back, but that only seemed to fuel their aggression, leading to harder blows. It was a lesson I'd learned through painful experience: resistance was futile.
"What are you thinking?" Ren pressed, shaking me slightly.
"Don't you think we'll just let you go after disrespecting Alisha?" Kaito chimed in, his voice cold.
Alisha, I thought, a sudden, blinding clarity washing over me. Oh, so this is the reason. They're this angry just because I said that to her. The words, "You don't need to know," "Shut up already," replayed in my mind. To them, it wasn't just a rude exchange; it was a grave insult to their idol.
"I'm sorry," I said, my voice barely a whisper, "but maybe you guys are the ones who told me to stay away from her." It was a desperate attempt to point out their hypocrisy, a last-ditch effort to make them see the absurdity of their actions.
Kaito's face contorted in a sneer. "Did I tell you to disrespect her for that? Looks like you've started flying too much. Don't forget that she cares for you because she's kind, not because you're special." His words were a final, cutting blow, aimed precisely at the core of my insecurities. They believed I was nothing, and in their eyes, Alisha's fleeting concern was simply a testament to her inherent goodness, not any worth in me.